I.V. Nuss
Die Liebe im Konvexen, in der totalen Rundung und zur Slutifizierung aller Männer westlich des Bosporus
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Ersatzkaffeelesen
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Mengia Tschalaer
Queere Räume
Marlene Streeruwitz
Der Autor ist nicht die Autorin
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Zoran Terzić
Die Verallgemeinerung des Menschen
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
Wofür steht der Tod der Avantgarden?
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Grabmal für Guy Debord
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Christian Beetz, Hendrik Rohlf
Katalysatoren der Radikalisierung
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Jochen Thermann
Der Hilfskoch
Maria Filomena Molder
Die Almosen der Zeit
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Manuel Franquelo
An interview with Manuel Franquelo
Marcus Quent
Verrinnen der Zeit und Glaube an die Welt
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venedig, Lagos und der Raum dazwischen
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
Über Realismus
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
Marcus Quent
Ohne Halt
Oliver Hendricks
Human Oddities (Book)
John Donne
Paradox I
What do I remember? My memories of my life have always been very limited. I only remember single fragments, good...
A Little Paris Nightmare
I loved Paris, even as a little boy, long before I lived there. I was like Pinocchio...
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
…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…
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
Gedanklich-sinnliche Küchenzettel, Aufzählungen und Auslesen…
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.