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23 T h e N i e t z s c h e Hor s e There were two crazy men, the one with the whip and the one with the huge moustache: they were dancing together, no, they were fighting When the eyes of the whipless one brightened: sometimes that happens when you bite someone, or when you’re fucking: people become disturbed When horses fuck: to them, I think, it’s like mountains fucking: things that big ought to keep it to themselves. The idiot man with the whip Tore his hand away then, and hit me with the little crop—you think that hurt? I’m a horse!—But the other man began dancing again, moustache Covered with foam—what was that? had he run too far?—and he was muttering in that barbaric way humans have, sounds like Bismarck and German And even the man with the whip was becoming frightened, or awestruck, or maybe he looked like that because he was hungry, it’s hard to tell About humans, and I was losing interest anyway, a hay wagon was passing, it was much less boring than the weeping man with his arms Around my neck suddenly, or the moron with the whip—if he’d been a horse, he’d have died at birth—moaning God, and the other suddenly Laughing like a jackal and saying Fool, you have no notion who you’re talking to. ...


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