Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
I.V. Nuss
Die Liebe im Konvexen, in der totalen Rundung und zur Slutifizierung aller Männer westlich des Bosporus
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Ersatzkaffeelesen
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Marlene Streeruwitz
L'auteur n'est pas l'auteure
Michael F. Zimmermann
Courbet als Assyrer
A. L. Kennedy
Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur ?
Felix Stalder
Feedback als Authentitzität
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Michael Heitz
Wong Pings "Who’s the Daddy"
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Helmut J. Schneider
Wie fern darf der Nächste sein?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Diane Williams
Rums Bums auf der Treppe
Alexander García Düttmann
Kann es eine Gesellschaft ohne Feier geben oder Die kritische Frage des Theaters
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Mário Gomes
Poetik der Architektur
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Hendrik Rohlf
Richard Prince (Book)
Peter Ott
The Monotheistic Cell Or Reports from Fiction
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...
Une Trinité de mémoire
Je me souviens de quelques lieux, de quelques parfums d’enfance. En Amérique du Sud, en Equateur, à...
DIAPHANES fragt nach Relikten von Zukunftsvisionen in den Bildräumen der Vergangenheit, nach Spuren und Signaturen eines einst Vorstellbaren und zeitlos Möglichen.
Der Post, den ich hiermit teile, hat mich leicht verstört: »Barbara ist Facebook vor 6 Jahren beigetreten«!
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
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...
Meine Sprache
Deutsch
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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.