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
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
A. L. Kennedy
Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur ?
Claire Fontaine
Vers une théorie du matérialisme magique
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Grabmal für Guy Debord
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Jean-Luc Nancy
Après les avant-gardes
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
Wofür steht der Tod der Avantgarden?
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
Was wir nicht sehen
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Thomas Huber
Generation of the Lynn Hershman Antibody
Maria Filomena Molder
Die Almosen der Zeit
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Mário Gomes
Poetik der Architektur
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
Marcus Quent
Ohne Halt
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Es sei uns gestattet, hier einmal sämtliche Gründe aufzuzählen, warum wir von Schach nichts halten.
1. Es ist ein...
1. Tell the Earth, “I love you. I can’t live without you."
2. At first you may feel embarrassed...
Der Post, den ich hiermit teile, hat mich leicht verstört: »Barbara ist Facebook vor 6 Jahren beigetreten«!
DIAPHANES fragt nach Relikten von Zukunftsvisionen in den Bildräumen der Vergangenheit, nach Spuren und Signaturen eines einst Vorstellbaren und zeitlos Möglichen.
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?
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
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.