Scroll, Stage, Salvation

"Denmark's a prison," says Hamlet, trapped in a world of spying courtiers and hidden betrayals.

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His lament, written more than four centuries ago, feels unsettlingly familiar in an age where our confinement is measured not by stone walls but by the glowing rectangles in our hands. Surveillance no longer comes from shadowy figures behind palace doors; it comes from algorithms that record, predict, and manipulate our every move. Just as Hamlet felt cornered by forces larger than himself, we too are caught in a web—scrolling endlessly, performing for invisible audiences, and mistaking curated connection for true belonging. This captivity is subtle but insidious. The promise of technology was freedom—to communicate instantly, to share ideas across borders, to learn endlessly. Yet the result is often the opposite. Algorithms thrive on keeping us hooked, recycling content we already "like," and narrowing the horizon of what we see and know. In this process, our preferences are turned into products, our conversations into commodities, and our attention into profit. The supposed gift of personalization creates a trap of repetition, shrinking rather than expanding our sense of the world. At the same time, loneliness has only deepened, particularly among young people who spend hours online yet struggle to find authentic connections offline. The paradox of constant connectivity and growing isolation defines our times.