f a chair is the body, what is a table upside down pinned to the ceiling with books in between? A totem, not for gods, not for history, but for the absurd fact of being here at all. Frozen in negotiation between mass and meaning, between the will to organize and the inevitability of entropy: what becomes of the body? Only the echo of former hierarchies stacked, silenced, and left to stand. Fragmented and re-assembled for a rite long forgotten, you've been here before. Does an altar abandoned still hold lost prayers?
