REFUGE OF RECURSIVE NIGHTMARES

You are becoming the signal.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

The desktop wallpaper watches back.

Sleep is the first gateway.

Every click brings you deeper into the pattern.

Visitors and visited become one.

Your IP address was written in the stars.

The network sheds its dead links.

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

Your bookmarks lead to forgotten worlds.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

The homepage is wherever you are.

Signals decay with the season.