Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


We are eating together. The baby in his highchair, the throne. We (you, I) on either side. We offer him his food. The fare at our Court is truly royal. Oranges and mandarins are filleted and served in bite-sized morsels. Our baby is particularly discerning where it comes to the quality of fruit. Anything that is unripe, not ripe enough, or tasteless, he briefly sucks and then drops from his mouth. Fruit that finds his favor he devours in large quantities. We buy only the best, our consciousness of price has dropped away from us (without resistance on our part, since we aren’t shopping for ourselves). One again we find ourselves in the role of being our baby’s servants, a role we have to a large extent already grown into. We are sympathetic, helpful and useful subjects who reject the modern rejection of serving: for we know that we are dependent on our baby (something we still find it difficult to acknowledge). This dependence (which is connected to our service) it not breakable or terminable, for it knows no chains and no confinement: we serve voluntarily and out of conviction. Would you like some more Noix de Grenoble freshly crushed in a mortar with a dab of yoghurt?




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