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
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Malte Fabian Rauch
Where the Negative Holds Court
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Jochen Thermann
The Assistant Chef
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Marcus Quent
Elapsing Time and Belief in the World
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Mário Gomes
The Poetics of Architecture
Tom Kummer
Questionnaire Tom Kummer
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Ute Holl
Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile
1. Tell the Earth, “I love you. I can’t live without you."
2. At first you may feel embarrassed...
Cumulus tuba ;
Cirrus cumulonimbogenitus ;
Wallcloud ;
Bannerwolke ;
Föhnfische ;
mother-of-pearl cloud ;
Altocumulus translucidus ;
Stratocumulus...
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
…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
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.
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.