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from Seizure Book

I must have felt that the body was a sheet of plain glass through which my soul looked straight and clear. I was concerned mostly with filling up my mind. I wanted it to get fattened with facts and stories, with literature, philosophy, history. I wanted to have an indexical knowledge of culture. I filled myself until the sheet of plain glass smashed and I saw my surroundings through cracks.

TOM MOTLEY: Tragic Strip



This exquisitely composed and nuanced photo-novel by French artist-writer Anouck Durand—collaged from photographic archives, personal letters and propaganda magazines—tells the true story of a friendship between two photographers forged in the crucible of war. It begins in Albania during World War II, stops in China during the Cold War, and ends in Israel as Communism is crumbling.

inSerial: part eleven
Delusions of Being Observed

“The one thing to remember about Melville is that he wrote Moby Dick when he was thirty years old. Thirty.” I hold up a battered paperback copy. The same copy I read in high school.

from 88 Dreams

An immense moon, whose whitish decaying matter is thickly strewn with volcanoes, was quite close to me, surrounded by an absolute darkness. The lower edge of the sphere leaned against my work table.

an extract from Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl

Like a shark, Paul had to keep moving. He slept only when necessary. He had business with the world, codes to crack, so many questions. Tonight, for example, Paul needed to know what fucking was like for girls.

Lost and Found Animals Part 11: N-Escolia Wilawispia Transitoria [NEWT] (Periscopia Microcosmica Gershgorniana)

Suddenly, we see someone with a myna bird on his shoulders. Or he has an opossum on a leash and is leading it along the sidewalk, in summer, in the middle of an autumnal city and proud of his captive friend. Or perhaps a man walks by us with a boa constrictor around his neck and limply dangling over his upper arms. We are surprised. What are pets, and what animals can become our pets? A question mark hangs somewhere in the back of our heads.


The Stampographer traverses the fantastic, anarchic imagination of Parisian artist Vincent Sardon, whose dark, combative sense of humor is infused with Dadaist subversion and Pataphysical play.


The Brooklyn Rail

SEPT 2017

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