I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Alexander García Düttmann
Cold Distance
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Michael Heitz
Another New God in Parts
Beni Bischof
LISTMANIA: BIG BUGS
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
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...
I noticed this pattern for fingernail decoration four years ago in the window of a “nail studio” in Salisbury, south-west...
I’m no longer very happy with Facebook. Recently the algorithm seems to be taking the platform into total despotism. And...
Facebook recently wanted to make merry with me. To this aim it posted an entry on my notice board, which...
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
…rather alarms, to truth to arm her than enemies, and they have only this advantage to scape from being called ill things, that they are nothings…
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
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.