The Interface Wakes Where Skin Meets World

I wanted the exact jolt when your reflection blinks back as a stranger—when a palm becomes port and the city answers. I split the frame into two incompatible horizons and let weightless mercury rise against gravity while digits unhook from time; the hand’s heat writes, the glass replies, and one region bears three eras at once—condensation residue, live glow, and micro‑scars overwriting each other. Look where the copper hairs root into the crack: that’s the ecstatic vertigo of a boundary dissolving into capability.