Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Marlene Streeruwitz
Der Autor ist nicht die Autorin
Marlene Streeruwitz
L'auteur n'est pas l'auteure
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Michael F. Zimmermann
Courbet als Assyrer
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the tame
Alexander García Düttmann
Kalte Distanz
Lars von Trier im Gespräch mit Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Angelika Meier
Wer ich wirklich bin
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Fiktionen von Heimat
Jochen Thermann
Der Hilfskoch
Manuel Franquelo
An interview with Manuel Franquelo
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Marcus Quent
Elapsing Time and Belief in the World
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venedig, Lagos und der Raum dazwischen
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
What do I remember? My memories of my life have always been very limited. I only remember single fragments, good...
Une Trinité de mémoire
Je me souviens de quelques lieux, de quelques parfums d’enfance. En Amérique du Sud, en Equateur, à...
La soif
Quand j’étais enfant, près de la maison ou j’habitais, il y avait une voie ferrée. Avant de m'endormir, j’entendais...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
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?
…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…
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.