You can see a rustling, turquoise-colored surface. It is not clear if it is a wall or a floor. The picture resembles an aquarium infested with algae. You lose the overview. There are lines on it that are reminiscent of scarred cuts and impressions from bygone times.

You hear steps that create a rhythm. The sound of a scratching noise indicates that new lines are emerging at the same time. I walk the room in a certain choreography. At the same time I say different, repetitive sentences, the regular structure of which is interrupted in two places by a short chant. It is not clear what reality I am in.