​Turner Prize-winning multidisciplinary artist Wolfgang Tillmans' work covers everything from documenting the darkest corners of Europe’s club culture to abstract material images that exist in a place somewhere between photography and sculpture. With music being a strong influence on the artist’s entire career, a recent development saw Tillmans undertake a number of musical projects. Here, the artist talks to us from Berlin Atonal festival, which saw him perform with British producer Oscar Powell.

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January 1946, Mojave Desert. Jack Parsons, a rocket scientist and Thelemite, performs a series of rituals with the intention of conjuring a vessel to carry and direct the force of Babalon, overseer of the Abyss, Sacred Whore, Scarlet Woman, Mother of Abominations. His goal is to bring about a transition from the masculine Aeon of Horus to a new age—an age presided over by qualities imputed to the female demon: fire, blood, the unconscious; a material, sexual drive and a paradoxical knowledge beyond sense … the wages of which are nothing less than the ego-identity of Man—the end, effectively, of “his” world. Her cipher in the Cult of Ma’at is 0, and she appears in the major arcana of the Thoth Tarot entangled with the Beast as Lust, to which is attributed the serpent’s letter ט‎, and thereby the number 9. In her guise as harlot, it is said that Babalon is bound to “yield herself up to everything that liveth,” but it is by means of this very yielding (“subduing the strength” of those with whom she lies via the prescribed passivity of this role) that her devastating power is activated: “[B]ecause she hath made her self the servant of each, therefore is she become the mistress of all. Not as yet canst thou comprehend her glory.”2 In his invocations Parsons would refer to her as the “flame of life, power of darkness,” she who “feeds upon the death of men … beautiful—horrible.”

In late February—the invocation progressing smoothly—Parsons receives what he believes to be a direct communication from Babalon, prophesying her terrestrial incarnation by means of a perfect vessel of her own provision, “a daughter.” “Seek her not, call her not,” relays the transcript.

Let her declare. Ask nothing. There shall be ordeals. My way is not in the solemn ways, or in the reasoned ways, but in the devious way of the serpent, and the oblique way of the factor unknown and unnumbered. None shall resist [her], whom I lovest. Though they call [her] harlot and whore, shameless, false, evil, these words shall be blood in their mouths, and dust thereafter. For I am BABALON, and she my daughter, unique, and there shall be no other women like her.

Watch the video below:

This panel took place Saturday, August 19th, 2017 at NecronomiCon Providence 2017.

From the program: TEATRO GROTTESCO:

The Bleak Universe of Thomas Ligotti - Grand Ballroom, Biltmore 17th Floor

Thomas Ligotti embraces themes and moods of Lovecraft, Schultz, Cioran and others, and emerged from the shadows of these literary heirs to become one of the most powerful voices in Weird fiction. In this panel we discuss the bleak and pessimistic universe his work evokes, as well as works crafted by writers who count him among their influences.

Panelists: Matthew Bartlett, Michael Calia, Michael Cisco, Kurt Fawver, Alex Houstoun (Moderator), Jon Padgett

Watch the video below:

Full Text ​by François Laruelle's ON THE BLACK UNIVERSE: 'In the Human Foundations of Color'

I.
​
In the foundations of color, vision sees the 
Universe; in the foundations of the Universe, it 
sees man; in the foundations of man, it sees 
vision.

The Earth, the World, the Universe have to do 
with man: the Earth a little, the World a lot, the 
Universe passionately. The Universe is the inner 
passion for the Remote.

​Man works the Earth, lives in the World, thinks 
according to the Universe.

The Earth is man’s ground, the World his 
neighbor, the Universe his secret.

The Earth is the strait through which passes the 
light of the World; it is the tongue made of sand 
and water upon which, standing, man strides 
against the World.

The World is everything too vast and too narrow 
for the Earth, and again too narrow 
for the Universe. 

Man gropes around the World and the World 
floats in the Universe unable to touch its borders.

Into the World of narrow-minded thoughts, man 
​brings the emotion of the Universe.

The Universe, an object greater than the World, 
is not the object of thought, but rather its how or 
its according to. 

The Universe is an opaque and solitary thought, 
which has already leapt through man's shut eyes 
​as the space of a dream without dreaming.

The Universe is not reflected in another universe, 
and yet the Remote is accessible to us at each of 
​its points. 

The World is the endless confusion of man and 
Universe, the Universe treated as man's object. 

The forgetting of the essence of the Universe is 
less noticeable than the forgetting of the World. 

The forgetting of man as One(-of-)the-Universe 
and the Universe as One-through-man is less 
noticeable than the forgetting of being-in-the-
​World. 

II. 
In the beginning there is Black--man and 
Universe, rather than philosopher and World. 

Surrounding the philosopher everything becomes 
World and light. Surrounding man everything 
becomes Universe and opacity. 

Man, who carries away the Universe with him, 
is condemned, without knowing why, to the World 
and to the Earth, and neither the World nor the 
Earth can tell him why. He is answered only by 
​the Universe, being black and mute. 

Black is not in the object or the World, it is what
man sees in man, and the way in which man sees 
​man. 

Black is not merely what man sees in man, it is 
the only “color” inseparable from the hyper-
​intelligible expanse of the Universe.

Solitude of the man-without-horizon who sees 
​Black in Black. 

The Universe is deaf and blind, we can only love 
it and assist it. Man is the being who assists the 
​Universe. 

Only with eyes closed can we unfold the future, 
​and with eyes opened can we conceive to enter it. 
Light strikes the Earth with repeated blows, 
divides the World infinitely, solicits in vain the 
​invisible Universe. 
The Universe was “in” the World and the World 
​did not see it. 

Black prior to light is the substance of the 
Universe, what escaped from the World before 
​the World was born into the World. 

Black is the without-Ground which fixes light in 
the remote where man observes it. Here lies the 
​crazy and catatonic light of the World. 
Man approaches the World only by way of 
transcendental darkness, into which he never 
​entered and from which he will never leave. 

A phenomenal blackness entirely fills the essence 
of man. Because of it, the most ancient stars of 
the paleo-cosmos together with the most 
venerable stones of the archeo-earth, appear to 
man as being outside the World, and the World 
​itself appears as outside-World. 

The black universe is the opacity of the real or the 
​“color” that renders it invisible. 

​No light has ever seen the black universe. 
Black is anterior to the absence of light, whether 
this absence be the shadows that extinguish it, 
whether it be it nothingness or its positive 
opposite. The black universe is not a negative 
​light. 

Black is the Radical of color, what never was a 
color nor the attribute of a color, the emotion 
​seizing man when affected by a color. 

As opposed to the black objectified in the 
spectrum, Black is already manifested, before any 
​process of manifestation. This is vision-in-Black. 
Black is entirely interior to itself and to man. 
Black is without opposite: even light, which tries 
to turn it into its opposite, fails in the 
face of the rigor of its secret. Only the secret sees into 
​the secret, like Black in Black. 

The essence of color is not colored: it’s the black 
​universe.

Metaphysical white is a simple discoloration, the 
prismatic or indifferent unity of colors. 
Phenomenal blackness is indifferent to color 
because it represents their ultimate degree of 
reality, that which prevents their final dissolution 
​into the mixtures of light. 

Philosophy and sometimes painting treat black 
and white as contraries, colors as opposites; they 
mix them, under the authority of light as the 
​supreme mix.

The human science of color is founded on the 
blackness known as the “universe.” They 
cognitively unify man, the Universe, and color 
theory--and their potencies in Black, which is 
their common reality, but in the last instance 
​only. 

A human science of color makes the black 
universe the requisite that is real or immanent to 
their physics. Black is the posture itself of science 
​and of its “relation” to color. 

IV.
Science is a way of thinking in black and white
which studies the light of the Cosmos and
the color of the World: black, by way of its posture
or its inherence to the real; white, by way of its
representation of the real. A way of thinking
where white is no longer the opposite of black,
but rather its positively discolored reflection.

Science is the mode of thought in which black
determines in the last instance white.

The black universe transforms colors without
mixing them. It simplifies color in order to bring
out the whiteness of understanding in its essence
of non-pictorial reflection. 

Our uchromia: to learn to think from the point 
of view of Black as what determines color in the
​ last instance rather than what limits it. 
Philosophical technology has been withdrawn 
mimetically from the World, in order to reflect 
and reproduce it. Such technology is inadequate 
for thinking the Universe. 
We are still postulating that reality is given to us 
through the paradigm of the World. We 
perpetuate the inhuman amphibology that 
confuses the World and the Universe. We believe
that reality is horizon and light, aperture and 
flash, whereas it resembles more the posture of
an opaque non-relation (to) light. When 
exploring the uni-versal dimension of the 
cosmic, we remain prisoners of cosmo-logical 
difference. Our philosophers are children who 
​are afraid of the Dark. 

Philosophy is thinking by way of a generalized 
“black box”; it is the effort to fit black into light 
and to push it back to the rear of the caverns. 
Yet, the cosmo-logical generalization of black 
does not save it from its status as attribute, quite 
the contrary. Black alone is subject and may 
render manifest the philosophical interlocking of 
​concepts. 

Do not think technology first: rocket and the lift 
off of the rocket. Look instead, like in the depths 
of a closed eye, into the opacity of knowledge 
where, forming one with it, the rocket passes 
through infinite distances. Think according to 
the knowledge that steers the rocket as if in a 
dream, heavier and more transparent than the 
boundless night it penetrates with a silent 
​thunderclap. Think science first. 

Stop sending your ships through the narrow 
cosmo-logical corridor. Stop making them climb 
the extreme walls of the world. Let them jump 
over the cosmic barrier and enter into the 
hyperspace of the Universe. Cease having them 
compete with light, for your rockets too can 
realize the more-than-psychic, postural mutation, 
and shift from light to black universe which is no 
longer a color; from cosmic color to postural and 
subjective black. Let your rockets become subject 
of the Universe and be present at every point of 
​the Remote. 

​Simplify color! See black, think white! 
See black rather than believe “unconscious.” And
​think white rather than believe “conscious.”

See black! Not that all your suns have fallen-- 
they have since reappeared, only slightly 
dimmer--but Black is the “color” that falls 
​eternally from the Universe onto your Earth.

Video: Aaron Metté 
Text: François Laruelle
Special thanks to Craig Bloom, Nicola Masciandaro, Daniel Barber, Recess Activity and TPSNY

a film by Andre Perkowski

"NOVA EXPRESS" a film by Andre Perkowski based on the writings of William S. Burroughs

readings by William S. Burroughs and Philip Proctor music by Andre Perkowski

​I was traveling with The Intolerable Kid on The Nova Lark — We were on the nod after a rumble in The Crab Galaxy involving this two-way time stock; when you come to the end of a biologic film just run it back and start over — Nobody knows the difference — Like nobody there before the film.{1} So they start to run it back and the projector blew up and we lammed out of there on the blast! — Holed up in those cool blue mountains the liquid air in our spines listening to a little high-fi junk note fixes you right to metal and you nod out a thousand years.{2} Just sitting there in a slate house wrapped in orange flesh robes, the blue mist drifting around us when we get the call — And as soon as I set foot on Podunk earth I can smell it that burnt metal reek of nova.

"Already set off the charge," I said to I&I (Immovable and Irresistible) — "This is a burning planet — Any minute now the whole fucking shit house goes up."
​
So Intolerable I&I sniffs and says: "Yea, when it happens it happens fast — This is a rush job." And you could feel it there under your feet the whole structure buckling like a bulkhead about to blow — So the paper has a car there for us and we are driving in from the airport The Kid at the wheel and his foot on the floor — Nearly ran down a covey of pedestrians, and they yell after us: "What you want to do, kill somebody?"

And The Kid sticks his head out and says: "It would be a pleasure Niggers! Gooks! Terrestrial dogs"-His eyes lit up like a like a blow torch and I can see he is really in form-So we start right to work making our headquarters in The Land Of The Free where the call came from and which is really free and wide open for any life form the uglier the better-Well they don't come any uglier than The Intolerable Kid and your reporter- When a planet is all primed to go up they call in I&I to jump around from one faction to the other agitating and insulting all the parties before and after the fact until they all say: "By God before I give an inch the whole fucking shit house goes up in chunks."

Where we came in-You have to move fast on this job-And I&I is fast-Pops in and out of a hundred faces in a split second spitting his intolerable insults- We had the plan, what they call The Board Books to show us what is what on this dead whistle stop: Three life forms uneasily parasitic on a fourth form that is beginning to wise up. And the whole planet absolutely flapping hysterical with panic. The way we like to see them.
​
"This is a dead easy pitch," The Kid says.

"Yeah," I say. "A little bit too easy. Something here, Kid. Something wrong. I can feel it." But The Kid can't hear me. Now all these life forms came from the most intolerable conditions: hot places, cold places, terminal stasis and the last thing any of them want to do is go back where they came from. And The Intolerable Kid is giving out with such pleasantries like this:

All right take your ovens out and pay Hitler on the way out. Nearly got the place hot enough for you Jews didn't he?"
​
"Know about Niggers? Why darkies were born? Antennae coolers what else? Always a spot for good Darkies."
"You cunts constitute a disposal problem in the worst form there is and raise the nastiest whine ever heard anywhere: `Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me???' Why don't you go back to Venus and fertilize a forest?

"And as for you White Man Boss, you dead prop in Martin's stale movie, you terminal time junky, haul your heavy metal ass back to Uranus. Last shot at the door. You need one for the road." By this time everybody was even madder than they were shit scared. But I&I figured things were moving too slow.

"We need a peg to hang it on," he said. "Something really ugly like virus. Not for nothing do they come from a land without mirrors." So he takes over this newsmagazine.

"Now," he said, "I’ll by God show them how ugly the Ugly American can be."

And he breaks out all the ugliest pictures in the image bank and puts it out on the subliminal so one crisis piles up after the other right on schedule. And I&I is whizzing around like a buzz saw and that black nova laugh of his you can hear it now down all the streets shaking the buildings and skyline like a stage prop. But me I am looking around and the more I look the less I like what I see. For one thing the nova heat is moving in fast and heavy like I never see it anywhere else. But I&I just says I have the copper jitters and turns back to his view screen: "They are skinning the chief of police alive in some jerkwater place. Want to sit in?"

"Naw," I said. "Only interested in my own skin."

And I walk out thinking who I would like to see skinned alive. So I cut into the Automat and put coins into the fish cake slot and then I really see it: Chinese partisans and well armed with vibrating static and image guns. So I throw down the fish cakes with tomato sauce and make it back to the office where The Kid is still glued to that screen. He looks up smiling dirty and says:

"Wanta molest a child and disembowel it right after?"

"Pry yourself loose and listen." And I tell him. "Those Tiddly Winks don't fuck around you know."

"So what?" he says. "I've still got The Board Books. I can split this whistle stop wide open tomorrow." No use talking to him. I look around some more and…"
​
And all he can say is: "So what? I've still got… /" Cut.

"Board Books taken. The film reeks of burning switch like a blow torch. Prerecorded heat glare massing Hiroshima. This whistle stop wide open to hot crab people. Mediation? Listen: Your army is getting double zero in floor by floor game of `symbiosis.' Mobilized reasons to love Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Virus to maintain terminal sewers of Venus?"
​
"All nations sold out by liars and cowards. Liars who want time for the future negatives to develop stall you with more lying offers while hot crab people mass war to extermination with the film in Rome. These reports reek of nova, sold out job, shit birth and death. Your planet has been invaded. You are dogs on all tape. The entire planet is being developed into terminal identity and complete surrender."
​
"But suppose film death in Rome doesn't work and we can get every male body even madder than they are shit scared? We need a peg to evil full length. By God show them how ugly the ugliest pictures in the dark room can be. Pitch in the oven ambush. Spill all the board gimmicks. This symbiosis con? Can tell you for sure `symbiosis' is ambush straight to the ovens. 'Human dogs' to be eaten alive under white hot skies of Minraud."

And Intolerable I&I's "errand boys" and "strikebreakers" are copping out right left and center:

"Mr. Martin, and you board members, vulgar stupid Americans, you will regret calling in the Mayan Aztec Gods with your synthetic mushrooms. Remember we keep exact junk measure of the pain inflicted and that pain must be paid in full. Is that clear enough Mr. Intolerable Martin, or shall I make it even clearer? Allow me to introduce myself: The Mayan God of Pain And Fear from the white hot plains of Venus which does not mean a God of vulgarity, cowardice, ugliness and stupidity. There is a cool spot on the surface of Venus three hundred degrees cooler than the surrounding area. I have held that spot against all contestants for five hundred thousand years. Now you expect to use me as your `errand boy' and `strikebreaker' summoned up by an IBM machine and a handful of virus crystal? How long could you hold that spot, you 'board members '? About thirty seconds I think with all your guard dogs. And you thought to channel my energies for 'operation total disposal'? Your 'operations' there or here this or that come and go and are no more. Give my name back. That name must be paid for. You have not paid. My name is not yours to use. Henceforth I think about thirty seconds is written."

And you can see the marks are wising up, standing around in sullen groups and that mutter gets louder and louder. Any minute now fifty million adolescent gooks will hit the street with switch blades, bicycle chains and cobblestones.

"Street gangs, Uranian born of nova conditions, get out and fight for your streets. Call in the Chinese and any random factors. Cut all tape. Shift cut tangle magpie voice lines of the earth. Know about The Board's `Green Deal?' They plan to board the first life boat in drag and leave `their human dogs' under the white hot skies of Venus. `Operation Sky Switch' also known as `Operation Total Disposal.' All right you board bastards, we'll by God show you `Operation Total Exposure.' For all to see. In Times Square. In Piccadilly."

excerpt from the  book:  Nova Express by William S. Burroughs