»Die meisten Menschen sehen aus wie Hunde oder Katzen, aber manche auch einfach nur wie Faschisten«.

nyt: In just seven minutes of intense telephone bidding, preservationists won the battle yesterday for Ludwig Mies van der Rohe's legendary Farnsworth House, paying $7.5 million at a Sotheby's auction in New York. They competed against only one other telephone bidder, who was not identified. [...] "It will be taken care of and forever open to the public." [...] "We had about 30 people who gave over $250,000," Mr. Bahlman said. "A few were architects, some were the usual Chicago philanthropists and others were newcomers. Yesterday a man we didn't know called, offering to give $250,000. By the time the phone call was over, he had given $750,000."

das presseheft von robert bressons film lancelot du lac (1974) [16 jpgs]

für fahrigkeit für geistige überanstrengung für pubertätsirrsinn bei mädchen der durch einen bösen zauber hervorgerufen wurde für intellektuelle überarbeitung

real audio: hubert fichte: gott ist ein mathematiker (hörprobe), bei supposé

volker radke hat nun doch ein weblog, und es geht richtig gut los.

KAFF auch MARE CRISIUM

delon gerade: "dann lasse ich Sie allein. und ich strolche ein bisschen herum"

She'd tried every way she could think of to make the characters in her story sixty-nine each other in a pleasing way. To be erotic in words, to be 69ing each other , face to crotch, crotch to face and she would always get caught up in how unpleasant it was to be on the bottom with a pair of balls dangling over your forehead, or was it over your cheeks? She supposed it would depend on the man and the length of his member or whatever and that was how she'd always get caught up in the details and lose track of her narrative or rather how the narrative would get snagged round the pair of balls bouncing in her mind's eye somewhere just above her right cheekbone and the smell of his ass and she couldn't help remembering how she'd stopped herself from laughing just before he, thank god , did manage to make her come with his tongue that time at the party on the floor beside her best friend's bed on the rough, red carpet burning a place into her shoulder blades. Yes, she couldn't help remembering how he'd smelled strange, really, not like ass at all or like body odor or even like bad breath or like anything she'd ever smelled on a body before but rather something metal-like in the smell of his ass and in the hair around his balls that distracted her so much she almost didn't come at all but he was good enough to, what is it they're always saying in erotica? To bring her off ? Something like that.

exquisite corpse > 69ing by Rebecca Cook

»Man hatte den Status einer alten Dame, der über die Straße geholfen werden muss. Literatur war das Letzte, das Allerletzte, wenn man sagte, man ist Schriftsteller, dann konnte man von Glück sprechen, wenn man nicht einen in die Fresse gekriegt hat."