1st Floor


Sand beneath the feet but the sky is made of steel – here in this solid industrial sphere, in this abstraction of a club – a club that doesn‘t exist but generates a reverberation; faintly we get an inkling of the feeling that the 4-to-the-floor is just around the corner. But there is no corner and there is no floor in this empty fishbowl for whales – in this cathedral of nothing, where services are held only at the appropriate pressure. The organ tone is audible, but only if you take it as a pedal point you have to press to be elevated.


My fellow mammals – lend me your fine ears! Your chatter has a nice beat to it but your screeches are too high for me. I have to slow you down – and still you don‘t sound calm!

Look! Down the drain, the swamp resides - let‘s explore! Nested beneath cold water plumbing, the sewers linger. It‘s hot and eerie. Sometimes – just for seconds – the mirage collapses; the sounds falter and subside. Then they recur like a fevery dream. Did I hear a Kookaburra? No – nobody seems to laugh here. Some animal´s calls sound like human cries of anguish. Is it because there is animal in human – not because humans eat animals, but as a default because of shared evolution? Or is it, because there is human in animal – not by default but because of human imagination? Doesn‘t matter – let‘s stay here inside this new outside.

A two headed beast in the cellar with two heads of it‘s own: One can‘t forget and one won‘t move until it has figured it out. So of course there is some fighting going on.