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Mike Wilson . Rockabilly . . . . . THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CLOUD NAMES . . . . . ABT. DIE DUEMMSTEN BERLINER FRISÖRNAMEN . . . . . Paradox I: That all things kill themselves . . . . . 12 May 2011 – 12 May 2017: On Non-Digital Storage Media . . . . . Marcus Quent . Ohne Halt . . . . . TWELVE DRUMMERS DRUMMING . . . . . Pierre Guyotat . Unabhängigkeit . . . . . Charlemagne Rides through Paris . . . . . 12 Feb 2011 — 12 Feb 2017 . . . . . Self-portrait . . . . . HER . . . . . Michael Heitz . Noch ein neuer Gott in Teilen . . . . . BIG BUGS . . . . . Ute Holl . Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile . . . . . Pierre Guyotat . The Prison . . . . . Je me souviens… . . . . . I remember . . . . . GUANAJUATONOVIEMBRE . . . . . Human Oddities . . . . . Problem IX: Warum haben Hurenkinder das allermeiste Glück? . . . . . Exodus. Gods and Kings . . . . . Tyler Coburn . Ergonomic Futures . . . . . How to Pilot an Aeroplane . . . . . Ich erinnere mich… . . . . . Mário Gomes . Brandsatz & Ästhetik . . . . . Artificial and Other Intelligences . . . . . LISTMANIA . . . . . Behind the Great Firewall . . . . . L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée . . . . . Peter Ott . Die monotheistische Zelle oder Berichte aus der Fiktion . . . . . This is not your blood. . . . . . Donatien Grau, Pierre Guyotat . Conversation . . . . . Custom Creates Law . . . . . Boutiques on the Bosporus . . . . . Facebook’s Just a Nail Studio . . . . . The Transversal Shelf of Printed Books in Times of Accelerated Opaque Media . . . . . American English . . . . . I remember . . . . . Barbara Basting — The Algorithm and I . . . . . Hermal . . . . . China frisst Menschen . . . . . Quaddie . . . . . I remember… . . . . . Peter Ott . The Monotheistic Cell Or Reports from Fiction . . . . . Marcus Quent . No Respite . . . . . Mike Wilson . Rockabilly . . . . . Julien Maret . IN EXTREMIS . . . . . Michael Heitz . Another New God in Parts

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DIAPHANES MAGAZINE No. 8/9

 

25 WAYS TO MAKE LOVE TO THE EARTH

Annie Sprinkle, Beth Stephens, 03.07.2017

1. Tell the Earth, “I love you. I can’t live without you."

2. At first you may feel embarrassed...

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CLOUD NAMES

Dorothee Scheiffarth, 24.03.2017

Cumulus tuba ;
Cirrus cumulonimbogenitus ;
Wallcloud ;
Bannerwolke ;
Föhnfische ;
mother-of-pearl cloud ;
Altocumulus translucidus ;
Stratocumulus...

BIG BUGS

Beni Bischof, 24.03.2017

Forever!

Star

Shame!

Cheat

War

Wedding

Psych

Suicide

Dying!

Love

Other columns
  • Questionnaire

    Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?

  • John Donne’s Paradoxes and Problems

    John Donne’s Paradoxes and Problems

    …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

    L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée

    L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée

  • FICTIONARY

    FICTIONARY

    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.

Magazine Special

Ute Holl

Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile

OPEN
ACCESS
  • communism
  • monotheism
  • film
  • exile
  • Karl Marx

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

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