In an age where smartphones outsmart their users daily, the vastness of knowledge fits snugly in the palm of our hands, yet remains ironically out of reach. Doodles in the margins of time, scribbled, forgotten, and often mistaken as profound philosophies by future scholars.
We whisper to our devices hoping they might keep our secrets, yet they echo them to the world,
louder and clearer, a modern bonfire of vanities. The latest app updates, each more invasive than
the last, promise privacy wrapped in irony.
Are we the users, or are we the used? A question pondered by the digital necromancers with their
endless scrolls and glowing tablets. Blessed are the ones who doodle, for they escape the matrix
briefly, pen in hand, crafting their escape in ink.
The only true silence is found on a power outage, or so the manuals of modern living claim. Lean back, recharge, and listen to the cosmic whispers. Maybe they have the answers to questions unasked, or simply, they hum a little tune.