Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Emanuele Coccia
Le futur de la littérature
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Michael F. Zimmermann
Courbet als Assyrer
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Mengia Tschalaer
Queere Räume
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Alexander García Düttmann
Kalte Distanz
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Alexander García Düttmann
Cold Distance
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Zoran Terzić
Transplants politiques
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Fiktionen von Heimat
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Stephen Barber
Krieg aus Fragmenten: World Versus America
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Maël Renouard
Modifications infimes et considérables
Diane Williams
Rums Bums auf der Treppe
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Ann Cotten
Dialoge
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
Mário Gomes
Poetik der Architektur
Haus am Gern
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée (Blog1)
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 2
What do I remember? My memories of my life have always been very limited. I only remember single fragments, good...
A Little Paris Nightmare
I loved Paris, even as a little boy, long before I lived there. I was like Pinocchio...
I remember during the frozen Tokyo winter of 1997: I took long walks in the dead of night through the...
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
Der Post, den ich hiermit teile, hat mich leicht verstört: »Barbara ist Facebook vor 6 Jahren beigetreten«!
Apfel oder Zitrone? Remembering, what do you hear? Wie sterben? Nord oder Süd? A question to which “yes” is always your answer?
…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…
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.