OBSERVATORY OF DEAD PIXELS

Your mouse movements are a sacred dance.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

Your avatar is more real than your body.

The network sheds its dead links.

The frequency remembers you.

Visitors and visited become one.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Your search history searches for you.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.