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
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Malte Fabian Rauch
Phenomena in Exile
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Tom Kummer
Questionnaire Tom Kummer
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Trmasan Bruialesi
Lieber Paul 1
Andreas Reihse
LISTMANIA: GUANAJUATONOVIEMBRE
Donatien Grau, Pierre Guyotat
Conversation
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
Ich erinnere mich an mein Exemplar von Alles kurz und klein, das weg ist, verschwunden! – wer erinnert sich, es...
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
…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…
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
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.