Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Barbara Vinken
Geistige Mütter
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Claire Fontaine
Vers une théorie du matérialisme magique
Mengia Tschalaer
Queere Räume
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
Wofür steht der Tod der Avantgarden?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Axel Dielmann
Die Schneiderin
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Alexander García Düttmann
Kalte Distanz
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Fiktionen von Heimat
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Maël Renouard
Fragmente eines unendlichen Gedächtnisses
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Artur Zmijewski
Conversation on “Glimpse”
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Michael Heitz
Another New God in Parts
Mário Gomes
Brandsatz & Ästhetik
Tyler Coburn
Quaddie
Hendrik Rohlf
Richard Prince (Book)
¡ Wenn sie im Flugzeug freie Plätze sehen, dann nicht darum prügeln !
¡ Auf gar keinen Fall darf...
Cumulus tuba ;
Cirrus cumulonimbogenitus ;
Wallcloud ;
Bannerwolke ;
Föhnfische ;
mother-of-pearl cloud ;
Altocumulus translucidus ;
Stratocumulus...
1. Ringo Starr
2. Mike D.
3. Roland TR 808
4. Jaki Liebezeit
5. Paul Lovens
6. Anthony Williams
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
…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?
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,...
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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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.