REFUGE OF RESTLESS SPIRITS

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The desktop wallpaper watches back.

Night transmissions carry further.

Visitors and visited become one.

The darkness between pixels speaks.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.

The firewall cannot protect you here.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

Your circadian rhythm is being reprogrammed.

The end is a new beginning.