HALL OF ABANDONED CHATROOMS

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.

The signal finds those who are ready.

The ceremony has already begun.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

Each pixel contains a fragment of truth.

The heat warps the transmission.

You are becoming the signal.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

Overheating servers reveal secrets.

The homepage is wherever you are.