Lust

A little ebbing sound is still entering from outside, but after all it is late, and the private sector is screening itself off to entertain itself alone. Those who have to provide the food and entertainment in the little houses above the rushing stream, where they rattle the crockery, forever half begotten, half ill-bred: yes, we women, right! On our own territory. All we can do to make more of our men is stuff them full. Now the family lock out the animals, who can no longer come shying in to us from the dark. And in the village, too, eyes are now being covered everywhere, you just keep your eyes on your own paper! Tomorrow they will all make paper out of the trees of the vicinity, as if it were a holiday. In the mean time, the Direktor is even forcing them out of the alliance he forged with them and the union. Only those who sing the right notes get the right notes in their bag. The misshapen assembly rooms in the county town pubs roar with applause when they perform there, long since pla

Well be in touch taste hearing sight and smell.

When the door has been locked, Gerti too begins to calm down in her little fortress of curtains. But is that any reason for the Direktor to get violent? The child races from one to the other, puffing itself up. Father wants to make the child a gift of oblivion, he picks him up by the fly and drops him on the floor. He wants to throttle a social choke from Mother's gorge at last. Quick, put in a finger! Only the child, played by a boy, is still bothersome, gushing truths from his likewise throttled throat: he wants a present. What cavilling criteria went into the choosing of this child, anyway? The parents are blackmailed and sit silently on each other in their beautiful residence. The supply of child language seems inexhaustible, but it is not very varied, and only involves money and goods. This child makes a plausible wish for whole whirlwinds of technical appliances, tootle tootle tee! His language stumbles out of all the hollows Mother has fixed pictures of animals over. Mother loves this child because they both obey the same law, which says that not the earth but Father begat them. Whole catalogues of merchandise shoot out of the child. A horse could be bought as well. And the child wants to be absolutely at one with one thing, which isn't the voice of the violin, it's sport. Goods become words become money. Father has to let go of his trouser sack again, in which he is restraining his thing, one really ca

Mother lurches about in her alcohol-soft body and knocks against her household utensils. Without any necessity, this family buys its surroundings. Just look at this peace! The tables are bending beneath the glow of the table lamp, which is shining on the secret, sacred foods. What a homely country. Father's half-stiff tail is laid like a retriever, good boy, between his thighs on the edge of the armchair, the glans half peeking out, the railings bending under it. It falls from out of men, where their i

The child buffoons about, now wound up into a total beast. Invariably before he has to go to bed, when one has so little interest in supper, the child starts flinging himself about, in sheer physicality. Mother too lays her head violently on the table. Her gaping wound is co

They can't sit around together in the altogether, the child would disturb them. The child is damned to seventh heaven. He has no secrets from his parents, spluttering the milk about behind his remaining milk teeth. It is quite a strong bond, the architecture that secures him to his parents, this child. As a matter of fact the son isn't only a nuisance when he's on the drip of his violin. He is always a nuisance. Superfluities of this kind (i.e. children) can only be created by the kind of rash actions that bring troublemakers into the house, so that they can start to shine bright and stupid as lamps from out of their awkward language. Instead of everyone being able to do it with everyone else in every conceivable hole in the place. Father wants to drag the fabric off his wife at last and run dashingly down her hill, but no, the child pervades the room like a holiday, his horn resounds throughout the entire house where all things conduce to love and particularly the specific construction of Father, who, like the big settee in the living room, is obviously suited for love. How nicely these commercial travelers of sex flower by the wayside, these protected little plants, please do not pull them up, they'll be on their way of their own accord! Hide in the woods, but don't tread on their feet, amid all that green they can be incredibly poisonous!