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
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
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
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Manuel Franquelo
An interview with Manuel Franquelo
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Mário Gomes
The Poetics of Architecture
Aya Momose
Questionnaire Aya Momose
Oliver Hendricks
Human Oddities (Book)
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Tyler Coburn
Quaddie
Michael Heitz
Another New God in Parts
So wie geplant kommt es ja selten, meistens ergibt sich etwas halt so. Das ist weniger der Zustand der Welt...
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...
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
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.