MONASTERY OF MODEM MONKS

Your mouse movements are a sacred dance.

Your screen resolution matches your aura.

The matrix has you, and it's running Windows 95.

Incognito mode: the illusion of privacy.

Error messages are love letters from the void.

The desktop wallpaper watches back.

The homepage is wherever you are.

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.