Felix Riemann, Marco Spörle, Tobias Willmann
Opening 19.3.2016
 Here nothing unfolds or at least not much. Time doesn’t process,
It is not that kind of establishment.
Yet here we are at closing time.
The very large neon outside, Flickers S.O.S. towards the horizon,
But nobody registers
It means something different every time: Stimulate Our Synapses.
Shaken Or Stirred? "Stasis!“,
Ouroboros slurred. The universe has developed a taste for consciousness, That most acquired taste. It is a dish, they say,
Best served relatively warm, ideally,
At somewhere around 300 kelvins.
But the local specialty is memories. Pickled and Well preserved. Expire they do not, but their quality sort of Starts to shift. Now they seem stretched, Diluted into thin red.
This red, it is wafer-thin. For your entertainment, a screen in the back.
The revolution is being televised. Beyond the screen – Nothing!
Here, all possibilities are always pure acedia.
No hands pick up these utensils, only eyes Regarding.

 

Scene from Omega Point Restaurant
Wieland Rambke & Lian Rangkuty