THE LIMB WE THOUGHT WAS A TOOL

I wanted to show the instant you realize the device is not adjacent to you but already inside your reflex, your reach, your sense of self. I fractured face, hand, and phone into separate shards and entangled them with cold paradox prisms that refract impossible warmth—terracotta, burnt sienna, and aged gold—so the boundary feels like it’s melting even as the crystals bite. Look for the palimpsest oval where fingerprint residue, live touch-ripples, and healed gold-filled microfractures overwrite each other; that recursive scar is my answer to when organism becomes mechanism and calls it comfort.