nobody's porn

I step inside the car. Don't worry about that. I try the key. It works. It is a miracle that I have the key. I'm quite often such a lazy mudhead. I had the key. I move the car to the main lane, hadn't seen the bike. I had an excellent mood. Did I tell you? I felt. I had that feel. Nothing ever would or could touch it as I surrounded the car and its surroundings with that excellent mood I had. I look at a screen of poplar trees. How nice poplar trees standing there along that dreadful lane. It first didn't disturb me all too much. What could have dismantled that pleasant mood anyway. I had, I may say, an excellent feel about as good as anything. And I must not hesitate to say that it had been a miracle that I had the key, I hadn't lost it on a place where I damn sure wouldn't have found it during a period of at least many thousand years. There's so many places and on those places so many things get lost. Man, no, I had the key. One could have lost it at so many places, I must say, and even apart from that, as thoughts and movements so often take a strange turn, the object easily itself could have disappeared inside the soft surroundings of a seat with no other moral edge than the fact that it couldn't help disappearing and kept disappearing. But I had the key. I sort of wondered though why a bike should be biking on a lane even not meant for bikers, and no one on it. It was so beautiful to see a bike get go on its own. A fat lady had been on it. She could have had no idea on how daring that was. Art school students most often have no idea of the danger. Oh oh, someone of knowledge exclaims, don't let your mind be stuffed with a higher meaning, with the solution these tutors want you to add to a thing you never would have conceived if they hadn't told you to do so. Make decent things. Go for a walk. Don't let anyone tell you that you are an artist, don't let anyone tell you that it's pure and gold. You have been conceived as crap, sweetheart, darling, and this you must feel and experience in its most narrow end before you even could get to the idea what it is. From the gold raise no decent work. Oh oh, from the gold raise nothing else but the stone age of memory and you will be a slave to worship these fallen walls, fallen into the darkest depth of moth-eaten imagery.
There was no lady on the bike, even not a quarter of the lady, fat as she had been. She sat in front of the wheel. A person of whome I maybe once may have seen a mirrored smile took the bike and dragged it to the enrance of a nearby house. He half turned his face towards me. One thing struck me. Her face. How can I explain that pleasant embarrassment now that I saw that weird individual, half naked half dressed with something that looked like a layer of Heinz tomato ketchup. I dare to say, it looked very tasty and very healthy indeed. The person so wonderfully dressed turned his head towards the car and he turned it twice. With the first turn it was a man's face. It had excellent features. His eyes were bleeding but apart from that not a bit of horror advertised on the face of that smart looking fellow, so well-dressed as he was. Then, the fat lady just as well had a pleasant surprise as I was sitting inside her wealthy parts, surrounded by its carnivorous abundance. I had no theory about it. Theories are no food for someone with such a healthy appetite as she had. Not for one single second did I consider to measure the new features I had. I drove on, fat as a hippopotamus, as each being of intellect driving his or her car to some unknown destiny could have concluded, without the slightest intention of course to hurt anyone else. Frankly, this is the least of anyone's thoughts.