Editorial

There are two kinds of obstacles to grasping Marxist communication theory, Seth Siegelaub writes in his introduction to volume 1 of Communication and Class Struggle (1979), both of which stem from the embattled positions of left cultural and intellectual production within capitalism. The first obstacle is the conceptual one of actually understanding the content of Marxist theory: a critical theory which confronts and opposes a hegemonic ideology must necessarily appear as difficult and obscure. The second, more “elementary,” obstacle, and the one about which Siegelaub, the publisher and archivist, has far more to say, is the literal one of materially locating those publications which espouse the revolutionary theory. This material difficulty follows from the fugitive and ephemeral qualities which happen to characterize printed matter produced in the international class struggle against capital. From basements and jungles, communist publishers must print small editions quickly and cheaply, without the time or money to construct more stable material and editorial forms. Likewise, circulation of these publications is slow and uneven, traveling through marginalized and constantly imperiled underground networks, as the near extinction of left-oriented bookstores, which had formerly punctuated most urban and intellectual centers, attests. Commercial inventories and research archives can’t be maintained because no one has money or space. And the cops might show up at any moment and shut it all down1

Moreover, Seigelaub writes in a footnote, Marxist researchers and theorists, under the antagonistic pressures of life in capitalism, don’t have the leisure and intellectual composure by which to properly cite or even to know the historical precedents for their work, to the remarkable degree that many communist writers “do not even know what they themselves have written over the years.” In the chaos of these near-samizdat literary conditions, comrade readers must actively seek out rare, badly annotated, and sometimes redundant publications, with an expenditure of “political will” that is difficult to summon, particularly, we might note, today, as our wage labor hours increase and our leisure is dominated by the 24/7 management of social networks. 

Within these exasperating and indeed hazardous scenarios, Siegelaub, the pioneer of the use of printed matter as a cheaply reproducible and easily distributed medium for art works, asserts that “documentation is a political action” — “an act of solidarity” that might securely establish a set of citational references within Marxist textual historiography. In the larger context of class struggle, the Marxist publisher thus counters the forces of economic domination not least by diminishing the bibliographical failures and errant dispersals of Marxist literature.

This issue of Counter-Signals emphatically renews Siegelaub’s archival project, while at the same time re-articulating its political horizon. That is, instead of attempting to heroically overcome (or pedantically correct) those conditions of disorganization and indeterminacy which Siegelaub so vividly noted in his footnote, Counter-Signals affirms these conditions as salient qualities — mutable, autonomous, unstable — of the ongoing project of a self-reflexive communist media form. 

As an absurdly brief side note on the communization theory which informs this position, we might, borrowing from Nicholas Thoburn’s recent elaboration of “communization media theory,” begin to conceptually disentangle the incomplete circulations of communist literature, noted above, from the revolutionary subject of the workers’ movement to which this literature was attached. That is, we might understand the archival failure which for Siegelaub was a contingent and unfortunate feature of class struggle, as rather a symptom of the “inoperative” conditions for a “communism beyond worker identity.” The failure of bibliographic reference and the archival instability which Siegelaub described might be theorized as incipient features of a coming proletarian “self-abolition,” which communization theory sees as a revolutionary possibility within late capitalism, following shifts in the mode of production which were more or less contemporary with Siegelaub’s introduction. In communization theory, to cut to the chase, capitalism is not overcome “after the revolution;” rather, it inheres through actions and events which immediately create communist social relations2 .

It is in this spirit of communization that Counter Signals 2 compiles entries in an ongoing cross-disciplinary and underground genre of ephemeral and volatile political forms in print. In the course of this self-reflexive project — Counter Signals itself aspirationally belongs to that generic set it documents — the pages of this issue are filled with figures: with images of pages from other publications. In a curiously unavoidable bibliographical tautology, these figures of pages, as they are reprinted, become (again) pages, not simply representations — things themselves newly assembled as paper pages of another print publication, this one3.

This virtual collapse of reference, this recursive iterability, is not simply the mechanical outcome of offset lithography, but might provide a self-reflexive strategy with which to begin to talk and write and reproduce the genre of this crucial intellectual anti-commodity, which takes as its multiform subject those things which the other publications share: labor, textiles, antenna towers, porta-paks, telegraphy, grocery store commodities, incarceration, anarchy, typefaces, books, books covers, and communism (among many other things.)

Paraphrasing Brecht about radio, we might imagine the medium of print, after having experienced a highly over-determined youth, in the service, as has been famously argued, of both “print-capitalism” and the “graphosphere” of socialism4, finally asking itself, in its supposed twilight as a media technology, what exactly it’s supposed to be doing in the (post-industrial, post-digital, post-critical) world. Here, in the pages that follow, is an answer. And/or, as Siegelaub so forcefully puts it, “while these [communication] forms reproduce the social conditions from which they issued, they might also serve, along with other forces, to exacerbate the contradictions latent within these conditions and help to destroy them.”5


  1. I am taking liberties to embellish, and make contemporary, Siegelaub’s account of the myriad hostile conditions confronting the communist publisher. 

  2. See Nicholas Thoburn, Anti-Book, University of Minnesota Press, 2016, pp 15–26. For a lucid and comprehensive account of communization theory as it has recently been elaborated in the journal Endnotes, see Tim Barker, “The Bleak Left,” n+1, https://nplusonemag.com/issue-28/reviews/the-bleak-left/ 

  3. In order to more nearly dissolve the figure / ground relation of this documentation, images are reproduced at 100%, when possible. 

  4. 4 terms from Benedict Anderson, Imaginary Communities; and Regis Debray, “Socialism: A Life Cycle”, respectively. 

  5. Seth Siegelaub,
    “A Communication on Communication,” Communication and Class Struggle, Volume 1, 1979, p 11. Italics mine. 

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Identity Is the Crisis

The fourth issue of Counter-Signals aims to invoke and assemble writing and images that query the aesthetic claims and political-economic stakes of identity, in design and in cultural production more generally. 

“Visual identity” names the highest order project within the discipline of graphic design, historically constituted in post-war capitalist Europe and the US. It enlisted the concepts, forms, and techniques of design modernism towards the consolidation of globalizing language technology corporations like Olivetti and IBM. The project of “corporate identity,” as it became known, reflected and advanced the dematerializing production trajectories of industrial capitalism, organized by concepts of “scientific” and then cybernetic management. Graphic design was used to formally unify corporate information products and their publicity, through totalizing identity systems and the powers of the logo. In this advanced capitalist superstructural project, the corporate identity standards manual produced not only signs and products, but subjectivities as well: the white-skinned, white-collared, grey-flanneled heterosexual male professional class. The production of these subjectivities was understood, within the dystopian collectivity of the corporation, to compose a distinct and homogeneous “corporate culture,” and thus to extend a process by which corporations came to aesthetically appear as sovereign entities on an equal footing with nation states. 

Beginning with Bruce Mau’s identity for the Netherlands Architecture Institute in 1989 (and coinciding with the collapse of the Soviet sphere and the total globalization of capital), the concept of advanced visual identity as a design project has been radically altered, decentering its aesthetics while displacing its field of application. As its forms have become self-consciously dynamic, mutable, fluid, and heterogeneous, its content has shifted from the multinational corporation to the contemporary multicultural art institution. This “postmodern” shift in aesthetics and in domains of representation accompanied another shift in design practice and discourse, one which attempted to reverse the international modernist vector of corporations becoming state-like through the mediation of their visual identity. In the late 80s and 90s, under the aegis of “nation branding,” an array of architectural projects and discourses in a number of countries (with the Netherlands in the vanguard) sought to aesthetically formalize and differentiate nation-states and their institutions within a competitive market, and thus make them like corporations. This moment came hard on the heels of a period marked by various and often hard-fought struggles to define postmodernism and its implications for design, as well as in larger cultural and political contexts. Attempt were made, by both progressive and conservative actors, to define and reify “culture” as a vital force, exactly as, in the increasingly “postindustrial” west, many of the hard realities of material production were being displaced across distant seas and had receded from view. Within the struggles of these “culture wars,” it became possible, and necessary, to think in terms of an “identity politics” that ascribes political agency to cultural difference, while also critiquing the static rigidity, and hubristic claims of rationality by modernist institutions. Ironically, the calls to depoliticize architecture and design and to reject modernist “social engineering” that marked many figurations of postmodernism, ran parallel to a new coupling of cultural politics and “cultural production” that would further blur the already fraught distinction between design and politics. 

This turn towards “culture” and mutability has continued and amplified in the contemporary moment, in the aftermath of postermodernism. Recent identities for the Whitney Museum of Art (Experimental Jetset), the Stedelijk Museum (Mevis and van Deursen), and Documenta 14 (multiple), among many others in the institutional art world, have become the explicit medium for aesthetic demonstrations of multiplicity and difference, rather than the logical deductions of a structure or system. In these projects, it is possible to see an almost-utopian desire for design to embrace and represent — or even to produce — the kind of fluid and open identities that characterize postmodern cultural life. At the same time, the late-capitalist global corporation has seemingly dissolved its claim to visual identity altogether, while its erstwhile form-workers and art directors have been demoted to freelance influence hustlers and bland neoliberal ideologues. The once-monolithic identify edifice of corporate giants like IBM and Olivetti has diffused into vapor, noise, and pulp, and the corporations, or whatever they are at this point, have put aside the iconic clarity of self-presentation in favor of holding up a mirror—a grotesque distorting fun house mirror—to their audience/consumers. 

This profound shift in both the form and content of advanced visual identity work mirrors the one that Paul Preciado has articulated, from industrial commodity production to what he has termed the pharmacopornographic production of subjectivities. “Industrial work,” he writes, “has turned into biopolitical labor; and what is being produced is gender, sexual desire, and subjectivity as multi-media commodities”1. Capital has always deployed divisions of gender, as well as race and cultural representations of class, to reproduce itself. If, however, the old regime of modernist corporate identity produced white heteronormative subjects largely through disciplinary managerial means, then in the contemporary social factory of late capitalism, we are now explicitly summoned to produce and reproduce ourselves as gendered, sexed, and racialized subjectivities, through dispositifs of drugs and images, relentlessly customized by the hidden algorithms of online platforms controlling our spectacular circulation. In these newer and softer regimes of control (coincidental with the shift in focus, in the field of design, to relational forms marked by “interaction” and “user experience”), the emancipatory promise of openness and flexibility is conjoined to a forcing-down and inward of design—as an agency of power and control—deeper into the private self, in ways that leave increasingly fewer blank spaces for negativity, excess, and resistance. 

A host of pressing questions are thereby raised about the status of many of the old revolutionary projects of modernism. If industrial production has been supplanted by a new regime of semiotic and biopolitical self-production, how might we conceptualize a collective resistance to this late capitalist multi-media regime of identity? What new images can we produce to short-circuit this political and aesthetic economy of control? What new procedures of interpellation might we self-organize for the reproduction, not of individualized gendered bodies and mental attentions for capital, but of emancipated subjects for new autonomous and collective pleasures? Is it possible to seize control of the contemporary mean of subjective reproduction? Can we occupy these new factories? Can we break the chain that representationally fastens a signifier to a signified and thereby interrupt or shut down the semiotic apparatus that produces abstractions of sex and gender? Alternatively, are there paths of flight which can be identified to lead us out into a new ground, a new space? Can we, like the groovy hippies of old, building space-age geodesic domes on their back-to-the-land farm communes, be free to construct our own identities from fragments of the old and new? Or can we, dialectically, like the punks of the Xerox machine, cut ourselves into pieces and reassemble the shapes in new orders, new dreams, new pleasures, and new alliances?  

There is no need for hope or fear, but only to look for new weapons2.


  1. Beatriz Preciado. Pornotopia: An Essay on Playboy’s Architecture and Biopolitics. Zone. 2014. pp 10–11. 

  2. Gilles Deleuze. “Postscript on the Societies of Control”. October, Vol. 59. (Winter, 1992), p 4. 

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Turtles

Alan Smart

Platforms—political platforms, software platforms, reinforced concrete pads with code-mandated footings, vaporous vectors of techno-ideological determination, the rack, the rig, the ‘architecture,’ the infrastructure, the format, the page you now read, the language in which we write to you, the beach beneath the paving stones, the world turtle upon whose back that beach rests and the stack of other turtles under it, which in the account of Bertrand Russell’s noble savage/little old lady, extend “all the way down”—dictate the conditions of what is and what is possible. Platforms are both prison and home, spectacular scaffolds or mute scaffolding, that which limits what can be said, done, and thought, as well as the thing that makes possible what never was before. Whatever relations these structures negotiate with or impose upon Nature, they are most significantly “made” and therefore it is always possible to imagine them unmade or made differently. In this way, all platforms are designed and all design operates within and upon the platforms that support it, define it, pose its problems, and establish its criteria for success. In relation to this, however, it is important to state that platforms—or at least the ones of interest here—are not plinths. They are not the thing that gives discreet things that little lift off the earth which elevates them into the sphere of “high” art; they are not neatly bounded “artificial ground” upon which compositional figuration can be imagined to take place; and they are not mantlepieces or curio cabinets for object fetishists to fill with their tchotchkes. Platforms are heavy, pervasive, and capital intensive—they both support and confine the lowest and highest, the most and least free.  

In the context of capitalism’s contemporary condition—either “late” or “advanced” depending on one’s level of optimism—issues of platform have become both increasingly important and miserably fraught and conflicted. Structures founded on innovations in mediating relations of exchange, choreographing logistical flows, and creating spaces for communication, have surpassed the massively-material productive forces of heavy industry as the drivers of both the economy and the culture it forms and deforms. As these structures have flourished, those who create and control them have assumed roles as framers of world-defining ideological schemas, and, as they have come into crisis, regimes of austerity have asserted, not their rightness or goodness, but rather the impossibility of any alternative not already facilitated by existing platforms. Likewise, much of the most hopeful, most radical, and most beautiful work of political praxis and aesthetic production-become-reproduction has come to be focused on creating new platforms, or occupying, transforming, or subverting existing ones.

This issue of Counter Signals began with an interest in discussing platforms, as a specific scalar level of the publishing process: those systems and structures by means of which texts are produced, and through which they circulate, are invested with value in various ways, and eventually are made public. This collection is by no means encyclopedic. It does not claim to omnisciently map the entirety of this territory of territories, but neither does it pretend be a naïve juxtaposition of idiosyncratic oddities, or a cabinet of curiosities reducing carefully, and culpably engineered apparatuses to ‘objects’ in the ‘post-human’ faux-populist, know-nothing democracy of ontologically flat, actor networks. What is attempted here is to create a critical assemblage of exemplary cases, historical fragments, contemporary experiments, and analysis both practical and theoretical, that adds up to a consideration of the concrete situation.

Recent discussions of “platform” resonate with historical and ongoing discourses on similar concepts, such as “network,” “infrastructure,” “system,” and, more generally “structure,” that have marked the later phases of modernity, and the modernisms and postmodernism that have sought to understand and contend with them. Much of this discourse has been defined by either an ecstatic embrace of the dematerializing, depoliticizing, and emptying-out of content and significance attributed to systems by neoliberalism, or by a (neo)reactionary horror at the interconnectedness of the world and the way that the contingency of support structures destabilizes and denaturalizes the supposed solidity of the humanist subject. In contrast to these two poles, the call for contributions to this issue of Counter-Signals was also a call for courage. Most immediately, this is the courage to resist trembling either in terror or ecstasy at the seemingly-sublime enormity of platforms, of infrastructure, or “The System.” Further, however, it is the courage to refuse melancholic paranoia, and the glib cynicism in which it is so often, and so inadequately, masked. Rather, it is hoped, a discourse can be defined here that goes beyond delirious projections of “possible futures,” either dark or enlightened (or darkly enlightened, or simply brightly dim), and turns away from both scandalized denouncements of sinister conspiracies, and smug elegies to higher orders and deeper truths. The often-quoted passage from Marx and Engels’ Manifesto of the Communist Party asserting that “all that is solid melts into air” is, somewhat less famously, followed by the assertion that “man is at last compelled to face with sober senses his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind.” This issue of Counter-Signals offers a space to play-out this compulsion, and to ‘face’—soberly or not—the reality of life and work defined and conditioned by webs of human relations, even as our very faces, bearing the organs of sight, and representing the sites of these ethical engagements, themselves sublime into vapor, melt into air, or, as Hito Steyerl suggests, “become liquid.”

Platforms are inhuman and often de-humanizing but they are made and maintained by the work of people, and built as much out of tangled, densely felted tissues of human relations as they are by material infrastructure and intricate lattices of software code. These structures of relation establish a recursive, mutual constitution of the turtles of subjectivity that, impossibly but manifestly extend forever in infinite regress, and eternal return. Jeff Bezos—as well as his legions of immiserated “fulfillment associates,” and the consumers whose desires they fulfill—create Amazon-dot-com even as they are created by it, and the rest of late capitalism. Counter-Signals—this issue specifically but also the publication as a whole—and Other Forms are likewise a platform of mutually-constituting subjects: “self-publishing” for selves yet-to-be; publishing addressing publics not yet formed, or endlessly in flux. This collection of texts seeks simultaneously to define terms, parameters, and points of fixity, and to identify paths of flight, opportunities to subvert, escape, unfound, and destabilize the structures that both support and confine our work and our lives. This is done in full acceptance of the fact that to challenge or attack platforms is to—in the tradition of Gordon Matta-Clark, or Daffy Duck—saw the floor from beneath our feet. Whether this will leave us standing on the beach, falling into the infinite void, or simply dropping down into a deeper sub-basement full of even darker, grimier machinery remains to be seen. If this interests you, comrade reader, take up your saw, stand next to us as we hack through this issue, and wait for the drop.

Down with platforms! All the way down!

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(All the Way) Down with Platforms!
#3
Fall 2018 – Winter 2019
Edited by Alan Smart and Jack Henrie Fisher
Published by Other Forms
Buy

Alan Smart
Turtles

Heath Schultz
On Pamphlets and Class Struggle: Notes on The Communist Manifesto, Part 1

Tom Fisher
Literary Communism and Communal Poetics, Part 3

John Komurki
The Risograph in Context: Notes towards 
a Cultural History of the Mimeograph

Brian Ang
From The Totality Cantos, 18–22

Nicole Marroquin
The Froebel Uprising of 1973: Recovering the Struggle for Benito Juarez Community Academy High School

Nicholas Thoburn
Homely and Unheimlich: The Brutalist Mound at Robin Hood Gardens

Simon Sadler
Architecture Mustn’t Burn

Experimental Jetset
Superstructure

McKenzie Wark
The Vectoralist Class, Part 1

Hannah Bruckmüller
Un Autre Monde: Another Encounter with Marcel Broodthaers

Michelle Weinroth
Soldiering through a Land of Lies: William Morris, Communism, and The Story of the Glittering Plain

Dominique Hurth
Séance de Lecture

Danielle Aubert
Black & Red, Issue 6½ (1969)

Andrew Shurtz
Agitate then Negotiate: Artifacts from the Life of Helen Sargent Hitchcock

Leah Pires
We All Know What the Problems Are, but Who Now Meets Them Directly?
Aesthetic Services circa 1980

McKenzie Wark
The Vectoralist Class, Part 2

Library Stack
Archive Sophistry and False Futures

Nicolás Pradilla
Between Desire and Deterritorialization: Read-Aloud Questions about Cooperativism, Affective Networks, and the Co-production of Meaning amid the Expansion of Labor-Exploitation into the Domain of Subjectivity and the Entirety of Everyday Life

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Hieroglyphs of the Anti-commodity
#2
Fall 2017 – Winter 2018
Edited by Jack Henrie Fisher
Published by Other Forms
Buy

Jack Henrie Fisher
Editorial

Alan Moore
Edit deAk (1950–2017)

Chris Reeves
Alloturgies in the Annex: Something Else Press and the Fluxus Mode of Production

Lucy Mulroney
Self-woven, Self-shod, and Self-liberated

T’ai Smith
Fashion Capitalism, Part 2: 
The Frock Coat and the Value Form

T’ai Smith
Fashion Capitalism, Part 3: 
The Mode of the Libidinal Economy

Lisa Vinebaum
New Demands, Part 1

Eirik Steinhoff
Scenes of Instruction, Scenes of Insurrection

Nane Diehl
Bookmark

Jennifer Scappettone
1-M@n Dr1ll: Smokepenny Lyrichord Heavenbred, Act III

Francesco Marullo
Ocean Flights and Crashed Planes: A Reading of Brecht’s Two Learning Plays

John A. Tyson
Between Marxism and Cybernetics: Seth Siegelaub’s Committed Compilations

David Bennewith
Technical Images for Social Engineering

Charlotte Taillet and Joel Colover
Imagine holding out your hands and catching words, pictures, and information floating by.

Josh MacPhee
Anarchism in your Pocket: The Rise of Mass-market Anti-authoritarianism

Christopher Burke
Modernism and Traditionalism: 
Points of Convergence in 
European Typography, 1925–1950

Chris Lee
Strike and Riot: A Possible Syllabus

Tom Fisher
Literary Communism and Communal Poetics, Part 2

Alexander Negrelli
Untotal Recall.zip: Basic Remarks 
on CGI

Nellie Kluz
Feedback in Radical Software

Juliette Cezzar 
(illustrations by TXTbooks)
The Digital Dilemna: Meaning, Environment, Counter-culture, 
and Aesthetics

Bertolt Brecht
The Radio as an Apparatus of Communication

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Militant Print / A Form Oriented Towards its Own Circulation
#1
Fall 2016 – Winter 2017
Edited by Jack Henrie Fisher
Published by Other Forms
Buy

Jack Henrie Fisher
Dear Vanguard …

Mladen Dolar
The Smoking Communism

Katharina Stadler
A Sketch of Myths and Legacies: Tbilisi’s Illegal Printing Press, 1904–1906, 1937, 2016

Thomas Fisher
Literary Communism and Communal Poetics

Emma Holmes
Schizm mini-issue

Danielle Aubert
The Politics of The Joy of Printing in Detroit

Mary Ikoniadou
The Historicization of Resistance in Pyrsos Magazine; Some Visual Fragments

T’ai Smith
Fashion Capitalism, Part 1: Redressing Dressage, Managing Style

Lucy Mulroney
excerpts from La danse et la gymnastique by Raymond Duncan

Eirik Steinhoff
“Infolio Simply Means The Sheet of Paper Folded Once”: A Conversation with Tom Raworth

Nasrin Himada
Interview with Denise Ferreira da Silva

Léo Favier
Vengeance

Nicolás Pradilla
The Manual del editor con huaraches:
Media Appropriation and Organizational Systems, 1974-1985

Alan Smart
Rules for Breaking in: Squatter’s Handbooks as Radical Specifications

Nasrin Tabatabai and Babak Afrassiabi
Letters that Go Folded into Shredder, 2008–2011

Josh MacPhee
New World Paperbacks / Old World Designs: American Communism’s Strange Attempt to Join the Paperback Revolution

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Dear Vanguard, Fellow travelers, Non-fathers, Indefinite strangers, Unstable workers, Animated individual punctuation marks, Prismatic fringes, Multi-generic lifeworld, You (but not just anybody)

Jack Henrie Fisher

In the current regime of electronic sociality, every message — posted, forwarded, reposted, liked — is captured and counted as it circulates, thereby producing value for its monetizing platform. In these fluid networks, messages must be radically abstracted and made equivalent, moving with the least material friction, in order to produce the maximum of sociality and capital accumulation. As communication thus tends, through its increasing abstraction, to become an economic form — the preeminent commodity form, as many have argued1, of Late Capitalism — it must become ever more instantaneous, accessible, individualized, and disposable. “Collective settings” in “authoring platforms” are technically discouraged, if not impossible. Archives are hindered; references to the past are made difficult.

It is within and against this context that Counter-Signals polemically insists on the historical and material forms and forces which condition what Regis Debray calls the transmission2 of information. Against an amnesiac and dematerialized “ecstasy of communication,” Counter-Signals affirms, documents, and theorizes the historically militant forms of “the struggle to transmit,” especially the communitarian project, in all its material and conflictual arrangements.

These militant transmissions emit peculiar signals. They are agonistically shaped by ad-hoc constellations of technology and political necessity. The counter-signals thereby acquire distinctive forms of compression, mutation, and self-reflexivity in the project of their militant social poesis. Theodor Adorno’s informal distribution of Philosophical Fragments as a package of mimeographs, prior to its official publication as Dialectic of Enlightenment, is exemplary3. Faced with various delays in the publication process, and confronting an intellectual market “where books have long lost all likeness to books,”4 Adorno improvised with a technology at the edge of obsolescence, the mimeograph, which thereby acquired for Adorno a dialectical power: no longer cutting edge but not yet made obsolete by Xerography, it was less technically advanced than lithography but more accessible. And as a means of reproduction, it enabled both the work’s informal circulation, and, concomitantly, its “incomplete and perhaps even contradictory”5 editorial composition — one which Adorno would later significantly revise for the book’s official publication.

Mobilizing this anecdote, Counter-Signals seizes on a double program: to track and document like-minded forms of militant publishing — incomplete and contradictory — in all their historical and technical mediation, and to reflexively elicit its own formal and editorial mutations, abridgments, and excursions in the present tense. While the contents of this first issue have been elicited without an initiating theme — eschewing the prevailing tendency of contemporary art and design journals — an implicit and after-the-fact interest has emerged, reflexively doubled: the historical militancy of left-oriented publishing, and the inherently militant aesthetic of the medium of print, as it becomes obsolescently figured by a present in which electronic forms of communication have been increasingly overcome by the “total power of capital.6)

Notes for an Incomplete Counterpublic

Counter-Signals generically begins with the circular convocation which Michael Warner says is crucial to the discursive formation of a counter-public7. As a discourse — this one for instance — is printed and circulated as a publication, the collective which it addresses comes into being in the exact and indefinite space which the address opens. There is a curious circularity in this imaginary formation: while the collective is “conjured” by the discourse that addresses it, the discourse can’t exist without a particular public to address; neither comes first. So, a reflexive thank you to everyone projectively assembled in this imaginary totality, here. (You’re welcome.)

The discursive counterpublic this journal aspirationally composes is not just the countable set of comrade acquaintances we’ve happen to have lately made, in real life travels to New York, Chicago, Mexico City, Berlin, and Hawai‘i, nor the friends of friends encountered on social media platforms — though you all are here too I hope. Rather, this counterpublic is a notional one, and therefore must always seek to exceed its empirical social basis. It is, in other words, open to strangers, but not just anyone — congenial strangers, fellow travelers, comrades — when and if you read this, you know who you are. It’s an epidemic of ideology in the making!

As its first sheet of paper is folded, Counter-Signals technically begins, as all printed publications must, on the left — on the verso side. The reflexive openness of its address is materially accomplished by the circulation of the book as an autonomous object — ink on paper, folded and glued together — which might be stumbled upon at any time, in any place (art book fairs, info shops, pop-up libraries, academic conferences, Amazon) by erstwhile unrelated people. The contradiction, between an open-ended address and the acutely contingent material limits of circulation, is another dialectical moment in our communitarian assembly. This address — hello again world — is inscribed in a circulation which might always go awry.

Counter-Signals is print (for the moment) oriented towards a public, one which didn’t already exist. What else would it be? It is, reflexively, “a form oriented towards its own circulation,” in necessarily militant orbit.


  1. “Communication is the form of capitalist production in which capital has succeeded in submitting society entirely and globally to its regime.” Hardt and Negri, quoted in Jodi Dean, “Communicative Capitalism: Circulation and The Foreclosure of Politics”, Cultural Politics, Duke University Press, 2005, p. 18. 

  2. Régis Debray, Transmitting Culture, Columbia University Press, 2004. 

  3. For critical discussion of this anecdote, see Joel Burges, “Adorno’s Mimeograph: The Uses of Obsolescence in MInima Moralia”, New German Critique, Duke University Press, 2013, pp. 65–92. 

  4. Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia: Reflections on a Damaged Life, Verso, London, 2006, p. 51. 

  5. James Schmidt, “Language, Mythology, and Enlightenment: Historical Notes on Horkheimer and Adorno’s Dialectic of Enlightenment”, Social Research, Winter 1998, The New School for Social Research, p. 811. 

  6. Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, Stanford University Press, 2002, p. 94 (quoted in Burges, p. 73 

  7. Michael Warner, Publics and Counterpublics, Zone Books, 2005, pp. 67–74. 

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Stocklists

Printed Matter, NYC

McNally Jackson, NYC

Graham Foundation Bookstore, Chicago

Quimby’s, Chicago

Oooga Booga, Los Angeles

Pro Qm, Berlin

After 8 Books, Paris

Hopscotch Reading Room, Berlin

Aeromoto, Mexico City

Casa Bosques, Mexico City

San Serriffe, Amsterdam

Lugemik, Tallinn

Salon für Kunstbuch, Vienna

Art Metropole, Toronto

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