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
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – oder: die ekstatische Agonie des Erscheinens
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
A. L. Kennedy
Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur ?
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the tame
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Lars von Trier im Gespräch mit Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Sina Dell’Anno
Oratio Soluta
Jochen Thermann
L’aide-cuisinier
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Stephen Barber
Krieg aus Fragmenten: World Versus America
Diane Williams
Rums Bums auf der Treppe
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Oliver Hendricks
Human Oddities (Book)
Donatien Grau, Pierre Guyotat
Conversation
Blixa Bargeld
LISTMANIA: ABT. DIE DUEMMSTEN BERLINER FRISÖRNAMEN
Peter Ott
Die monotheistische Zelle oder Berichte aus der Fiktion
The Transversal Shelf of Printed Books in Times of Accelerated Opaque Media
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...
Der Titel ist Programm. Dieses »in der hauptsache von 1962 bis 1967« geschriebene Werk ist nicht nur ein megalomanisch zusammengeclustertes Durchverdauen der bewegenden Theorien der späten 60er Jahre (Linguistik, Kybernetik,...
Bearded Ladies, Dwarfs and Giants, Hermaphrodites, Siamese Twins (see Heng and Chang on the book cover), the Mule-headed Lady, The Serpent-Woman, The Amazing Half-Boy (famous for his appearance in...
…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?
Gedanklich-sinnliche Küchenzettel, Aufzählungen und Auslesen…
DIAPHANES fragt nach Relikten von Zukunftsvisionen in den Bildräumen der Vergangenheit, nach Spuren und Signaturen eines einst Vorstellbaren und zeitlos Möglichen.
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...
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»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.