Somewhere between a half-remembered dream and the hum of a dying radio tower, Leninghaus persists. It is not a label, nor a movement—it is an occurrence. A disturbance in the airwaves. A whisper from the wrong side of the dial.

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Its transmissions arrive without warning: a voice lost in static, a rhythm that stumbles but does not fall, a harmony that questions its own existence. Nothing here follows expectation, and yet, everything obeys a logic unknown even to itself.

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To listen is to be pulled into the undertow, to laugh at the absurdity of structure and surrender to the beautiful chaos of the unresolved. Leninghaus does not seek an audience. It merely leaves the door ajar.

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Enter, if the signal finds you.