The Aural Manual

You slowly approached the middle of the room on a warm desert night. The air is warm and dry. You can feel particles of sand moving around your ankles as a slight breeze pushes past you every now and then.  In the sandstone floor there is a small depression in the form of a ring.

Chocolate Croissant Eaters Anonymous

Chocolate croissant eaters anonymous  May your passionate true purpose be revealed in your neurotic embryonic bypass, gas-mask placenta  I mean nothing by her yours I’s I mean eye like icecream No question  We’re not so different  We both go to school (in and out) It’s up to you to know purpose What butter, baby I’ll

Borders

The body that demaractates me  Is the first barrier  That I pondered passing I was four years old when I first misplaced my tongue When I  Slurped it down  Spurring my eyes shut                         Puncturing an entrance  To a rear rescue room  I ran to grasp my body  I gasped to own it  Like one owns

Much of a Muchness

I. Apoplethecary There were days when, fettered by the combustion engine, tick-tocking toked-up daze Of an electric, lithophane, plugged in life, Honed by a thousands hints when so small things became wrapped up in skin, So begin to fester underground in the belly of the beast beset by newsfeeds Of felled trees and ever more

My Thesis in 5 Photos: Vala Schriefer

Welcome back to “My Thesis in 5 Photos”— a series in which fourth year graduating students share images that illustrate their thesis process—the good, the bad, and especially, the ugly. Here, co-editor of the blog Vala who studies Art and Aesthetics, shares moments from her thesis on Michelangelo’s unfinished sculptures the Prisoners. 1. Haunted by

Light Garden

That was a spooky step Some kind of  Marble-magnetism Whirling me like a spinning top A dreidel on warm wood Make a cord I stayed full, a friend close by Repeat an obsession and it becomes a ratio to your world  I do not like ratio talk, I think of using either nausea or plums, 

BCB Goes Green

The first thing that comes to my mind when I think about climate change, is the proleptic picture of a frightening future. A future full of doom. The Berlin sky feels infected: still, stagnant, and stale, like an overhead sewer. The air smells of gasoline, tar, and dirty dust. When it rains, the rain is