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
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Alexander García Düttmann
Cold Distance
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
The Transversal Shelf of Printed Books in Times of Accelerated Opaque Media
Peter Ott
The Monotheistic Cell Or Reports from Fiction
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
Une Trinité de mémoire
Je me souviens de quelques lieux, de quelques parfums d’enfance. En Amérique du Sud, en Equateur, à...
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...
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
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.