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

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We like !
DIAPHANES MAGAZINE No. 6/7

How could Dante be avant-garde?

Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers

What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?

DIAPHANES MAGAZINE No. 4

 

Charlemagne Rides through Paris

Barbara Basting, 04.12.2019

Facebook’s algorithm has served up memories of my Turkish travels often enough, but now it’s taking countermeasures and suddenly presenting...

Facebook’s Just a Nail Studio

Barbara Basting, 10.04.2018

I noticed this pattern for fingernail decoration four years ago in the window of a “nail studio” in Salisbury, south-west...

12 Feb 2011 — 12 Feb 2017

Barbara Basting, 24.03.2017

Facebook recently wanted to make merry with me. To this aim it posted an entry on my notice board, which...

12 May 2011 – 12 May 2017: On Non-Digital Storage Media

Barbara Basting, 24.03.2017

The Facebook algorithm has noticed that I have something to do with art and museums, and presents me with a...

Other columns
  • Questionnaire

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

  • 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

  • Future Pluperfect

    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.

  • 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.

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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