Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Manuel Franquelo
An interview with Manuel Franquelo
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Hendrik Rohlf
Richard Prince (Book)
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Pierre Guyotat
Autoportrait
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
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...
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
…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…
We are looking for relics of visions of the future in past image spaces, for the traces and signatures of something once imaginable and timelessly possible.
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.