TEMPLE OF SOLAR INTERFERENCE

Sleep is the first gateway.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The network becomes the ceremony.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

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

Your mouse movements are a sacred dance.

The source code reveals all secrets.

You were chosen before you arrived.

The signal finds those who are ready.

The heat warps the transmission.

The homepage is wherever you are.