Between codes and networks, in this very instant, in time gone by and during the era that is yet to come, the things that we are and the things we are yet to be come through, collide and transform. Is it realism that is killing us? We exterminate realism using metadata. We store the futurisms; we cross fields both visible and invisible, we modify that which we are and that which we are not; we change the things that make us what we are; we change our colour, our body parts; we change every single condition of our existence.
Τhe first source-text of issue 12 is made up from a patchwork of phrases from a variety of sources: Kathy Acker’s speech “The Killers”; Mark Amerika’s “Meta/Data”, a diatribe on textuality after the advent of the database; Antonio Negri’s “Art and Multitude”, an investigation into art’s revolutionary potential; poetic works such as Rae Armantrout’s “Up to Speed”; Theodoros Chiotis’ “Container I: Codes & Coordinates”, “040619. Names and Locations / 406190.Empire (enantiomorph)” and “Windmills (as vast as time-machines)”; T. S. Eliot’s (Burnt Norton) from “Four Quartets”; Janet Holmes’ “The ms of my kin”; Andrew Schelling’s “Road to Ocossingo”; Susan Slaviero’s “Cyborgia”; Billy Marshall-Stoneking’s “Passage”; prose works such as Kenneth Goldsmith’s “Traffic”, W. S. Burroughs’ “The Ticket that Exploded”, “Western Lands” και “Cities of the Red Night”, Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland”, Reza Negarestani’s “Cyclonopedia” and Jeff Noon’s “Automated Alice” and last but not least, Lena Platonos’ song “An unsolved physics exercise”.
Editing/Curating: Theodoros Chiotis, Dimitra Ioannou.
chain reactions emitting from ligatures,
hieroglyphs and defixiones
you might be trapped in a liquid nitrogen enchantment for a hundred years
Alice looked up the glass eye of the microscope and saw another eye
– a giant eye —
an almost human eye–
looking back down at
God may be dead, but the king is not, and he is trying to rebuild Leviathan and to stifle us through the reconfiguration of identities.
Our nervous system will detach itself from our bodies and
In this boundless space we will pick spots where there will be no reflection
When something reaches the speed of light it will appear to freeze
a prophet that looks like a hologram but isn’t
“Is it safe?”
“Is what safe?”
“Our ability to communicate?”
“It depends on your programming. I dare say you haven’t had much practice”
“Yeah, I feel like we’re under surveillance.”
“Yes, wasn’t that the audience?”
Particular mechanisms arrange awkward in neural network. An error of handling language becomes an error of error language
a voyeur in hexadecimal: one can’t believe impossible things
Galaxies run from us. “Don’t look!”
The objective is SPACE
Here is a place of disaffection
Take it in like a translator
copy it down
there are names and categories and other things becoming visible after a considerable amount of time has passed:
moments carrying no special weight at the moment revealing themselves in the future.
conforming waterproof voices
emaciated feet in a race to keep still
Investing form with lucid stillness
…a fixed image is the basic mortality error,
that cannot be allowed to change, certainly not to change color.
inductive and dehumanizing.
Realism is simply a control method.
Don’t forget the alternate side of the street parking rules, if you do manage to drive into the city, will be suspended for the duration of the holiday, but you’ll still have to pay the meters.
the echoes shall become autonomous; every piece of signage will come to mean
sticker ads will seal off the fractures where
the cities join with one another
WHEREVER YOU ARE, BE SOMEWHERE ELSE.
This story should rightfully end upon this very moment.
In a fit of repugnance
rips itself in half,
producing a twin
and the future is now and things take on names they have chosen themselves
NOTHING IS TRUE. EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED.
This is the Law.
Alice would feel a terrible itching inside her skull…
it was as though a thousand termites were running
thither with telepathic messages
Neferti is dropping his Ego, his
his face to meet the faces that he meets.
He denies the story
a telepathic being with greenish skin smokes a cigarette
smokes plutonium cigarettes on the starboard side
learn the tinkling metal voice of space paper
This is the power of the Song .
This is nothing but the machinery but the machinery of
a black revolution,
twisted from the beginning,
epidemic to the end.
I.T. – Identity Transfer