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
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Homeland Fictions
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Manuel Franquelo
An interview with Manuel Franquelo
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Dorothee Scheiffarth
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CLOUD NAMES
Beni Bischof
LISTMANIA: BIG BUGS
Stephen Barber
I remember (Stephen Barber)
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
The Three Marias is a highly interesting work of feminist literature, although it’s now largely forgotten outside of its native Portugal. In the early 70s, while the country was still...
Capt. Norman Macmillan:
How to Pilot an Aeroplane,
George Allen & Unwin LTD: London 1942,
first edition, 110 pages
This book told me just what I had to know before...
Richard Prince: American English
Sadie Coles HQ/Verlag der Buchhandlung Walther König: London/Köln, 2003
Limited Edition, ohne Paginierung
Das Foto mit der Frau auf dem Fahrrad wiederholt sich auf der...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
Now the dead will no longer be buried, now this spectral city will become the site for execrations and lamentations, now time itself will disintegrate and void itself, now human bodies will expectorate fury and envision their own transformation or negation, now infinite and untold catastrophes are imminently on their way —ready to cross the bridge over the river Aire and engulf us all — in this winter of discontent, just beginning at this dead-of-night instant before midnight, North-Sea ice-particles already crackling in the air and the last summer long-over, the final moment of my seventeenth birthday, so we have to go, the devil is at our heels… And now we’re running at full-tilt through the centre of the city, across the square beneath the Purbeck-marble edifice of the Queen’s Hotel, down towards the dark arches under the railway tracks, the illuminated sky shaking, the air fissured with beating cacophony,...
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.