Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Feedback as Authenticity
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Malte Fabian Rauch
Where the Negative Holds Court
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Don Quixote lisant
DIAPHANES is collecting lists: conceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections in the serenely fatal undertaking of classifying an unclassifiable present, of orienting ourselves through the stringing together of self-determined entries. The freely associated registers (including unequal and redundant items) are a call to attention or simply the excursive (as every list is potentially infinitely long or short) inventory of taste or consciousness.
¡ Wenn sie im Flugzeug freie Plätze sehen, dann nicht darum prügeln !
¡ Auf gar keinen Fall darf...
1. Tell the Earth, “I love you. I can’t live without you."
2. At first you may feel embarrassed...
Cumulus tuba ;
Cirrus cumulonimbogenitus ;
mother-of-pearl cloud ;
Altocumulus translucidus ;
…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…
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
»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.«
Dire works on the bogus regime—not just of art—but endowed with wit, beauty and irresistible fetish character.