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)
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
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Alexander García Düttmann
Cold Distance
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Tom Kummer
Questionnaire Tom Kummer
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Dorothee Scheiffarth
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CLOUD NAMES
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
Haus am Gern
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée (Blog1)
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Kommt ein Polizist zu einem Mann, der beschuldigt wird, seinen kleinen Sohn zu Tode geschüttelt zu haben. Wie ist denn das passiert?, will der Polizist wissen. So!, gibt der Mann...
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...
Bearded Ladies, Dwarfs and Giants, Hermaphrodites, Siamese Twins (see Heng and Chang on the book cover), the Mule-headed Lady, The Serpent-Woman, The Amazing Half-Boy (famous for his appearance in Tod...
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.
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
We are looking for relics of visions of the future in past image spaces, for the traces and signatures of something once imaginable and timelessly possible.
…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 question of authenticity and I go back some way; we’re old sparring partners – frenemies. It’s been a fraught relationship, shot through with paradox and misconstruing. My first novel, Remainder, does turn around its protagonist’s obsession with becoming ‘real’, inhabiting his era or his city, building, skin, movements and gestures in a ‘first-hand’ or ‘authentic’ way, an obsession which he carries to the point of murder. Yet the pleasure of seeing this book receiving glowing press reviews that praised it for its ‘originality’ and ‘true’-ness was tinged with an awareness of something being odd or ‘off’, since Remainder is in fact the most un-original of novels, a novel about non-originality and simulacra that’s quite blatantly composed of set tropes and constructed situations reprised and, only slightly modified, replayed from sources ranging from Ballard’s Crash and Beckett’s Godot back to Sterne’s Tristram Shandy (Uncle Toby’s domestic re-stagings of battle terrains)...
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.