Feedback as Authenticity
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Malte Fabian Rauch
Phenomena in Exile
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Lieber Paul 3
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Tom Kummer
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
LISTMANIA: ABT. DIE DUEMMSTEN BERLINER FRISÖRNAMEN
I remember (Stephen Barber)
Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile
Richard Prince (Book)
DIAPHANES is collecting lists: conceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections in the serenely fatal undertaking of classifying an unclassifiable present, of orienting ourselves through the stringing together of self-determined entries. The freely associated registers (including unequal and redundant items) are a call to attention or simply the excursive (as every list is potentially infinitely long or short) inventory of taste or consciousness.
Es sei uns gestattet, hier einmal sämtliche Gründe aufzuzählen, warum wir von Schach nichts halten.
1. Es ist ein...
1. Tell the Earth, “I love you. I can’t live without you."
2. At first you may feel embarrassed...
1 Luminous Procuress
3 Brass Canon
4 Mexican Tea Party
6 New Earth
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.
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
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.
»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.«
Dire works on the bogus regime—not just of art—but endowed with wit, beauty and irresistible fetish character.