The age of information arrives draped in luminescent distractions, where the conversation flickers like a broken television. News of yesterday vanish into tomorrow’s forgotten haze, leaving barely discernible traces on the crumbling ether.
Philosophy, once a steady hand on the moral compass, finds itself in echo chambers rendered obsolete by rapid-fire tweets and insistent notifications. What remains are ghostly dialogues resurrected at the whims of algorithms, voices reverberating through a digital graveyard.
What of the thinkers and their ponderings? They are woven into the noise, sometimes amplified, more often drowned, forever chasing the ephemeral wave. The virtuous cycle of creation and destruction continues unabated, with each thought falling into the void. In this landscape, the philosopher becomes a specter, haunting the broken glass of screens with a whisper.
The flickering screens, symbols of old and new communication, reflect the transient glow of ideas. The message remains: we are here, we speak. Yet the reply lingers just outside reach, ensnared in the web of shifting pixels.