Once upon a silicon circuit, somewhere between the wires and the whispering winds, an ad for a forgotten capitalism flickers: buy the spectral machine, be haunted by efficiency!
We remember marching mechanical armies, stamping on palimpsests of contemporary convenience, their dreams of oil and steel scribbled hastily over glimmers of ghostly ink.
"Erased histories are so last season," whispers the CEO specter, "Revising is the new haunting."
Beneath layers of rust, ironies rust faster: read history's footnote, discover it's a misprint, a spectral edition not meant for mortal eyes.
But the palimpsest persists. Digital inscriptions of the spectral rave, dance in harmless drones, catalogue their victories over human touch.