Unser Zuhause, der Duft des Pfannkuchens. Barbara Szirakis Resonanz zu THERE IS A NOISE von Hestnes / Popović

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Heimweh, wonach?
Wenn ich „Heimweh“ sage, sag ich „Traum“.
Denn die alte Heimat gibt es kaum.
Wenn ich Heimweh sage, mein ich viel:
Was uns lange drückte im Exil.
Fremde sind wir nun im Heimatort.
Nur das „Weh“, es blieb.
Das „Heim“ ist fort.

– Mascha Kaléko 

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A review of The Yard’s CUTENESS FORENSICS by Rebecca Jackson

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So, I am an octopus.  Coincidentally I have no suckers, and for some unbeknownst reason, I have been teleported into the body of a 6ft British man.  This skinny young gentleman finds himself dawdling about in the living room of a DJ who has just, for the last 85 hours straight, been experimenting at home by hooking up random objects, curtains, used IV packs and small wooden boards on music stands, to his sound mixer.  On top of that, this DJ lives with his grandmother in Berlin, and she has a particular penchant for pink curtains.  And fluffy toy sloths.  And doll houses.  It is, needless to say, a strange predicament for a sucker-less octopus.  What to do?

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