Rubber Glue Springs

The canceled future has arrived. A mysterious agent sends the protagonist on a mission to find a lost manuscript. The journey leads to a crumbling utopia, where Alissa roams, having discovered the magical properties of household chemicals. What emerges is the wildest text ever written in Estonia—a direct fuel for the mind.

In Rubber Glue Springs, KIWA creates a world rather than tells a story. This world is both past and present: it carries the underground essence of the transitional era but takes on the rhetorical form of the contemporary. It reaches us not through people but through things and phenomena, not through polished storytelling of meaningful narratives but through detailed poetic lists of immediate conscious sensory data.

Post-industrial wastelands, synthetic soundscapes, automatic-writing inner landscapes, etc.—the mapping consciousness flows seamlessly between all of these, like Alice in a late-socialist Wonderland. This world holds sadness and inevitability but also humor and drive. Its texture often resembles the sentence-level grit of cyberpunk. And there’s plenty of punk in its essence, too. However, the technical non-space of cyberspace is replaced by a kaleidoscopic, psychedelic inner cosmos fueled by rubber glue (or something else?).

It feels like walking around a film set where reality is made of cardboard props. Falling through into a dreamlike world, the senses and perception sharpen for real. A precise exploration of the balance between the burden and pleasure of world-building. A sensory, effortless, and dream-trusting trip into a subconscious adventure park, surprising with both familiar and haunting landmarks throughout the work.