Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Ersatzkaffeelesen
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
A. L. Kennedy
Was ist ein Autor?
Felix Stalder
Feedback als Authentitzität
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – oder: die ekstatische Agonie des Erscheinens
Sandra Frimmel
Ich hasse die Avantgarde
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Jean-Luc Nancy
Après les avant-gardes
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Axel Dielmann
Die Schneiderin
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the tame
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Manuel Franquelo
Manuel Franquelo im Gespräch
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Maël Renouard
Modifications infimes et considérables
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
Mário Gomes
Poetik der Architektur
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 2
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Es mag der schlichten Gestaltung dieses Buchumschlags geschuldet sein, der keine Auskunft über Genre und Inhalt gibt, und der in...
Der nichtexistente Giotto
Ein Bild mag die Zukunft weniger im Sinne einer Bezugnahme auf ein zukünftiges Ereignis ankündigen, als vielmehr...
Obwohl die Zeitgenossen François Gérards Belisar romantische Qualitäten attestierten, gefiel er dem Erzromantiker Delacroix nicht: »Das Geschick eines großen Kriegers,...
…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?
Der Post, den ich hiermit teile, hat mich leicht verstört: »Barbara ist Facebook vor 6 Jahren beigetreten«!
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
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.