I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Peter Ott
The Monotheistic Cell Or Reports from Fiction
Luc Meresma
Capt. Norman MacMillan (Book)
Pierre Guyotat
Autoportrait
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
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...
La soif
Quand j’étais enfant, près de la maison ou j’habitais, il y avait une voie ferrée. Avant de m'endormir, j’entendais...
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
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.