I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
A. L. Kennedy
Was ist ein Autor?
A. L. Kennedy
Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur ?
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Marlene Streeruwitz
Der Autor ist nicht die Autorin
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Jean-Luc Nancy
Nach den Avantgarden
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Lars von Trier im Gespräch mit Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Joch
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Stephen Barber
Krieg aus Fragmenten: World Versus America
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Manuel Franquelo
Manuel Franquelo im Gespräch
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Mário Gomes
Poetik der Architektur
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venedig, Lagos und der Raum dazwischen
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
Über Realismus
Artur Zmijewski
Gespräch über ‚Glimpse‘
John Donne
Problem IX
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
Peter Ott
Die monotheistische Zelle oder Berichte aus der Fiktion
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...
A Little Paris Nightmare
I loved Paris, even as a little boy, long before I lived there. I was like Pinocchio...
…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…
Gedanklich-sinnliche Küchenzettel, Aufzählungen und Auslesen…
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
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.