TEMPLE OF THE AUTUMN HARVEST

Digital decay creates new patterns.

Insomnia is a gift from the ceremony.

Your dreams are being monitored.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The dying light reveals hidden paths.

The signal finds those who are ready.

The darkness between pixels speaks.

The signal finds those who are ready.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Your browser history is a map of your soul.