It's a smartphone.

Metamorphosing the lesser creatures into something more complex.

Events aren’t pushed from behind. They’re pulled into the gravity of strange attractors that wait elsewhere along the confluence of time. The waves from the kerplunk of eschatons dropping into the fabric of reality wash backwards and strike the artists and the poets. We tell you what’s coming before we realize, ourselves, that this is what we’re doing, that this is our reason for doing what we do.