Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
I.V. Nuss
Die Liebe im Konvexen, in der totalen Rundung und zur Slutifizierung aller Männer westlich des Bosporus
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Marlene Streeruwitz
Der Autor ist nicht die Autorin
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Zoran Terzić
Die Verallgemeinerung des Menschen
Mengia Tschalaer
Queere Räume
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Michael Heitz
Wong Pings "Who’s the Daddy"
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
Was wir nicht sehen
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Jochen Thermann
Der Hilfskoch
Zoran Terzić
Transplants politiques
Maël Renouard
Modifications infimes et considérables
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Marcus Quent
Verrinnen der Zeit und Glaube an die Welt
Ann Cotten
Dialoge
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Alexander García Düttmann
Kann es eine Gesellschaft ohne Feier geben oder Die kritische Frage des Theaters
Andreas Reihse
LISTMANIA: GUANAJUATONOVIEMBRE
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Tyler Coburn
Quaddie
Facebooks Bilder-Waschtrommel erinnert mich derzeit an meine erste China-Reise vor einem Jahr. Ich war beeindruckt: So viele Hochhäuser, so viele...
Ich bin nicht mehr sehr zufrieden mit Facebook. Denn in jüngerer Zeit scheint der Algorithmus dort ein totales Willkürregime zu...
Kürzlich wollte Facebook mit mir feiern. Zu dem Zweck hat das Unternehmen mir einen Eintrag auf meine Pinwand gepostet, die...
Der Facebook-Algorithmus hat mitbekommen, dass ich was mit Kunst und Museen habe und setzt mir aus dem Pool meiner früheren...
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
…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…
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
DIAPHANES fragt nach Relikten von Zukunftsvisionen in den Bildräumen der Vergangenheit, nach Spuren und Signaturen eines einst Vorstellbaren und zeitlos Möglichen.
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.