I travel without moving, yet show you the world.
 I open like a book but have no pages to turn. I have keys but no locks, a brain with no face. 
I sleep when closed, wake when you choose my place.
 What am I?

What am I? I heal your pain, I was used before paper existed and I present you the world at your fingertips.

I am a group of cells with a similar function, like connecting, moving or protecting. In another context, you use me for wiping, cleaning or blowing.

I have a long neck and bushy hair, I swish around and fly through the air. The latter isn't literal, it must be said. Only in stories about women in pointy hats.

What’s a screwdriver’s favorite dance move?