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
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Felix Stalder
Feedback als Authentitzität
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – oder: die ekstatische Agonie des Erscheinens
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Sandra Frimmel
Ich hasse die Avantgarde
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Michael Heitz
Wong Pings "Who’s the Daddy"
Ines Kleesattel
Kunst, junge Mädchen und die ästhetische Freiheit untenrum
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Jochen Thermann
The Assistant Chef
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Jochen Thermann
Der Hilfskoch
Maël Renouard
Modifications infimes et considérables
Marcus Quent
Elapsing Time and Belief in the World
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
Über Realismus
Mário Gomes
Poetik der Architektur
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Michael Heitz
Noch ein neuer Gott in Teilen
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Michael Heitz
Another New God in Parts
Aya Momose
Questionnaire Aya Momose
Oliver Hendricks
Human Oddities (Book)
Facebooks Bilder-Waschtrommel erinnert mich derzeit an meine erste China-Reise vor einem Jahr. Ich war beeindruckt: So viele Hochhäuser, so viele...
Facebooks Algorithmus hat mir oft genug Erinnerungen an meine Türkei-Reisen serviert, gibt nun aber Gegensteuer und präsentiert plötzlich ganz andere...
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...
…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…
Nicht im Dienste irgendeines Wissens oder Spekulierens will dieses fortlaufende Register Eintragungen über Vorstellbares ansammeln: Namen, Objekte, Phänomene, Singularitäten.
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…
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.