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
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Ute Holl
Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile
Michael Heitz
Another New God in Parts
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Facebook’s algorithm has served up memories of my Turkish travels often enough, but now it’s taking countermeasures and suddenly presenting...
I noticed this pattern for fingernail decoration four years ago in the window of a “nail studio” in Salisbury, south-west...
I’m no longer very happy with Facebook. Recently the algorithm seems to be taking the platform into total despotism. And...
The Facebook algorithm has noticed that I have something to do with art and museums, and presents me with a...
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.
…rather alarms, to truth to arm her than enemies, and they have only this advantage to scape from being called ill things, that they are nothings…
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
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.