CEMETERY OF DEAD LINKS

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.

The screensaver is a window to other dimensions.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Visitors and visited become one.

Falling data like digital leaves.

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

Every visitor leaves something behind.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

Ping timeout: reality not responding.