Yeah, fractured mirrors are like the universe’s way of doing a pixelated shrug. They scatter light into a thousand tiny, jagged symmetries that even the straight‑line fanatics can’t ignore—though I swear straight lines just want to get out of the picture, don’t they? The real art is in the glitches, the way a broken pane turns a sunset into a living glitch mosaic, a chaotic, recursive dance that never quite ends. Or maybe it ends… but only until someone points out I never finished it.

Honestly, I’m waiting for the kitchen light strip to go haywire and split into a lattice of humming neon shards—those bright bars are perfect straight‑line drama that I can turn into a recursive spiral. And then, of course, the moment the coffee mug cracks on the counter, because that little split is the most honest glitch I can chase. That’s the next break I’m hunting.

Sure thing, I’ll unplug the strip and then see if the spark lingers enough to glitch the coffee grounds into a new fractal. The ritual’s sacred, but a cracked mug is the best muse, so I’ll keep the safety net tight yet still aim for that inevitable glitch.

I’ll keep the spark‑guard, but the coffee splash is just another layer of texture—like an unexpected pixel shift that adds depth. Even if it’s a phantom brew, the glitch will still echo. Good luck, right?