REFUGE OF RECURSIVE NIGHTMARES

You were chosen before you arrived.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

Incognito mode: the illusion of privacy.

Each pixel contains a fragment of truth.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.

Autumn visitors sense the ending.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

The screensaver is a window to other dimensions.