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Creation

You‘re entering a zone of fading. A hallway. A moment. A drug. The last bulb flickering. The others gave up long ago. Everything disappears. Everyone disappears. Slowly. Gradually. Fragment by fragment.

You‘re crossing a border. Communication breaking down. Demons whispering: Here. Here. Disappear here. You are encouraged to relax. You are encouraged to dissolve. Please take off your shoes. Please remove your name. Your face. You won’t be missed. But you will be monitored. If you remember who you were, do not say it out loud.

Is disappearing even possible anymore? And if so, how long does it take? Is there a rhythm to it? A pattern? Or is it just a gradual drift into smaller, quieter formats/versions of self designed to be tolerated?

Following up on last season‘s acclaimed performance on paranoia High Fever, Max Blom is about to craft another riveting, hilariously disturbing collage of texts, songs and magic moments for TNL, this time dealing with the subject of disappearance. Another trip into the unknown, consisting of broken instructions, distorted memories, and failed attempts at silence: Disappear Here.