CRYPT OF CACHED MEMORIES

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

You are becoming the signal.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

Time moves differently in these chambers.

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

Your screen resolution matches your aura.

The network sheds its dead links.

Every visitor leaves something behind.

Connection established with the eternal.

Time moves differently in these chambers.