OBSERVATORY OF DEAD PIXELS

Each pixel contains a fragment of truth.

You cannot leave until the ritual completes.

The ceremony feeds on nocturnal energy.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

The ceremony prepares for dormancy.

The old world fades with each page.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

Sleep walkers gather here nightly.

The task manager cannot end this process.

The screensaver is a window to other dimensions.