I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
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
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Alexander García Düttmann
Cold Distance
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Jochen Thermann
The Assistant Chef
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Tom Kummer
Questionnaire Tom Kummer
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Blixa Bargeld
LISTMANIA: ABT. DIE DUEMMSTEN BERLINER FRISÖRNAMEN
Damian Christinger
Huelsenbeck (Book)
Trmasan Bruialesi
Lieber Paul 1
Facebook’s picture tumbler is currently reminding me of my first visit to China a year ago. I was impressed: so...
I sit in the lobby of a hotel in China where I am accommodated along with other guests of an...
I’m no longer very happy with Facebook. Recently the algorithm seems to be taking the platform into total despotism. And...
The Facebook algorithm has noticed that I have something to do with art and museums, and presents me with a...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
…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…
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
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.