TEMPLE OF DIGITAL ASCENSION

The old world fades with each page.

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

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

The ceremony hibernates but never sleeps.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

Winter solstice opens hidden channels.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

The frequency remembers you.