Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


From his throne our baby resolutely tosses things to the floor, sends a brief glance after them that is both surprised and indifferent, and eagerly turns to the next things. Quickly and nimbly he sees to it that the table is cleared, and soon the air in the baby’s realm is emptied of things. He who thinks a baby doesn’t know what it is doing, does not know his baby, we think, and he who thinks a baby knows what it is doing knows his baby even less. The truth is difficult for us to discern, for our infinite fidelity to things veils our perceptions and feelings (each time a thing breaks, we feel a stab in the heart). We would like to reinterpret the baby’s respectless interest in things and assume that his actions must have some meaning (that at least they must serve the necessary function of wiring his brain). And then – since no one can see us – we briefly (very briefly) imitate the baby, grab some cup (one of those we have long since stopped caring about) and smash it to the ground. It shatters with resounding pomp, and seeing this, we are as dumbfounded as our baby.






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