Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Ersatzkaffeelesen
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Mengia Tschalaer
Queere Räume
A. L. Kennedy
Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur ?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Sandra Frimmel
Ich hasse die Avantgarde
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Ines Kleesattel
Kunst, junge Mädchen und die ästhetische Freiheit untenrum
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the tame
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Joch
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Angelika Meier
Wer ich wirklich bin
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Fiktionen von Heimat
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Manuel Franquelo
Manuel Franquelo im Gespräch
Manuel Franquelo
An interview with Manuel Franquelo
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Mário Gomes
Poetik der Architektur
Diane Williams
Rums Bums auf der Treppe
Ann Cotten
Dialoge
Luc Meresma
Capt. Norman MacMillan (Book)
John Donne
Paradox I
Haus am Gern
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée (Blog1)
Hendrik Rohlf
Richard Prince (Book)
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
Une Trinité de mémoire
Je me souviens de quelques lieux, de quelques parfums d’enfance. En Amérique du Sud, en Equateur, à...
Ich erinnere mich an mein Exemplar von Alles kurz und klein, das weg ist, verschwunden! – wer erinnert sich, es...
La soif
Quand j’étais enfant, près de la maison ou j’habitais, il y avait une voie ferrée. Avant de m'endormir, j’entendais...
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.
Gedanklich-sinnliche Küchenzettel, Aufzählungen und Auslesen…
Nicht im Dienste irgendeines Wissens oder Spekulierens will dieses fortlaufende Register Eintragungen über Vorstellbares ansammeln: Namen, Objekte, Phänomene, Singularitäten.
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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»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.