Author Archives: dmf
Vtv
Errol Morris on philosophical smoke & mirrors or show me the evidence
NO LAB in RMB City
The city smells of decay (journal of biourbanism)
Decomposition & Simultaneity: New Prospects for an Old Avant-Garde
SynTalk the magic of making
“Is all making curating? Is the location of a maker a fiction? Are there always rules to making? Is any expression preceded by an act of repression? How, then, is […]
chinese night, mike horn
“…because the Southern Strategy” the presidential edition free black press radio
The Infra-Ordinary (Georges Perec)
What’s needed perhaps is finally to found our own anthropology, one that will speak about us, will look in ourselves for what for so long we’ve been pillaging from others. […]
talking continued ruination w/ Caitlin DeSilvey
All I have is a voice To undo the folded lie, The romantic lie in the brain Of the sensual man-in-the-street And the lie of Authority
I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over […]
merry merry syn-zeros
Frankly whatever…..martin rowson
memory of the world library
thousands of freed books, thanks to @ubuweb for the link https://library.memoryoftheworld.org/
Continental Drift Then & Now -Brian Holmes & Claire Pentecost
Kent Monkman’s The Deposition
Deleuze and Guattari: New Earth, New People
Originally posted on Deterritorial Investigations :
Deleuze and Guattari not only describe refrains a small rhythms that one carries within themselves while moving through chaos – they littered their joint works…
Nightmarish Modernism & The Shock of the New
http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/http://archive.org/download/082114OSPODCASTWW1Modernism/082114-OS-PODCAST-WW1-modernism.mp3 “Out of the mire and death of World War One, even before the shooting stops, comes the strangest thing: the novel of the century. It’s James Joyce’s Ulysses, transposing […]
On a Dark-Blue December Morning
On a dark-blue December morning We leave the warmth of our homes And go out silently into the frost. The wooden kiosk is covered with ice, Steam rises steeply into […]
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