Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
I.V. Nuss
Die Liebe im Konvexen, in der totalen Rundung und zur Slutifizierung aller Männer westlich des Bosporus
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Claire Fontaine
Vers une théorie du matérialisme magique
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – oder: die ekstatische Agonie des Erscheinens
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Jean-Luc Nancy
Nach den Avantgarden
Christian Beetz, Hendrik Rohlf
Katalysatoren der Radikalisierung
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Alexander García Düttmann
Kalte Distanz
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Hautnah am Körper des Unbekannten
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Zoran Terzić
Politische Transplantate
Stephen Barber
Krieg aus Fragmenten: World Versus America
Manuel Franquelo
An interview with Manuel Franquelo
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Alexander García Düttmann
Kann es eine Gesellschaft ohne Feier geben oder Die kritische Frage des Theaters
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Stephen Barber
I remember (Stephen Barber)
¡ Wenn sie im Flugzeug freie Plätze sehen, dann nicht darum prügeln !
¡ Auf gar keinen Fall darf...
Es sei uns gestattet, hier einmal sämtliche Gründe aufzuzählen, warum wir von Schach nichts halten.
1. Es ist ein...
Plörre
Smegma
Ohrwurm
Schlamassel
Kummerspeck
Weltschmerz
Gesöff
Fernweh
Lotterbett
Spelunke
Scharmützel
Donnerwetter
Schabracke
Mumpitz
Spatzenhirn
Lustmolch
Kaschemme
Spinatwachtel
Popanz
In der Folge von Georges Perecs Erinnerung 480: "Ich erinnere mich… (Fortsetzung folgt…)"
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
DIAPHANES fragt nach Relikten von Zukunftsvisionen in den Bildräumen der Vergangenheit, nach Spuren und Signaturen eines einst Vorstellbaren und zeitlos Möglichen.
…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…
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.