Let ourselves remain in the cracks of sleep, where dream and rest are practices of a post-future world without ground. In this scenario, hammocks and pillows are the foundation of politics and culture. These entities are the soul of a virtual network based only on imagination and speculation. In this suspended world, the inhabitants find themselves weaving their own reality and being prey to it. The story of the World with No Ground is nourished by lazy superheroines and parables on precious objects and plants that once belonged to the ordinary urban landscape. What would happen if small bodies made an uprising en masse? Which networks hold us from collapsing? And which collapses build our reality?

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