LuLu Elgaroo Chat
From TimeOutAtSea
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.
