I.V. Nuss
Die Liebe im Konvexen, in der totalen Rundung und zur Slutifizierung aller Männer westlich des Bosporus
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Ersatzkaffeelesen
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Felix Stalder
Feedback als Authentitzität
A. L. Kennedy
Was ist ein Autor?
A. L. Kennedy
Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur ?
Sandra Frimmel
Ich hasse die Avantgarde
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tombeau pour Guy Debord
Lars von Trier im Gespräch mit Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Christian Beetz, Hendrik Rohlf
Katalysatoren der Radikalisierung
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Zoran Terzić
Politische Transplantate
Marcus Quent
Elapsing Time and Belief in the World
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Alexander García Düttmann
Kann es eine Gesellschaft ohne Feier geben oder Die kritische Frage des Theaters
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
Artur Zmijewski
Gespräch über ‚Glimpse‘
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Michael Heitz
Another New God in Parts
Discoteca Flaming Star
Ich erinnere mich… (Discoteca Flaming Star)
1. Tell the Earth, “I love you. I can’t live without you."
2. At first you may feel embarrassed...
Cumulus tuba ;
Cirrus cumulonimbogenitus ;
Wallcloud ;
Bannerwolke ;
Föhnfische ;
mother-of-pearl cloud ;
Altocumulus translucidus ;
Stratocumulus...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
DIAPHANES fragt nach Relikten von Zukunftsvisionen in den Bildräumen der Vergangenheit, nach Spuren und Signaturen eines einst Vorstellbaren und zeitlos Möglichen.
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,...
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.