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
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Jochen Thermann
The Assistant Chef
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Donatien Grau, Pierre Guyotat
Conversation
Trmasan Bruialesi
Lieber Paul 1
Jean-Luc Nancy
Je me souviens (Jean-Luc Nancy)
1. Tell the Earth, “I love you. I can’t live without you."
2. At first you may feel embarrassed...
Plörre
Smegma
Ohrwurm
Schlamassel
Kummerspeck
Weltschmerz
Gesöff
Fernweh
Lotterbett
Spelunke
Scharmützel
Donnerwetter
Schabracke
Mumpitz
Spatzenhirn
Lustmolch
Kaschemme
Spinatwachtel
Popanz
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!”
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
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.
In the late nineteenth century Alfred Jarry created a prototype of the modern wannabe in his pot-bellied Père Ubu, a figure that raises entitlement to a high art. Ubu doesn’t want to be king; others urge him to it. But he is also the others. And when he does become king, CEO, or US president, he doesn’t know what it means, or if it means anything at all. He just states his claim. And so he shimmies from statement to power. And having obtained power, Ubu decerebrates the world, exposing the grounds for groundlessness, to paraphrase Ortega y Gasset. Ubu is a tautomaniac, that is, he can be explained in his own terms and is thus always in the right (being in the right is all he is). He needs no proof, but on the contrary wants “to turn the absurd into the highest power of thought” (Deleuze & Guattari)....
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.