The Grand Generalization
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Feedback as Authenticity
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
I Hate the Avant-garde
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Malte Fabian Rauch
Phenomena in Exile
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
The Assistant Chef
As an eminent medium of slowness, printed books appear to some as the deadwood, to others as the driftwood, of the intellect, the finding and gathering of which not only fills the shelves. As the veritable bearers of latency they hold the possibility of tracking down—unobserved and at odds with the zeitgeist — what stimulates the senses and thought in unattained present or future long past. The best examples (often discarded from libraries around the world or barely known) shine from afar like messages in bottles on the banks of time. DIAPHANES seeks out the raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
Bearded Ladies, Dwarfs and Giants, Hermaphrodites, Siamese Twins (see Heng and Chang on the book cover), the Mule-headed Lady, The Serpent-Woman, The Amazing Half-Boy (famous for his appearance in Tod...
Andreas L. Hofbauer, René Luckhardt: HER
Wien: Der Konterfei 2015
limitierte Ausgabe, 50 Seiten
In einem Onlineforum, das sich mit dem Umzug ins 40 Lichtjahre von uns entfernte Planeten-system...
Capt. Norman Macmillan:
How to Pilot an Aeroplane,
George Allen & Unwin LTD: London 1942,
first edition, 110 pages
This book told me just what I had to know before...
…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…
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
»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.