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Wong Ping: Still from ”Who is the Daddy" – courtesy of Edouard Malingue Gallery and the artist
Inhalt
Maria Filomena Molder . The Alms of Time . . . . . Boutiquen am Bosporus . . . . . Honoré Daumier: Don Quixote lisant . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . A.K. Kaiza . An Annotated History of Wakanda . . . . . . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Political Transplants . . . . . Slavs and Tatars . Reverse Joy . . . . . Helmut J. Schneider . Wie fern darf der Nächste sein? . . . . . Angelika Meier . Wer ich wirklich bin . . . . . Thomas Huber . Generation of the Lynn Hershman Antibody . . . . . . Xenolinguistics . . . . . Ich erinnere mich . . . . . Hinter der Great Firewall . . . . . Jochen Thermann . Der Hilfskoch . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto . . . . . Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger . Fiktionen von Heimat . . . . . Ich erinnere mich . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit. Hautnah am Körper des Unbekannten . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit: un corps à corps avec l’inconnu . . . . . Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger . Homeland Fictions . . . . . Jochen Thermann . L’aide-cuisinier . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Transplants politiques . . . . . Maria Filomena Molder . Die Almosen der Zeit . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Politische Transplantate . . . . . Slavs and Tatars . Reverse Joy . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . A.K. Kaiza . Eine kommentierte Geschichte Wakandas . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . Angelika Meier . Who I Really Am . . . . . Jochen Thermann . The Assistant Chef . . . . . Helmut J. Schneider . How Distant Can My Neighbor be? . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh

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    Aboprämie: DIAPHANES-Tasche »Shut your eyes and read!«

    Baumwolltasche mit zwei langen Henkeln, Bodenfalte und Seitenfalten; 38 x 42 cm, Henkellänge 70 cm

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SCHÖNE WORTE FÜR ABSCHEULICHE DINGE IN ZUFÄLLIGER REIHENFOLGE

Natascha Bub, 03.07.2017

Plörre
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Schlamassel
Kummerspeck
Weltschmerz
Gesöff
Fernweh
Lotterbett
Spelunke
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Donnerwetter
Schabracke
Mumpitz
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Popanz

BIG BUGS

Beni Bischof, 24.03.2017

Forever!

Star

Shame!

Cheat

War

Wedding

Psych

Suicide

Dying!

Love

TWELVE DRUMMERS DRUMMING

Hanno Leichtmann, 24.03.2017

1. Ringo Starr
2. Mike D.
3. Roland TR 808
4. Jaki Liebezeit
5. Paul Lovens
6. Anthony Williams

Weitere Rubriken
Magazin Spezial

Maria Filomena Molder

So many egoists call themselves artists…

“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...

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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

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