Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Ersatzkaffeelesen
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
A. L. Kennedy
Was ist ein Autor?
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – oder: die ekstatische Agonie des Erscheinens
Felix Stalder
Feedback als Authentitzität
Jean-Luc Nancy
Après les avant-gardes
Sandra Frimmel
Ich hasse die Avantgarde
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Axel Dielmann
Die Schneiderin
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit: un corps à corps avec l’inconnu
A.K. Kaiza
Eine kommentierte Geschichte Wakandas
Jochen Thermann
The Assistant Chef
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Maël Renouard
Modifications infimes et considérables
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Manuel Franquelo
Manuel Franquelo im Gespräch
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Diane Williams
Rums Bums auf der Treppe
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Jean-Luc Nancy
Je me souviens (Jean-Luc Nancy)
Trmasan Bruialesi
Lieber Paul 1
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
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...
Ich erinnere mich an gewellte goldene Kornfelder.
Ich erinnere mich an mich; in der Peripherie des Bildes.
Ich erinnere mich an die...
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
…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.
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
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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.