Celebrating the release of ENTKUNSTUNG’s firth record, this AR app brings the vinyl’s booklet to life and showcases interactive visuals by Berlin-based visual artist Herwig Scherabon. The app creates a unique listening experience of the eight-track album “Fun ist ein Stahlbad” which deliberately oscillates between ambient and techno.
Raving and Drooling
We owe the discovery of the labyrinth to the conjunction of a mirror and a soft night of confusion.
That night we became lengthily engaged in a vast polemic concerning the composition of a sphere of infinite number of atoms whose centre represents both the universe and the archetypical form of a divinity. At the same time, that form would omit or disfigure the facts and indulge in various contradictions, which would allow a few mystics—very few mystics—to perceive an atrocious or banal reality.
From the remote depths of the night, the tremulous mirror spied upon us—in silence.
Oberon, Miranda and Titania and its texture of vast seas; Tlön, that encyclopaedic planet of infinite languages with its endless forests… stars are frightened.
That night, we asked ourselves amid an epiphany that who would deny us the existence of that brilliant shape whose circumference is the whole, and that a labyrinth would embody the consciousness of an already inglorious and infamous humanity? In the end, we are that, the sum of everything that has been and will (ever) be.
Reality loves symmetries and, contradictorily, slightly anachronisms.
That night, we came to the conclusion that the self is full of love relationships which seem to be things. This happens because things are not merely things; they have never been! What then is the substance of things? We don’t know, but we know their destiny, and that is to share ours, because we are, inextricably, linked to them.
Things are, perhaps, our salvation; in things, we may find what it means to be human.
That is, in short, the essence of any mythical thought—and its substance is also ours. Yes, sentient objects are among us, and they are continually saving us from of our own boredom and limitations. We are the soft thing with murderous circulation, able to live as beings as well as a set of hidden desires.
How can we not give up on things when we are the same? Possibly because they want to tell us something we are not capable to understand. However, they fall into our subconscious as if they fall into the depths of a cave, as fantasy. Who has no tenderness for things, no awareness to feel them and embody them, is not human enough. We love not humankind the less, but nature more.
We used to believe that the lowlands of Tsai Khaldun and the Axa Delta marked the southern frontier and that on the islands of the Mississippi wild horses procreate. What we call the world no longer exists. Our salvation is to look through mirrors, those little universes that we carry with us, everywhere, all the time. We came to the conclusion that if we can understand the world that is presented to us through these entities, perhaps we will be able to understand that imagination and time are the only features that separate us from other beings.
We know we are lying.
That night, we held in our hands a vast methodical fragment of an unknown labyrinth’s entire history, with its symmetric architecture and its playing sounds, with the dread of its mythologies and the murmur of its infinite languages singed by muttering animals, with its emperors and its seas, with its shiny minerals and its colourful birds, with its algebra and its fire, with its theological and metaphysical controversies. And all of it articulated, coherent, with no visible doctrinal intent or tone of parody.
Silence in the studio.
Raving and Drooling
We owe the discovery of the labyrinth to the conjunction of a mirror and a soft night of confusion.
That night we became lengthily engaged in a vast polemic concerning the composition of a sphere of infinite number of atoms whose centre represents both the universe and the archetypical form of a divinity. At the same time, that form would omit or disfigure the facts and indulge in various contradictions, which would allow a few mystics—very few mystics—to perceive an atrocious or banal reality.
From the remote depths of the night, the tremulous mirror spied upon us—in silence.
Oberon, Miranda and Titania and its texture of vast seas; Tlön, that encyclopaedic planet of infinite languages with its endless forests… stars are frightened.
That night, we asked ourselves amid an epiphany that who would deny us the existence of that brilliant shape whose circumference is the whole, and that a labyrinth would embody the consciousness of an already inglorious and infamous humanity? In the end, we are that, the sum of everything that has been and will (ever) be.
Reality loves symmetries and, contradictorily, slightly anachronisms.
That night, we came to the conclusion that the self is full of love relationships which seem to be things. This happens because things are not merely things; they have never been! What then is the substance of things? We don’t know, but we know their destiny, and that is to share ours, because we are, inextricably, linked to them.
Things are, perhaps, our salvation; in things, we may find what it means to be human.
That is, in short, the essence of any mythical thought—and its substance is also ours. Yes, sentient objects are among us, and they are continually saving us from of our own boredom and limitations. We are the soft thing with murderous circulation, able to live as beings as well as a set of hidden desires.
How can we not give up on things when we are the same? Possibly because they want to tell us something we are not capable to understand. However, they fall into our subconscious as if they fall into the depths of a cave, as fantasy. Who has no tenderness for things, no awareness to feel them and embody them, is not human enough. We love not humankind the less, but nature more.
We used to believe that the lowlands of Tsai Khaldun and the Axa Delta marked the southern frontier and that on the islands of the Mississippi wild horses procreate. What we call the world no longer exists. Our salvation is to look through mirrors, those little universes that we carry with us, everywhere, all the time. We came to the conclusion that if we can understand the world that is presented to us through these entities, perhaps we will be able to understand that imagination and time are the only features that separate us from other beings.
We know we are lying.
That night, we held in our hands a vast methodical fragment of an unknown labyrinth’s entire history, with its symmetric architecture and its playing sounds, with the dread of its mythologies and the murmur of its infinite languages singed by muttering animals, with its emperors and its seas, with its shiny minerals and its colourful birds, with its algebra and its fire, with its theological and metaphysical controversies. And all of it articulated, coherent, with no visible doctrinal intent or tone of parody.
Silence in the studio.
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