Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
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
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Michael F. Zimmermann
Courbet als Assyrer
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – oder: die ekstatische Agonie des Erscheinens
Marlene Streeruwitz
L'auteur n'est pas l'auteure
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Marlene Streeruwitz
Der Autor ist nicht die Autorin
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
Was wir nicht sehen
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit: un corps à corps avec l’inconnu
Zoran Terzić
Politische Transplantate
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Jochen Thermann
Der Hilfskoch
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Manuel Franquelo
Manuel Franquelo im Gespräch
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Ute Holl
Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile
Michael Heitz
Noch ein neuer Gott in Teilen
Peter Ott
Die monotheistische Zelle oder Berichte aus der Fiktion
Ich erinnere mich an mein Exemplar von Alles kurz und klein, das weg ist, verschwunden! – wer erinnert sich, es...
A Little Paris Nightmare
I loved Paris, even as a little boy, long before I lived there. I was like Pinocchio...
Ich erinnere mich an gewellte goldene Kornfelder.
Ich erinnere mich an mich; in der Peripherie des Bildes.
Ich erinnere mich an die...
Nicht im Dienste irgendeines Wissens oder Spekulierens will dieses fortlaufende Register Eintragungen über Vorstellbares ansammeln: Namen, Objekte, Phänomene, Singularitäten.
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…
Gedanklich-sinnliche Küchenzettel, Aufzählungen und Auslesen…
Externalized memory had always proceeded by contractions, summaries, reductions, selections, breaks in flow, as well as by organization, classification, boiling down. Card catalogues reduced thousands of works to a few key notions; tables of contents contracted the hundreds of pages in a given book. The sign itself was the first abbreviation of experience. An epic stitched of words was an abbreviation of the war, the long years of which were reduced to a few nights of recitation; the written text that recorded the epic was a contraction of the oral narration which pushed aside its sensory richness, melody, life in a thousand details. In accumulating, every level of abbreviation reconstituted an infinite flow, a new dilation that would be contracted in its turn. From the plurality of pages to the index and the table of contents; from the plurality of books to card catalogues.
The abbreviated elements were further arranged, situated...
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.