Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Haus am Gern
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée (Blog1)
John Donne
Paradox I
Damian Christinger
Huelsenbeck (Book)
Jean-Luc Nancy
Je me souviens (Jean-Luc Nancy)
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
A Little Paris Nightmare
I loved Paris, even as a little boy, long before I lived there. I was like Pinocchio wandering about in some strange Land of Toys. I...
Ich erinnere mich an gewellte goldene Kornfelder.
Ich erinnere mich an mich; in der Peripherie des Bildes.
Ich erinnere mich an die...
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
Not on any Knowlede’s service this register in progress seeks accumulating entries of imagenables: names, objects, imaginations… singularities, that neither have to be thought nor upon which must be speculated.
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.