Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
K.A.
Hermal
Beni Bischof
LISTMANIA: BIG BUGS
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Kommt ein Polizist zu einem Mann, der beschuldigt wird, seinen kleinen Sohn zu Tode geschüttelt zu haben. Wie ist denn das passiert?, will der Polizist wissen. So!, gibt der Mann...
In Jugoslawien wurde viel publiziert und wenig weggeworfen. So hatte man die Möglichkeit, in staatlichen Galerien und Museen Ausstellungskataloge und Kunstzeitschriften für Pfennige zu schießen. Einen besonderen Platz in meinem...
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...
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.
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
I said “Would you like a rope? You know that haul you have is not secured properly.”
“No,” he said, “but I see you have string!”
“If this comes into motion—” I said, “you should use a rope.”
“Any poison ivy on that? ” he asked me, and I told him my rope had been in the barn peacefully for years.
He took a length of it to the bedside table. He had no concept for what wood could endure.
“Table must have broken when I lashed it onto the truck,” he said.
And, when he was moving the sewing machine, he let the cast iron wheels—bang, bang on the stair.
I had settled down to pack up the flamingo cookie jar, the cutlery, and the cookware, but stopped briefly, for how many times do you catch sudden sight of something heartfelt?
I saw our milk cows in their slow...
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.