I.V. Nuss
Die Liebe im Konvexen, in der totalen Rundung und zur Slutifizierung aller Männer westlich des Bosporus
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Zoran Terzić
Die Verallgemeinerung des Menschen
Claire Fontaine
Vers une théorie du matérialisme magique
Mengia Tschalaer
Queere Räume
Kai van Eikels
Macht kaputt, was Demokratie kaputt macht
Sandra Frimmel
Ich hasse die Avantgarde
Jean-Luc Nancy
Nach den Avantgarden
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Jean-Luc Nancy
Après les avant-gardes
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
Was wir nicht sehen
Axel Dielmann
Die Schneiderin
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Umas Gesicht – Thurmans Stimme
Alexander García Düttmann
Cold Distance
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Zoran Terzić
Transplants politiques
Angelika Meier
Wer ich wirklich bin
Zoran Terzić
Politische Transplantate
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Marcus Quent
Elapsing Time and Belief in the World
Stephen Barber
Krieg aus Fragmenten: World Versus America
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Ann Cotten
Dialoge
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venedig, Lagos und der Raum dazwischen
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Mário Gomes
The Poetics of Architecture
Blixa Bargeld
LISTMANIA: ABT. DIE DUEMMSTEN BERLINER FRISÖRNAMEN
Andreas Reihse
LISTMANIA: GUANAJUATONOVIEMBRE
Peter Ott
Die monotheistische Zelle oder Berichte aus der Fiktion
What do I remember? My memories of my life have always been very limited. I only remember single fragments, good...
So wie geplant kommt es ja selten, meistens ergibt sich etwas halt so. Das ist weniger der Zustand der Welt...
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
Gedanklich-sinnliche Küchenzettel, Aufzählungen und Auslesen…
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Der Post, den ich hiermit teile, hat mich leicht verstört: »Barbara ist Facebook vor 6 Jahren beigetreten«!
“So many egoists call themselves artists,” Rimbaud wrote to Paul Demeny on May 15, 1871. Even though that is not always obvious, ‘I’, the first person, is the most unknown person, a mystery that is constantly moving towards the other two, the second and third persons, a series of unfoldings and smatterings that eventually gelled as ‘Je est un autre’. That is why ‘apocryphal’ is a literarily irrelevant concept and ‘pseudo’ a symptom, the very proof that life, writing, is made up of echoes, which means that intrusions and thefts (Borges also discusses them) will always be the daily bread of those who write.
Words from others, words taken out of place and mutilated: here are the alms of time, that squanderer’s sole kindness. And so many others, mostly others who wrote, and many other pages, all of them apocryphal, all of them echoes, reflections. All this flows together into—two centuries...
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.