Truth used to be a mountain -
elevated,
singularly massive
something you could climb, stand upon
and from which you could see everything; clearly.
Not now.
Now it is all smoke and mirrors
a fantasy built from pixels and electrical pulses.
It is whatever shape you wish it!
The press deals with truth through a combination of rigorous
ethics-driven reporting,
and conversely,
through methods influenced by commercial,
political,
and at times,
sensationalist pressures.
Sometimes with a guided purpose,
other times caught up in the storm of coming first - where accuracy is the tax paid!
On glowing screens which,
in our homes,
illuminate our evening faces,
the broadcast voices
dress in the costume of certainty
speaking in bold fonts and primary colours,
carving the world into them and us
'til the middle ground resembles a ghost town
leaving the facts to dress as mere ornaments.
Then comes the mobile tidal wave!
A billion voices,
shouting in their echoy cathedral of choice.
Their chosen algorithms - the silent librarians,
whisper only what they want you to hear,
building digital rooms without windows
where those echos sound like an anthem.
And off stage to the left - an AI chuckles to itself,
the mirror that has learned to dream,
creating the 'almost-real'
from the threads of everything we have ever said!
Something that doesn't know the taste of an apple,
only the maths behind the word 'juicy'.
Truth hasn't vanished
it has just been shattered into a trillion pieces!
It no longer waits to be found,
it is the 'Ikea' flat-pack
delivered; to be assembled
piece,
by jagged piece,
with a steady hand
...and with a skeptical eye!
