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
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Andreas Reihse
LISTMANIA: GUANAJUATONOVIEMBRE
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...
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...
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
We are looking for relics of visions of the future in past image spaces, for the traces and signatures of something once imaginable and timelessly possible.
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
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.