Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Mengia Tschalaer
Queere Räume
A. L. Kennedy
Was ist ein Autor?
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – oder: die ekstatische Agonie des Erscheinens
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Kai van Eikels
Macht kaputt, was Demokratie kaputt macht
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
Wofür steht der Tod der Avantgarden?
Alexander García Düttmann
Kalte Distanz
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the tame
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Helmut J. Schneider
Wie fern darf der Nächste sein?
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Fiktionen von Heimat
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Homeland Fictions
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Mário Gomes
The Poetics of Architecture
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Ann Cotten
Dialoge
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 1
Luc Meresma
Capt. Norman MacMillan (Book)
Donatien Grau, Pierre Guyotat
Conversation
Kommt ein Polizist zu einem Mann, der beschuldigt wird, seinen kleinen Sohn zu Tode geschüttelt zu haben. Wie ist denn das passiert?, will der Polizist wissen. So!, gibt der Mann...
The Three Marias is a highly interesting work of feminist literature, although it’s now largely forgotten outside of its native Portugal. In the early 70s, while the country was still...
In Jugoslawien wurde viel publiziert und wenig weggeworfen. So hatte man die Möglichkeit, in staatlichen Galerien und Museen Ausstellungskataloge und Kunstzeitschriften für Pfennige zu schießen. Einen besonderen Platz in meinem...
Gedanklich-sinnliche Küchenzettel, Aufzählungen und Auslesen…
Der Post, den ich hiermit teile, hat mich leicht verstört: »Barbara ist Facebook vor 6 Jahren beigetreten«!
…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…
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
Now the dead will no longer be buried, now this spectral city will become the site for execrations and lamentations, now time itself will disintegrate and void itself, now human bodies will expectorate fury and envision their own transformation or negation, now infinite and untold catastrophes are imminently on their way —ready to cross the bridge over the river Aire and engulf us all — in this winter of discontent, just beginning at this dead-of-night instant before midnight, North-Sea ice-particles already crackling in the air and the last summer long-over, the final moment of my seventeenth birthday, so we have to go, the devil is at our heels… And now we’re running at full-tilt through the centre of the city, across the square beneath the Purbeck-marble edifice of the Queen’s Hotel, down towards the dark arches under the railway tracks, the illuminated sky shaking, the air fissured with beating cacophony,...
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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.