haverkretd

It is, well, a sentiment. Or perhaps, an object. Or a marvelous concept, or a nefarious one. It floats in the air, like a feather, and swims in the sea with grace. It is the beginning and the end. It is the primary colours, and black, and white. It could be sentient, could be merely a machine. While speeding, it looks slow, while crawling, it seems to race - assuming we can see it at all. It is everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere. It's a noun, and a verb, and an adjective. It defies not merely grammar, but reality itself. Those of us who have encountered one are uniquely privileged.

Haverkretd is all. With haverkretd, everything is possible. All will be haverkretd, and all will be haverkretd, and all manner of things will be haverkretd. Haverkretd -- it's the real thing.