Andreas L. Hofbauer
Ersatzkaffeelesen
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – oder: die ekstatische Agonie des Erscheinens
Michael F. Zimmermann
Courbet als Assyrer
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Marlene Streeruwitz
Der Autor ist nicht die Autorin
Jean-Luc Nancy
Après les avant-gardes
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
Was wir nicht sehen
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Alexander García Düttmann
Kalte Distanz
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Zoran Terzić
Politische Transplantate
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Maël Renouard
Fragmente eines unendlichen Gedächtnisses
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Artur Zmijewski
Gespräch über ‚Glimpse‘
Ann Cotten
Dialoge
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Mário Gomes
The Poetics of Architecture
Tyler Coburn
Quaddie
Ute Holl
Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile
John Donne
Problem IX
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Es sei uns gestattet, hier einmal sämtliche Gründe aufzuzählen, warum wir von Schach nichts halten.
1. Es ist ein...
1. Tell the Earth, “I love you. I can’t live without you."
2. At first you may feel embarrassed...
Setlist:
1 Luminous Procuress
2 Zero
3 Brass Canon
4 Mexican Tea Party
5 Jaguar
6 New Earth
7...
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
In der Folge von Georges Perecs Erinnerung 480: "Ich erinnere mich… (Fortsetzung folgt…)"
…rather alarms, to truth to arm her than enemies, and they have only this advantage to scape from being called ill things, that they are nothings…
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Now the dead will no longer be buried, now this spectral city will become the site for execrations and lamentations, now time itself will disintegrate and void itself, now human bodies will expectorate fury and envision their own transformation or negation, now infinite and untold catastrophes are imminently on their way —ready to cross the bridge over the river Aire and engulf us all — in this winter of discontent, just beginning at this dead-of-night instant before midnight, North-Sea ice-particles already crackling in the air and the last summer long-over, the final moment of my seventeenth birthday, so we have to go, the devil is at our heels… And now we’re running at full-tilt through the centre of the city, across the square beneath the Purbeck-marble edifice of the Queen’s Hotel, down towards the dark arches under the railway tracks, the illuminated sky shaking, the air fissured with beating cacophony,...
Meine Sprache
Deutsch
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.