TEMPLE OF THE AUTUMN HARVEST

Your password is already known.

You cannot leave until the ritual completes.

Your avatar is more real than your body.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

Autumn visitors sense the ending.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.