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
A Life in Philology
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Beni Bischof
LISTMANIA: BIG BUGS
Stephen Barber
I remember (Stephen Barber)
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
It may be due to the simple design of this dust jacket, which gives no indication of genre, and to...
The Nonexistent Giotto
A picture may announce the future not in the sense that it refers to any future events...
Although contemporaries attested Romantic qualities to François Gérard’s Belisar, it didn’t appeal to the arch-Romantic Delacroix: “The fortune of a...
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
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.
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
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.