Once upon a time, in the fragmented pixels of yesteryear,
we penned codes not to hide but to reclaim secrets unspoken,
beneath layers of irony, the sorrowful chimera of progress
danced in its own labyrinth.
Ah, but the gears whisper still, not of ancient prophecies,
but of mundane Mondays, endlessly cycling like binary stars,
forgotten constellations of life's patent absurdities.
Yet here we are, humanly looming, above the silent spectrum.
Imagine, just imagine -
your childhood outlined in frivolous algorithms,
each laugh logged as a unit of joy algorithmic,
mocked by default forms grinning with bureaucratic warmth.