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Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:

http://www.hanser-literaturverlage.de/verlage/hanser-box

We have gone so far in forgetting that we are asking ourselves, what day is today? This pleasant, deliberate confusion is due to the annual memory loss that attends the holiday season : what a relief, to be finally unable to name the day of the week at the drop of a hat; are the last days of the year actually part of a week, a month, and which year? On the first new day (it is new, this we are sure of) we take a walk (the baby, you, I) in the morning through a quiet, hazy, littered city (remains of firecrackers are the brightest parts of the view this morning), moving along at a leisurely pace and in silent contentment, when an explosion shocks us (young men tossing a cherry bomb from a fourth floor apartment at us, the peaceful family, at the end of a night spent in celebration, during which their souls drenched themselves in alcohol until all that was left of them was a triumphal hoot celebrating their ability to scare us). Our baby immediately calms our anger and our fear that some damage might have been done. He says, or rather, calls out with delight a word that sounds like bang (vang, veng, byeng), could that be his first word? It may be too early for that, who cares, we feel refreshed and ripe for this day and this new year.

 

 

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