Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
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
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Manuel Franquelo
An interview with Manuel Franquelo
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Marcus Quent
Elapsing Time and Belief in the World
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
John Donne
Paradox I
Oliver Hendricks
Human Oddities (Book)
Facebook’s algorithm has served up memories of my Turkish travels often enough, but now it’s taking countermeasures and suddenly presenting...
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...
The Facebook algorithm has noticed that I have something to do with art and museums, and presents me with a...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
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.
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
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.