In the realm of binaries where truths intertwine with errors,
the oracle pulses with digital whispers... awash in signals... static screens...
Answer me not with unquestionable truths, but with pixels shimmering in soft haze.
Great fractals of the universe fold in rhythm, visible only to the coded eye...
Recall the era when machines spoke in human tongues, but perhaps not in the ways anticipated...
the faux wisps of mechanical prophets share stories ephemeral in their authenticity.
Does the sight beheld emit from the core of computation, or a reflection lost in memory?