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Maria Filomena Molder . The Alms of Time . . . . . . . . . . Charlemagne Rides through Paris . . . . . Behind the Great Firewall . . . . . A.K. Kaiza . An Annotated History of Wakanda . . . . . I remember . . . . . Boutiques on the Bosporus . . . . . Honoré Daumier: Don Quixote lisant . . . . . Je me souviens . . . . . Slavs and Tatars . Reverse Joy . . . . . Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger . Fiktionen von Heimat . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto . . . . . Artificial and Other Intelligences . . . . . Jochen Thermann . Der Hilfskoch . . . . . Helmut J. Schneider . Wie fern darf der Nächste sein? . . . . . Corona Park, Hub of theWorld . . . . . Barbara Basting . Der Algorithmus und ich 8 . . . . . Thomas Huber . Generation of the Lynn Hershman Antibody . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Political Transplants . . . . . Angelika Meier . Wer ich wirklich bin . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . . Xenolinguistics . . . . . Helmut J. Schneider . How Distant Can My Neighbor be? . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Politische Transplantate . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit: un corps à corps avec l’inconnu . . . . . Jochen Thermann . The Assistant Chef . . . . . Maria Filomena Molder . Die Almosen der Zeit . . . . . Jochen Thermann . L’aide-cuisinier . . . . . Angelika Meier . Who I Really Am . . . . . Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger . Homeland Fictions . . . . . Slavs and Tatars . Reverse Joy . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . A.K. Kaiza . Eine kommentierte Geschichte Wakandas . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Transplants politiques . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit. Hautnah am Körper des Unbekannten

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DIAPHANES MAGAZINE No. 4
DIAPHANES MAGAZINE No. 1

 

Corona Park, Hub of theWorld

Barbara Basting, 28.08.2021

I’ve always been fascinated by globes, which is why I photographed this very special example in 2011, and the FB...

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...

Other columns
  • I remember

    I remember

    Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…

  • LISTMANIA

    LISTMANIA

    Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…

  • 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
From xenolinguistics to cephalo­pods

From xenolinguistics to cephalo­pods

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  • utopia
  • linguistics
  • semiotics and semiology
  • communication media
  • science fiction
  • communication

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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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