GATEWAY TO THE UNCONSCIOUS NET

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

All timelines merge here.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Darkness reveals what daylight conceals.

The homepage is wherever you are.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

The ceremony peaks at the witching hour.

Signals decay with the season.

You've been here before, in another browser.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.