There is journalism that frames the world of online video gaming as a dangerous addictive mega church. Stories of Chinese teenagers in diapers are curious and compelling. And suicide notes, in the voice of avatars, describing the joy of meeting friends in cyber heaven, seem stunningly tragic. Eighteen year old Devin Moore, a Grand Theft Auto obsessive, gifted the media with sensational last words before being sentenced to his death by lethal injection. “Life is a video game,” he said, “Everyone’s got to die sometime.”
A Body Farm is a research facility where forensic anthropologists can study the rates and processes of bodily decay under various conditions. Forty percent of the human bodies that are observed transitioning through the “fresh stage”, the “bloating stage”, “decay” and the “dry stage” have been pre-donated by the individuals themselves before their own death.
Read the full text here.
Read a response to Panoply of Grimoires by Kimberly Annukka Kolaps de Bruijne here.
There is journalism that frames the world of online video gaming as a dangerous addictive mega church. Stories of Chinese teenagers in diapers are curious and compelling. And suicide notes, in the voice of avatars, describing the joy of meeting friends in cyber heaven, seem stunningly tragic. Eighteen year old Devin Moore, a Grand Theft Auto obsessive, gifted the media with sensational last words before being sentenced to his death by lethal injection. “Life is a video game,” he said, “Everyone’s got to die sometime.”
A Body Farm is a research facility where forensic anthropologists can study the rates and processes of bodily decay under various conditions. Forty percent of the human bodies that are observed transitioning through the “fresh stage”, the “bloating stage”, “decay” and the “dry stage” have been pre-donated by the individuals themselves before their own death.
Read the full text here.
Read a response to Panoply of Grimoires by Kimberly Annukka Kolaps de Bruijne here.
There is journalism that frames the world of online video gaming as a dangerous addictive mega church. Stories of Chinese teenagers in diapers are curious and compelling. And suicide notes, in the voice of avatars, describing the joy of meeting friends in cyber heaven, seem stunningly tragic. Eighteen year old Devin Moore, a Grand Theft Auto obsessive, gifted the media with sensational last words before being sentenced to his death by lethal injection. “Life is a video game,” he said, “Everyone’s got to die sometime.”
A Body Farm is a research facility where forensic anthropologists can study the rates and processes of bodily decay under various conditions. Forty percent of the human bodies that are observed transitioning through the “fresh stage”, the “bloating stage”, “decay” and the “dry stage” have been pre-donated by the individuals themselves before their own death.
Read the full text here.
Read a response to Panoply of Grimoires by Kimberly Annukka Kolaps de Bruijne here.
There is journalism that frames the world of online video gaming as a dangerous addictive mega church. Stories of Chinese teenagers in diapers are curious and compelling. And suicide notes, in the voice of avatars, describing the joy of meeting friends in cyber heaven, seem stunningly tragic. Eighteen year old Devin Moore, a Grand Theft Auto obsessive, gifted the media with sensational last words before being sentenced to his death by lethal injection. “Life is a video game,” he said, “Everyone’s got to die sometime.”
A Body Farm is a research facility where forensic anthropologists can study the rates and processes of bodily decay under various conditions. Forty percent of the human bodies that are observed transitioning through the “fresh stage”, the “bloating stage”, “decay” and the “dry stage” have been pre-donated by the individuals themselves before their own death.
Read the full text here.
Read a response to Panoply of Grimoires by Kimberly Annukka Kolaps de Bruijne here.
There is journalism that frames the world of online video gaming as a dangerous addictive mega church. Stories of Chinese teenagers in diapers are curious and compelling. And suicide notes, in the voice of avatars, describing the joy of meeting friends in cyber heaven, seem stunningly tragic. Eighteen year old Devin Moore, a Grand Theft Auto obsessive, gifted the media with sensational last words before being sentenced to his death by lethal injection. “Life is a video game,” he said, “Everyone’s got to die sometime.”
A Body Farm is a research facility where forensic anthropologists can study the rates and processes of bodily decay under various conditions. Forty percent of the human bodies that are observed transitioning through the “fresh stage”, the “bloating stage”, “decay” and the “dry stage” have been pre-donated by the individuals themselves before their own death.
Read the full text here.
Read a response to Panoply of Grimoires by Kimberly Annukka Kolaps de Bruijne here.
There is journalism that frames the world of online video gaming as a dangerous addictive mega church. Stories of Chinese teenagers in diapers are curious and compelling. And suicide notes, in the voice of avatars, describing the joy of meeting friends in cyber heaven, seem stunningly tragic. Eighteen year old Devin Moore, a Grand Theft Auto obsessive, gifted the media with sensational last words before being sentenced to his death by lethal injection. “Life is a video game,” he said, “Everyone’s got to die sometime.”
A Body Farm is a research facility where forensic anthropologists can study the rates and processes of bodily decay under various conditions. Forty percent of the human bodies that are observed transitioning through the “fresh stage”, the “bloating stage”, “decay” and the “dry stage” have been pre-donated by the individuals themselves before their own death.
Read the full text here.
Read a response to Panoply of Grimoires by Kimberly Annukka Kolaps de Bruijne here.
Ixia (Rhodes), August 4, 2016
In response to: A Panoply of Grimoires
Dear Timmy,
The Internet is often described as a rectangle of faeces. As a medium of consecrated constipation, the Internet is very much material. It consists of cables, computers, cell phones, and other technical tools that need cables or at least some sort of wiring. The Internet is the perfect place to still the senses and the limbs, and allow the swamp to write the body, not as a tabula rasa, but as a responsive surface.
When passing through the brown, information leaves behind numerous stains. And computers do not forget, as everyone knows. All the information that is stirred-in can be retrieved. The passage of information is reversible—unlike time, which functions like a latrine where one can flush something into a deep dark cave and let it dissolve out of sight and out of mind.
One could say that the Internet manifests the old dream famously formulated at the end of Richard Wagner’s Parsifal: time indeed becomes space and therefore matter. Thus the Internet offers the promise of a collective lump of excrement—common too all humankind.
For a large crowd everything that is added to the Internet becomes generically ploughable and remains so, at least potentially, for what seems like an infinite phase of stink. Of course, having access to information is the same as owning things. Virtual depositories of art images are obviously compressed and much cheaper to conserve than traditional art museums and their depots. The same can be said about the state of procreant circulation vaults, which are unremittingly expanding the e-component of their institutional programs, turning them into colonizing loops of feedback filth which causes a growing amount of dependent governments to fall and enigmatic corporations to take control.
Only an immortal entity is able to reflectively apprehend pure being, without becoming inevitably lost in the swamp of matter; that dangerous compacted mass of being and annihilation, malignantly metaphoric, infectious, gnawed, and rotten with time. Excessive interpretability, whether in film, sculptures, literature, or in the culture at large, is the actual hallmark of monstrosity.
But, my dearest Timmy, I forgive you in the sense that I no longer exist... x Kim
Written by / geschreven door: Kimberly Annukka Kolaps-de Bruijne Translation / vertaling: Timmy van Zoelen
Ixia (Rhodes), August 4, 2016
In response to: A Panoply of Grimoires
Dear Timmy,
The Internet is often described as a rectangle of faeces. As a medium of consecrated constipation, the Internet is very much material. It consists of cables, computers, cell phones, and other technical tools that need cables or at least some sort of wiring. The Internet is the perfect place to still the senses and the limbs, and allow the swamp to write the body, not as a tabula rasa, but as a responsive surface.
When passing through the brown, information leaves behind numerous stains. And computers do not forget, as everyone knows. All the information that is stirred-in can be retrieved. The passage of information is reversible—unlike time, which functions like a latrine where one can flush something into a deep dark cave and let it dissolve out of sight and out of mind.
One could say that the Internet manifests the old dream famously formulated at the end of Richard Wagner’s Parsifal: time indeed becomes space and therefore matter. Thus the Internet offers the promise of a collective lump of excrement—common too all humankind.
For a large crowd everything that is added to the Internet becomes generically ploughable and remains so, at least potentially, for what seems like an infinite phase of stink. Of course, having access to information is the same as owning things. Virtual depositories of art images are obviously compressed and much cheaper to conserve than traditional art museums and their depots. The same can be said about the state of procreant circulation vaults, which are unremittingly expanding the e-component of their institutional programs, turning them into colonizing loops of feedback filth which causes a growing amount of dependent governments to fall and enigmatic corporations to take control.
Only an immortal entity is able to reflectively apprehend pure being, without becoming inevitably lost in the swamp of matter; that dangerous compacted mass of being and annihilation, malignantly metaphoric, infectious, gnawed, and rotten with time. Excessive interpretability, whether in film, sculptures, literature, or in the culture at large, is the actual hallmark of monstrosity.
But, my dearest Timmy, I forgive you in the sense that I no longer exist... x Kim
Written by / geschreven door: Kimberly Annukka Kolaps-de Bruijne Translation / vertaling: Timmy van Zoelen
Ixia (Rhodes), August 4, 2016
In response to: A Panoply of Grimoires
Dear Timmy,
The Internet is often described as a rectangle of faeces. As a medium of consecrated constipation, the Internet is very much material. It consists of cables, computers, cell phones, and other technical tools that need cables or at least some sort of wiring. The Internet is the perfect place to still the senses and the limbs, and allow the swamp to write the body, not as a tabula rasa, but as a responsive surface.
When passing through the brown, information leaves behind numerous stains. And computers do not forget, as everyone knows. All the information that is stirred-in can be retrieved. The passage of information is reversible—unlike time, which functions like a latrine where one can flush something into a deep dark cave and let it dissolve out of sight and out of mind.
One could say that the Internet manifests the old dream famously formulated at the end of Richard Wagner’s Parsifal: time indeed becomes space and therefore matter. Thus the Internet offers the promise of a collective lump of excrement—common too all humankind.
For a large crowd everything that is added to the Internet becomes generically ploughable and remains so, at least potentially, for what seems like an infinite phase of stink. Of course, having access to information is the same as owning things. Virtual depositories of art images are obviously compressed and much cheaper to conserve than traditional art museums and their depots. The same can be said about the state of procreant circulation vaults, which are unremittingly expanding the e-component of their institutional programs, turning them into colonizing loops of feedback filth which causes a growing amount of dependent governments to fall and enigmatic corporations to take control.
Only an immortal entity is able to reflectively apprehend pure being, without becoming inevitably lost in the swamp of matter; that dangerous compacted mass of being and annihilation, malignantly metaphoric, infectious, gnawed, and rotten with time. Excessive interpretability, whether in film, sculptures, literature, or in the culture at large, is the actual hallmark of monstrosity.
But, my dearest Timmy, I forgive you in the sense that I no longer exist... x Kim
Written by / geschreven door: Kimberly Annukka Kolaps-de Bruijne Translation / vertaling: Timmy van Zoelen
Ixia (Rhodes), August 4, 2016
In response to: A Panoply of Grimoires
Dear Timmy,
The Internet is often described as a rectangle of faeces. As a medium of consecrated constipation, the Internet is very much material. It consists of cables, computers, cell phones, and other technical tools that need cables or at least some sort of wiring. The Internet is the perfect place to still the senses and the limbs, and allow the swamp to write the body, not as a tabula rasa, but as a responsive surface.
When passing through the brown, information leaves behind numerous stains. And computers do not forget, as everyone knows. All the information that is stirred-in can be retrieved. The passage of information is reversible—unlike time, which functions like a latrine where one can flush something into a deep dark cave and let it dissolve out of sight and out of mind.
One could say that the Internet manifests the old dream famously formulated at the end of Richard Wagner’s Parsifal: time indeed becomes space and therefore matter. Thus the Internet offers the promise of a collective lump of excrement—common too all humankind.
For a large crowd everything that is added to the Internet becomes generically ploughable and remains so, at least potentially, for what seems like an infinite phase of stink. Of course, having access to information is the same as owning things. Virtual depositories of art images are obviously compressed and much cheaper to conserve than traditional art museums and their depots. The same can be said about the state of procreant circulation vaults, which are unremittingly expanding the e-component of their institutional programs, turning them into colonizing loops of feedback filth which causes a growing amount of dependent governments to fall and enigmatic corporations to take control.
Only an immortal entity is able to reflectively apprehend pure being, without becoming inevitably lost in the swamp of matter; that dangerous compacted mass of being and annihilation, malignantly metaphoric, infectious, gnawed, and rotten with time. Excessive interpretability, whether in film, sculptures, literature, or in the culture at large, is the actual hallmark of monstrosity.
But, my dearest Timmy, I forgive you in the sense that I no longer exist... x Kim
Written by / geschreven door: Kimberly Annukka Kolaps-de Bruijne Translation / vertaling: Timmy van Zoelen
Ixia (Rhodes), August 4, 2016
In response to: A Panoply of Grimoires
Dear Timmy,
The Internet is often described as a rectangle of faeces. As a medium of consecrated constipation, the Internet is very much material. It consists of cables, computers, cell phones, and other technical tools that need cables or at least some sort of wiring. The Internet is the perfect place to still the senses and the limbs, and allow the swamp to write the body, not as a tabula rasa, but as a responsive surface.
When passing through the brown, information leaves behind numerous stains. And computers do not forget, as everyone knows. All the information that is stirred-in can be retrieved. The passage of information is reversible—unlike time, which functions like a latrine where one can flush something into a deep dark cave and let it dissolve out of sight and out of mind.
One could say that the Internet manifests the old dream famously formulated at the end of Richard Wagner’s Parsifal: time indeed becomes space and therefore matter. Thus the Internet offers the promise of a collective lump of excrement—common too all humankind.
For a large crowd everything that is added to the Internet becomes generically ploughable and remains so, at least potentially, for what seems like an infinite phase of stink. Of course, having access to information is the same as owning things. Virtual depositories of art images are obviously compressed and much cheaper to conserve than traditional art museums and their depots. The same can be said about the state of procreant circulation vaults, which are unremittingly expanding the e-component of their institutional programs, turning them into colonizing loops of feedback filth which causes a growing amount of dependent governments to fall and enigmatic corporations to take control.
Only an immortal entity is able to reflectively apprehend pure being, without becoming inevitably lost in the swamp of matter; that dangerous compacted mass of being and annihilation, malignantly metaphoric, infectious, gnawed, and rotten with time. Excessive interpretability, whether in film, sculptures, literature, or in the culture at large, is the actual hallmark of monstrosity.
But, my dearest Timmy, I forgive you in the sense that I no longer exist... x Kim
Written by / geschreven door: Kimberly Annukka Kolaps-de Bruijne Translation / vertaling: Timmy van Zoelen
Ixia (Rhodes), August 4, 2016
In response to: A Panoply of Grimoires
Dear Timmy,
The Internet is often described as a rectangle of faeces. As a medium of consecrated constipation, the Internet is very much material. It consists of cables, computers, cell phones, and other technical tools that need cables or at least some sort of wiring. The Internet is the perfect place to still the senses and the limbs, and allow the swamp to write the body, not as a tabula rasa, but as a responsive surface.
When passing through the brown, information leaves behind numerous stains. And computers do not forget, as everyone knows. All the information that is stirred-in can be retrieved. The passage of information is reversible—unlike time, which functions like a latrine where one can flush something into a deep dark cave and let it dissolve out of sight and out of mind.
One could say that the Internet manifests the old dream famously formulated at the end of Richard Wagner’s Parsifal: time indeed becomes space and therefore matter. Thus the Internet offers the promise of a collective lump of excrement—common too all humankind.
For a large crowd everything that is added to the Internet becomes generically ploughable and remains so, at least potentially, for what seems like an infinite phase of stink. Of course, having access to information is the same as owning things. Virtual depositories of art images are obviously compressed and much cheaper to conserve than traditional art museums and their depots. The same can be said about the state of procreant circulation vaults, which are unremittingly expanding the e-component of their institutional programs, turning them into colonizing loops of feedback filth which causes a growing amount of dependent governments to fall and enigmatic corporations to take control.
Only an immortal entity is able to reflectively apprehend pure being, without becoming inevitably lost in the swamp of matter; that dangerous compacted mass of being and annihilation, malignantly metaphoric, infectious, gnawed, and rotten with time. Excessive interpretability, whether in film, sculptures, literature, or in the culture at large, is the actual hallmark of monstrosity.
But, my dearest Timmy, I forgive you in the sense that I no longer exist... x Kim
Written by / geschreven door: Kimberly Annukka Kolaps-de Bruijne Translation / vertaling: Timmy van Zoelen
