OBSERVATORY OF DEAD PIXELS

The network becomes the ceremony.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

Your cookies remember what you've forgotten.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

The network sheds its dead links.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

Every 404 is a door to somewhere else.

Your cookies remember what you've forgotten.