rile* is a bookshop and project space for publication and performance. rile* is into poetry, theory, choreography, artist writing and various other text based experiments. rile* organizes performances, meetings, launches, readings... rile* is the base word for silence in Láadan, a feminist constructed language developed by Suzette Haden Elgin in 1982. The language was included in her science fiction Native Tongue series. Láadan contains a number of words that are used to make unambiguous statements that include how one feels about what one is saying. According to Elgin, this is designed to counter language's limitations to those who are forced to respond I know I said that, but I meant this.
Our bookshop is open on Wednesday and Thursday from 11h to 17h, and from Friday to Sunday from 11h to 18.30h.
If you are interested to stock with us, get in touch, we are open for conversation and new friendships.
Hosted by Chloe Chignell & Sven Dehens
contact : firstname.lastname@example.org
Supported by VGC-
Site by Sven Dehens
Bosch'd spans space-time in a whimsical mix of poetry, quotation, fact, and insertion that all seems to point toward the dissolution of binary, the questioning of what's considered common knowledge, and how a poet works to enact change.
The first of many Bosch'd aphorisms states the opening condition this way: "Humor without gravitas passes through the mind with little effect; gravitas without humor is death." With that, Retallack takes on the paradoxical, hence generative, dystopian logics she calls "our projectile legacies"--misogyny, racism, undaunted colonialism, and more. It's where her playful and grave poetics of the poethical wager revs up. "As the sun at noon illustrates all shadows," Hieronymus Bosch illuminated a beautiful and grotesque biosphere (see Fig. x) that, along with tender sensuality and ubiquitous love, was riddled with human follies and trespasses we've come to identify as the Anthropocene. "Bosch'd" (verb. trans.) does not yet appear in our lexicons. For some of its implications, we present this erudite, searching, and great-humored book.
"This proliferation of angels, and angles, and spectra, and scenes, and singing is all but too beautifully blur to blurb. It defies its own collection. You have to ride, or hide, in an untied thought balloon to read it. It's so beautiful, with so much thought inside, and so loco, so such a little crazy in all its other languages, so off and errant but also so on the spot and dug in and garden'd, so unalone and shared and redshifted, so non-solo'd and so alter'd, that it becomes an altar, its music of alterity holding a delightful cultivation of flown that we can ground in, though it's also so nonlocal, so shar'd in the general speech, that even in the preparation of its table of contents, as if it were a piano on which bizarre things have been painted as the coming of froth, BOSCH'D blindsides despair. Who is Genre Tallique anyway? Bud Powell? An owl? Wow!"—Fred Moten