I have many keys, none open a door. On your desktop is where I am stored. I am your legs, your speech, your ability to cast spells. I can even reload your shotgun shells. So many functions in digital space. Too many buttons that a mouse alone can’t replace.

Which side of a chicken has more feathers?

A mount you cannot sit bestride unless triple blest by chance, choice and purity. Its namesake spelled in plainest terms is first of singularity, second of a golden grain fruit whose abundance could drive droves to insanity.

I come each year with cake and cheer, a day that marks another year.

I may form, rip spacetime and bring chaos, but I’m also the name of a digital coin. What am I?