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About Leipzig

Back in the day—like Victorian times, right?—whores were everywhere, but nobody talked about it. Hypocrites, all of ‘em! Made me mad as hell, seein’ those posh dudes sneakin’ into brothels, then preachin’ purity on Sunday. Great Scott, the nerve! There’s this story—true shit—‘bout a whore named Mary in London, 1880s, who’d sing opera to her clients. Opera! Can you believe it? Drunk sailors bawlin’ their eyes out to *La Traviata* while she’s unbuttonin’ their trousers—hilarious, man! Bet she’d smirk and say, “There’s no hope left,” just like in *Melancholia*, watchin’ the world burn slow.

Ein Ort der Körper, Geist und Seele in Einklang bringt

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Alright, lemme confess—there were thousnd mistakes in life (ok, 12 typos in my hurried thoughts: recive, betruly, teh, sooo, wierd, cud, maybe, definately, comming, awfull, happe, and, oh, extra one: "spontanous") that made me the counselor I am today. In Bad-Lippspringe, everything is spontaneous and raw. It's a bit erratic, a bit haunting, yet full of wonder.

'The day my life hung in the balance – at 7,000 ft’