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
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Jochen Thermann
The Assistant Chef
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Tom Kummer
Questionnaire Tom Kummer
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Haus am Gern
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée (Blog1)
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
Facebook’s picture tumbler is currently reminding me of my first visit to China a year ago. I was impressed: so...
Facebook’s algorithm has served up memories of my Turkish travels often enough, but now it’s taking countermeasures and suddenly presenting...
I sit in the lobby of a hotel in China where I am accommodated along with other guests of an...
Facebook recently wanted to make merry with me. To this aim it posted an entry on my notice board, which...
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
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.
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
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.