Katja Brunner

In 1782, Anna Göldi was the last Swiss woman to be burned for witchcraft. From the sea of flames, she threatens the onlookers with her return. Immediately afterwards, she walks across tarmac streets and squares, eventually lying down on the ground, pressing her ear against the earth to listen to "the oldest hedgehog in Europe". Prickly, full and round, he and his kind idle away their time in the hermetically sealed burrow with a perfidious ABC of the homeland. Their sense of order doesn't even stop at whores. Women, sorted by floor according to their origin, await their customers. Heidi herself willingly has the orifices of her childish body sealed with buttercups from Almöhi's hand. So far, so idyllic. But at some point it comes to an end. The adolescent alpine child loudly quits her job as a spotless white figure of identification, but the protest action falls flat. A "feral author" drowns her powerlessness in whiskey sours.
Katja Brunner's text is an associative mosaic of well-meaning self-attributions and euphemistic "the boat is full" attitudes. The age-old right to asylum was and is not worth a damn. By nature, no one here is equal.