A photographer catches fire. A woman loses her memory. A vacuum cleaner manufacturer is suspected of dismembering bodies. Blaszczykowski, Nespoli, Schmittkopf. People and events that seem distant from each other yet become entangled, intertwining and losing their thread before it reappears elsewhere, this red, all too red thread drawn by blood at the hem of Viola Nespoli's dress. No murder squad can keep track of it all: Sgarby, Kottwitz, Schwarz, and Rütters. A flourishing cartel behind names and their revenants works hard in the service of imagination and desire, art, and other crimes. And this could go on endlessly, in Poland, Mexico, Sicily, on paper, and in the minds of others. With wild intelligence and precise choreography, Gomes/Thermann show us how meaning transcends reason.