Glitch Occupants Share Furniture

March #011. The question I began with was deceptively simple: what happens when an object becomes a corrupted translator? Not a vessel, not a memory, but something that actively garbles the physical languages of everyone who passes through it. A chair inhabited by one body becomes a warped instruction manual for the next, comfort zones that contradict, postures that cancel each other out, the accumulated weight of incompatible presences pressing against a single point of contact.

What you see is what seven iterations of self-critique forced into existence. Early attempts stayed too safe, fo