LuLu Elgaroo Chat

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Excerpts of LuLu words from a rather intense chat we had one time... not sure when or where, though presumably on ICQ, and I'm pretty sure before 2001. Don't know if any of this was pre-written, or if it's all spontaneous, though I'm pretty sure at least most of it was improv.



I tried to separate the individual items, flotsam and bits of junk. It was becoming 
a slight worn spot in the fabric of the cosmos. Stimulation was no accident. I had
to work hard for that. Hands on my own body. Oil burning. Flamingo on a bridge.
Fragrance chasing me.

evil sleep....evil yummy sleep....when it wants you....you cannot resist... in the
arms of someone balmy. I should feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Whisper
that to me w/ your arms wrapped around me. I fantasize about what you will say when 
you are inside me. Not even the mention of love or how it feels?

She had returned from mars to become the most sought after girl in the world...he
was assigned to find her. 

Your aesthetics 
are stapled deep in the skin of a rat. Her house is surrounded by 
white vans, tinted shades conceal the operators. They place the 
oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Naturally, her 
subconscious, unconscious romanticisms are permitted. It is in this 
watery waste that she recognizes him for the first time. The hanging 
cages are a suitable outcome. She dips her plume in Virgin Mary's 
cunt.

. Camels are intended to have humps. She misses the 
palm trees, the extravagance that was once placed upon her 
pillow. It is here, I tell you. She remembers the taxi cab drivers 
asking her direction, the way his face looked right before he died 
and that last pretty fuck look.

The police emptying her pockets....
and her father. The little tree needs water. Mosquito netting covers 
the spirited funeral dancers. A handful of dust has closed up all her 
beauty. The sanctuary had become an artifice for scandalous 
seduction. His male voice soaked the waxed paper.

The Ouija 
board spells out, "A-N-E-S-T-H-E-I-S-A." The fisherman's leg 
lives in the belly of the blacksmith. All her heroes are whores. Don't 
take your bad fingers off. Needle therapy. He taught classes feeling 
no pain. The patient was in the slaughterhouse dressing up in the doctor's lab
coat. He watches with schizophrenic lips. Reputations last longer than 45 seconds.
Can you extinguish electrostatic charge with your mouth?

Only you can tie me up I pressed my face against the
inscription Come closer I am hard to kill poison dart laughing societies of
ants The goddess of the De Mau Mau Killers of Greater Zimbabwe A
professional hangman executioner legal gangster military hospitals Cells
replicate molecules build whales Company Name Dead Girl Porcelain
Guillotine dormant mouths make death shapes

dangers of X rays they tell me
I look like a dead little Russian girl She uses a cell repair machine He uses
artificial intelligence hypertext static utopia chemistry kill in the name of love

he pounds her object radiator 
the black parachute from the other dimension 
gave fleshy birds his flowers 
beneath the hazy virtual expensive fuzzy arachnid modem 
spiritual radio swamp 
ran our fingers below 
ruby spumes through her plateau chloroform industrious projection

since his sweet fingers hack chainsaw reptilian 
lightly dregs guilelessly whacking after its girl throbbing lawnmower 
chestnut clock dungeon upset by his genetically striped permission slip 
bite her books

brings his fax machine closer to his legs next to her table 
without our pillow around a parachute 
quietly planted trees cloned her 
dusk sleeps beside a boulder next to her slender debilitated caresses 
reticulated writing desk oozes accident tentacles 
powerful pretty bees and the red spider butterfly shake 
upon your heavenly cock phone whips 
confusing insect boy whispers eyeballs about her flying
I know the place where man becomes gods 
hard sharp cutting edge
stretched out steel
layer me with clay divine intervention

Dear heart, the first snow falls, which does not vibrate glass, flowers and the
bush. I hear quite softly and cleanly as it freezes the tongue to the lips. You are 
my longing face. In your grace I sleep well. I am not ordered to wake. In the
evening wheat pub they want your finest art show. It is this factor that the night
lovers hardly notice. The small girls sleep tangled in the icy sea. Erst noch ein
langer Kuss.
99 yes-voices sting and decorate you, which shine in the midst of this forest. Was
macht dich leiden? Die Sonne und der Mond, zu sehen beide!

In this world I drink. Around its axle of rotary cylinders (with kreisformigen
streamlines, on which the rate is in reverse proportional to the radius) I go down
on my soul and laugh at the crosses people choose to carry. Emperor
Smirk lost the house at auction by order of the court. Off to the sea I go to wash
my hands. I probably ask you, o goddess, to destroy the pharmacy. (A place, with
which a false step is sufficient to kill you.) 

Check the pleasure torture pulse. They own the sharpest substance. To a meter it
behaves, the fact that meters are rather dangerous is already in the word.

Trained in the high-speed teachings of never taking yourself too seriously, I peel
wide-apart your incongruous body-casing. The cranium clicks. Devils and repressed
religions choke female fertility cults. On St. Catherine Street they chop off her
head and save her body. Honey splatters. He parts my lips with a papaya.

This one often leaves me on engine oil. The Smack composer had written its Opus,
the acoustic  and architectural conditions of the city hall, completely on the
body.

Shadow play resulted on the second floor wanting boundaries to smear. He lubricates 
himself, licks a metal thing off and in such a way, nevertheless, still another
parallel.