Lust

They strut brimful in their functional trousers, the lordsandmasters, and the son is already making his own contribution too. This child, whom Mother ca

Like a bell the Direktor rings over his seated group. Outside the trees stand dark, waiting. The family is reconciled, heavily and discourteously the scrotums hang in their very favourite disguises, in paper-lined cupboards, in the balloons of underpants and tracksuits. You just need to reach in and see, everything can be fetched right out again. The sex we belong to, each to his own – as elastically as the rubber band that keeps the poorer bunches of people (they do not count individually) all together, it snaps out of the sack when the lonely man addresses himself to his property as to his shadow, which is the sole one of all living things that fits his measure precisely. The bundle of life, right, sags from the body and we feel fine. Those who want a lot will have to go and buy themselves something. Even the boy: already he's glowing like a real man who bows others and bows to others. He goes from the one to the other, pointing to his own person, which ca

Now he's still just a wretch, a brat, so small, but he beats on our eardrums and sends us flying to the poor neighbours, who would complain if they dared. Lovingly Mother bows her mouth to his hair. Father is already becoming inexhaustible, he can hardly contain himself. It's what he keeps concealed from his employees at other times, now he can't help squeezing his instinctive urges tight. He shoves up to his wife from behind. The woman bends contemptuously forward so that life stirs in her depths. With laughter, since his mother's tickling him, the boy shits himself, dumping his dung in Mother's face. Never mind, we go on frolicking about as if we'd just repeated, damply. The woman really has to watch out, but it's too late already and she's half exposed at the rear while at the front she's still sucking up to the child, telling him nicely to be a good boy and tidy away his toys. More this man does not dare, yet still he wins. Like a low-flying aircraft he strokes his wife's behind. Like birds flapping against the light. Today Father can sense his health roaring within him, wi

The family go on kissing and farting. The time of blissful waiting is over and happy words are in the air. The voice of the king of the house oozes out, it becomes a battle, which he wins. He gets carried away by himself, heaven came close to forgetting the workers and employees who have been well and truly screwed by the boss on high and his holy church and have to stand in their byres, well-proportioned, well-appointed, angrily jangling their bells and chafing at their ropes. What? They don't even refrain from kicking their one sole space?

The woman knows where her husband's shoe pinches, the one he will kick her fence down with in a moment. Sometimes he can hardly wait till evening and tells her to come to his directorial office at the factory, where this bird of prey can contain himself no longer and angrily desires to move into his own homeliness. He reaches into the clouds of his sex and it grows, like fire. The little wi

And Gerti's stylish clothing is breached today for the umpteenth time as well. The lordsandmasters and their bellows, with the help of which they can make a loud noise; in summer the breeze is mild but in winter we have to take our own breath. The child almost fails to notice that he has come among us and is being kicked. Won't it be time for di