I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Tom Kummer
Questionnaire Tom Kummer
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Hendrik Rohlf
Richard Prince (Book)
Luc Meresma
Capt. Norman MacMillan (Book)
Peter Ott
The Monotheistic Cell Or Reports from Fiction
It may be due to the simple design of this dust jacket, which gives no indication of genre, and to...
The Nonexistent Giotto
A picture may announce the future not in the sense that it refers to any future events...
Although contemporaries attested Romantic qualities to François Gérard’s Belisar, it didn’t appeal to the arch-Romantic Delacroix: “The fortune of a...
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
My language
English
Selected content
English
»Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, MAESTRO DI COLOR CHE SANNO. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.
Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs
marching. No, agallop: DELINE THE MARE.
Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since?
If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. BASTA! I will see
if I can see.
See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world
without end.«
James Joyce
Dire works on the bogus regime—not just of art—but endowed with wit, beauty and irresistible fetish character.