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When life’s hard, time’s a motherfucker going slow
When life’s hard, time’s a motherfucker going slow

Soham Gupta

Angst

Through the grayness of this concrete city, streams of tin-box vehicles flow ahead languidly – and like at a river’s delta, distributaries of little hatchbacks and dented yellow taxis branch off from the main road, spreading in varied directions. From your roof, you can see the whole city, you can feel it’s pulse – yet, there is such a strange silence around you, it’s as if the noise below is far, far away, so far that you are actually longing...

 

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Skin marks us in the world
Skin marks us in the world

Eduardo Jorge de Oliveira

Invented Skins

You never know how many skins you have had by having a single skin. However, this skin has an inseparable memory of the future. Its vital movement depends on this dynamic that inserts it in a specific present. Thus, if skin makes us human, it is also a set of points that mark different ways of feeling. We feel the world through the fragility of our skin. Microorganisms exist in this skin. The most human portion also contains inhuman matter...
  • intertextuality
  • aesthetics
  • avant-garde
  • Think Art
  • Brazil
Current Texts

Tom McCarthy

Ecstasy of inauthenticity

The question of authenticity and I go back some way; we’re old sparring partners – frenemies. It’s been a fraught relationship, shot through with paradox and misconstruing. My first novel, Remainder, does turn around its protagonist’s obsession with becoming ‘real’, inhabiting his era or his city, building, skin, movements and gestures in a ‘first-hand’ or ‘authentic’ way, an obsession which he carries to the point of murder. Yet the pleasure of seeing this book receiving glowing press reviews that praised it for its ‘originality’ and ‘true’-ness was tinged with an awareness of something being odd or ‘off’, since Remainder is in fact the most un-original of novels, a novel about non-originality and simulacra that’s quite blatantly composed of set tropes and constructed situations reprised and, only slightly modified, replayed from sources ranging from Ballard’s Crash and Beckett’s Godot back to Sterne’s Tristram Shandy (Uncle Toby’s domestic re-stagings of battle terrains)...

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  • identity
  • contemporary literature
  • psychoanalysis
  • Jacques Lacan