Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Ersatzkaffeelesen
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Felix Stalder
Feedback als Authentitzität
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Marlene Streeruwitz
L'auteur n'est pas l'auteure
Michael F. Zimmermann
Courbet als Assyrer
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Jean-Luc Nancy
Après les avant-gardes
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Michael Heitz
Wong Pings "Who’s the Daddy"
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Christian Beetz, Hendrik Rohlf
Katalysatoren der Radikalisierung
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
A.K. Kaiza
Eine kommentierte Geschichte Wakandas
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Hautnah am Körper des Unbekannten
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Mário Gomes
Poetik der Architektur
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
Über Realismus
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Marcus Quent
Ohne Halt
Oliver Hendricks
Human Oddities (Book)
John Donne
Paradox I
Facebooks Bilder-Waschtrommel erinnert mich derzeit an meine erste China-Reise vor einem Jahr. Ich war beeindruckt: So viele Hochhäuser, so viele...
Ich sitze in der Lobby eines Hotels in China. Zum Hotel inmitten einer toskanisch anmutenden Landschaft, in das ich mit...
Diese Muster für Fingernagelschmuck fielen mir vor vier Jahren im Fenster eines »Nailstudios« in Salisbury, Südwestengland, auf. Nailstudios begannen mich...
Der Facebook-Algorithmus hat mitbekommen, dass ich was mit Kunst und Museen habe und setzt mir aus dem Pool meiner früheren...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Nicht im Dienste irgendeines Wissens oder Spekulierens will dieses fortlaufende Register Eintragungen über Vorstellbares ansammeln: Namen, Objekte, Phänomene, Singularitäten.
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
I said “Would you like a rope? You know that haul you have is not secured properly.”
“No,” he said, “but I see you have string!”
“If this comes into motion—” I said, “you should use a rope.”
“Any poison ivy on that? ” he asked me, and I told him my rope had been in the barn peacefully for years.
He took a length of it to the bedside table. He had no concept for what wood could endure.
“Table must have broken when I lashed it onto the truck,” he said.
And, when he was moving the sewing machine, he let the cast iron wheels—bang, bang on the stair.
I had settled down to pack up the flamingo cookie jar, the cutlery, and the cookware, but stopped briefly, for how many times do you catch sudden sight of something heartfelt?
I saw our milk cows in their slow...
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Aktuell ausgewählte Inhalte
Deutsch, Englisch, Französisch
»Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, MAESTRO DI COLOR CHE SANNO. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.
Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs
marching. No, agallop: DELINE THE MARE.
Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since?
If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. BASTA! I will see
if I can see.
See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world
without end.«
James Joyce
Dire works on the bogus regime—not just of art—but endowed with wit, beauty and irresistible fetish character.