"We are all waiting. Whether it is Godot or simply the end of the week — the waiting is the substance of it." — Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot (1953)
At the end of every Tuesday, Flautburg closes. The exact mechanism of closure is debated — whether the city stops or whether perception of it stops, whether the gates lock or whether the street simply ceases to be a street in any navigable sense. What is agreed is that by midnight, those still within the walls find themselves outside them, displaced without drama or explanation to wherever they consider home, carrying only what they had on their persons. Objects left inside are sometimes recovered the following Tuesday, sometimes not. The Institut's lost-property archive fills an entire sub-basement. Several questions remain, as of this filing, unresolved in a way the Bureau of Impossible Geography's standard documentation protocols are ill-equipped to accommodate. The Thursday Skeleton: its origin, purpose, and the question of whether it departs or merely stops being visible. The nature of the pre-arrival silence, and whether Löhnig's reading of it as pneumatic text is falsifiable in...
From the lore of Flatulence as Logos: The Pneumatic Language of the Disenfranchised.