Subliterate Swoons and a Side of Dead

Subliterate Swoons and a Side of Dead

Novella Currently Working on.

This is not meant to be a pretty book. Beauty itself is on the line. LuLu is shocked by what she is up to, and in love, Love colored by something of Kierkegaard’s sickness unto death, and the art of loathing. A vehicle for the fallen.

In a crank misty darkness, a wildness blows thru, with longings propped up by unscrupulous mischief, discovery of angelic espionage. And LuLu is shocked by how it lights up and entraps. With epiphanies, that forage the wind, battle the absurd, and get caught up in maelstroms of the sublime.

Dizzying with No Brakes

LuLu LeSuere. Taunts epiphany with bids for transfiguration.

To pull her out of the carkness of darkness. Gloom exhumes. Darkness shines, becomes visible. Hears itself overvaguely tearing itself open, and unlimiting. Shadows pattering bang bang bang against sides. Like naked angels aloft on a fiery dome. Strung out on what gives: love death madness, its sacred bone. And, something of the pathological grotesque. What horror does to fish. 

It is also a story about falling in love. What is embodied in the disembodied. Anywhere around Victor de Loveleye. LuLu LeSuere shows up in a basket or a casket. Her heart sizzling like a sparkler. 

Time tittering on the sublime, nerves battling with the absurd, and her heart transfixed by swarms of moldering tenebrism. Sheer as passion fruit. Flooding through the envelope.

Thwart and rues-y. Torrid and segue. Greedy for glue. 

Edge of reason

Freedom — as an escape hatch, a declaration of beauty, setting loose fizzies into sinkholes. 

Beauty burning for truths that transcend. That reach and make a breach for it, feverish and fugitive.

Unleashing magical perils, surreal terrors. Heedless, impulsive, predatory ? Let it fall. Let it fall — Fail, scale, whale, bail, nail… Every lure and fail, a wilding shot of poignancy in the dark speeding through. 

Eyes, ties, why’s all dilated. 

LuLu is enigmatically seduced by it. And spooked. 

In thrall to waves of hope. And yet quaking with terror. Its keen delicate hankerings a mysterious crime, shimmying, dangling on the virulence of the sublime.

Is Not Is

How it all started ? 

Darkness glaring through. Moments hanging on air. If Victor was around. Bends sprang indelible wends. Spurred new plus ways to pathways.

A flirtatious inter cessive of exuberant irreverence. Began jumping out ahead of her, pulling her forward. Billowing up beneath sands in clever waves of shrewdness —

Shining at her, shining for breathing spells.

And yet, twisting in the wind too. A scandalous torture, escalating into a cascade crusade, a rush against the quotidian of stark dreary candy. Banal hard bitten repetition of fudge drudge. Leakiness and the inescapable.

Breathing spells. O breathing spells. Whose incantations, nestled deviously, goading with tremors. Treasure was time to lime in the mime. Where could map in gaps and poke for flaps —

Find hell in its traps — and fall into flying. 


LuLu is smoking a “borrowed” cigarette outside Paris Catacombs. Grass covered in a light chase of snow. Sucks on it. The “precious” at hand, it sparkles with death — a ludicrous mischief up against death. 

Paris is cold. Greyness gloats under a bay of thick clouds. Bad girl smoking beside the sidewall. Shakes her head at it.

Thoughts begin to drift, tip, fall, slip. Back into a mysterious cycle of desire — avenging death. How LuLu “has a bad lamb” (sacred and damned).

It swirls up as a vivid in the shade of any abyss, god forsaken in the sea. Stalking an erotic ruthlessness hinging on magical avarice. Rising up against dictas of reasoning, with a gawky melancholy mystic surveil.

LuLu stares down its rivers rushing through — wondering how and why Victor got stuck up there, like an avenging angel of mercy. 

And yet, LuLu remains holy moly captivated with what it does to her.

Opening the flower hours to scouring for floods buds thuds. Future past present and the dead, riotously multiplying. Vivid and breathless incarnations at elevations.

Exempt from strict regularization — as a grace! to gurgle in the gloom, coffin with mirth, and all of LuLu’s curses of birth. Floating up out of a sacred tragicomedy du lac land, reeking peaking up up up — out out — over Victor’s rock. As rash accretionary splash of the tipsy looping.

Beckoning to quandary. 

Hating it too…

The Big Dig

Tunneling down. Down, down some more.

Paris Catacombs. Was a huge stone quarry — before it got filled with heads of dead. 

LuLu’s pilgrim face, marching down the narrow tunnels into the winding depths. Necropolis relic insoul of Paris. Where dumped all the bodies from the French Revolution. 

Don’t touch don’t touch. 

Paris Catacombs stores scores of dead, millions of bones. 

Walls of skulls and bones. Neatness of a bee hive, used as bricks. To make columns and fill the walls, in chambers under seven feet tall. Reach up touch the ceiling.

Signs marking dates of cemeteries pillaged.

Don’t touch don’t touch.

Ham the let for skulls’ presence of an object. Dead head as a bee thing made into walls. Fizzies in her tissies reaching for transcendence, beyond what life is. Proof of life. Proof of death. And what the smell of deadness, does to Lulu, sees as edge of heaven and Buddha freedom for all tomorrow. Said and done. 

Unless something pulls the LuLu back ?

O hungry ghosts.

HUH. A work room with a big heaping salvage of bones, and table for cleaning and sorting. 

LuLu relishes it’s bas relief. Grand gothic pocket. Ransom of hearts and the playful grotesque. Grift from the abyss. Escape hatch to impunity, ossifer ossifer, ring out the dead. 


La Boutique des Catacombs gift shop. Flatware with skulls on handles. Jolly mug encircled with skulls. A black sleeveless shirt with a cutout neck, skull immersed in wall, across its front. O look. Flannel pants, wall of bones with placement of skulls stacked into shape of arrow pointing up.  

Clothes. Posed. For LuLu a sweet insurrection. Dead mens sweaters. Leaving Emmaüs Défi with a stash. To be is to dress is to bode another mode of ode into : perils of identity. Fanciful novelty willowy coquettish… 

Raiding conventions, radiating extremes, haute bohemian.

O sweet ironies of desire. 


Insidious rod of fortune slash misfortune — buzzing in her brain. Teetering merry wary fairy go round, pivoting with lustrous mayhem. Wild distortions and impossible surrender. 

What is she doing here ? 

Crash. Halo of sugar crash. Wallow follow the guesswork, fevers in her eardrums mocking her cunt, for its fizz wantum quantum tissiness, sending her off on expeditions after Victor. 

To figure out what ?

Non sense hence

Pulling its insides out. Care for a little bottle torture scarecrow. 

Why. Parks sparks and glows in dark.  All her colors astray. Sheer temptations of its eery mirrory madness. Blustering subductionary deformations. Where ravens haunt and hunt the absurd. Absurd is realm now pow of creature reacher classics. Camus beautifies LuLu.

Gobble bottle gook book. Rhyme seduces reduces to tumbling mumbling particles luring through the rye. Grumble still skins partial to spleen wean sheen.

Crustacean love letters. Ripple, quizzical, flutter flutter. Heed, need, bleed.

Le Bistro des Longchamps

LuLu’s sitting, hunched over in a chair spoon-circling, leg tapping. Under awning outside Bistro des Longchamps. Victor’s fingers floating through the dare. His wrist a gist in the mist — wire tuning with LuLu’s petulance, tender and poisonberry’d. 

It hovered over her like an octopus splaying its legs. Drippy dire sweet suckers (grasping for substratum). Every thought, every curvature, every evocation. At reach for a tip.

LuLu sniffed. Ludeness intruding. Loneliness exuding. LuLu’s own indecipherability always getting it wrong — her wandering tether of beautiful lust and lies, too wide to see her feet. 

Spikes of arousal clotting and flaring bearing down on the daring with glaring perfusions. Connotations implications yearnings and penances, till ecstasy flares —

Angels flying into the deadspeak ill fill rant and pill spoil till rill make a sea kill, rising to a lather at the scatter. 

Beauty scattering with bones in every moot shoot or loot all sting ping things being equal. Osiris a license to conceive in it. Gulls flying in from ocean to ocean, its stray pay may arising up her cunt and out through bunny ears as fears for tears and bears for lairs and dares to jump.

Then crumble and dump.

Back and forth back and forth between insistence and resistance.

Wildly perplexed by ludicrous screaming eruptions of a kind of deeply feral stink. That would sink into primitive transmutes, teleological ta-dos, sharing blood and what else? breaking taboos —

Hinge Binge Bomb

Exploding into binge bombs. Bombing her way out! Was a way of saying — yes to death yes to the impossible yes to the madness. And WTF. Loving anyway. Letting the ball drop. 

Stretches of frenetic advocacy and covetousness. Rants of glorious obscure drivel. Bouncing like a magic tum tum tragic bean. Wretched tosses with stoics and oblivion. Begging for sleep.

Gothic submersibles. 

Infume hells’ beautiful un cooperative. Rangy dangers and the provocative.

Its heaviness — so brutal and disquieting. 

How cease perfervid plights, that marvel at the larval. The violent swirl in grifts of absurdist preoccupation, sodding terse and pomp and romp, at the multiplexing of extensions —

Stock list ? An inventory ? 

Vital and tidal freaky flight of the marveled. 

Venus If You Will

Hell in a shell and well of desire, released to sky and blight fright for dynamite. Cloaking the terminal.

LuLu’s thing about Victor,  unsealed the beast feast. Shoe and cloak, and shine, and pine and wrestling with the fallen, greasing the pig ?

Flipping and tripping through a dizzying traffic of cloaks!

Every ping sting ring thing, showing up round the bent, lifty sifty shifty or sky ward. Starts dumping inside wit mans big dig, and looting woody, interfluently.

Beady and fleety and reedy and greedy. Riddled with the holy and the unknown. 

Vacuums take up space. But what encloses it? 

Merciless magical swoons round and about miraculous wounds that begin to infest, with dunder for prey. Worming into a wispy subvicious plumage of thunder plunder. Gloomy desperate angry, dangling dangling. 

On and on about: 

How LuLu is gobsmacked. Swayed belayed invaded and dismayed. Caught in a quaking tizzy of sizzle and the abyssal. Its occupancy sordid and sacred. 

And scared. Terrorized by plummeting run ons, flying out into the night.

Turning into effigy cruces encoffining. Wicked with sparkle. Deliriously loving the pilfer and lift. Hidden tumble-y retreats into horror shows — Stunned at the irreverence, anguish and cataclysm.

Begging hoping wanting to burrow in beside. Let it slow. 

LuLu’s sweetness corrupting into a hothouse of lies. Fries cries plies…

Fuzzy Logic

Periodics are equations. That hump up and down across the page. In repeats and reversals. Math seeps into LuLu’s sexual fantasies and vice versa. Idea being, to calm the tom toms with logic balms. 

O languid startling galling archimedic circles, round the up and down the around. Magnifying meanderings, that sulk and bilk and burst. Reports back to chandlers. Rock of Victor.

Turning her into a mermaid. Sinking, then floating up again then sinking. Then floating up again…

Trying to pull him loose so to pull her loose from its crippling fascination.

From beauty and lechery that rages, with fire of windmill, in throws with tragic destinies. Lovelorn and klepto. 

The reign of de fleure. Caustic and shifty, never straight on — 

Its vigilance a state-of-grace misery. Flighty and petulant. An albatross of saboteurs in the hen house. 

Digging through a wondrous omneity of latency and delusions, flooding through in riots. Heavens tipping over — into hell, with freak sudden shocks.

Ecstasy climbers rising into the palm. Gasms transexual movements of the alchemical pornforlorn flying into the zoom boom, into the magnifier.

Burning Umbrage

LuLu back at another bistro. Head in hands. Mumbles into her half empty cup. Then looks up. Mouth in an O. Nothingness and limitlessness being a vector mappable lateral, on the cluster fuck?

Correspondences! O infinity of pelf, and mutinies of stealth. Rising out of shimmering tautologies forever mutating.

Infinity. Unfurling. Doubling over into peripheries, the goyles of ill nill spill the un till, groping knocking swiss bird clock squawking. Berry for cherry. Whiz for whiz. 

A humming sound coming from her lips. Beckons, beckons. A strange rearrangement, mobius and delinquent.

O what beautiful piracy. Victor’s laugh chortles at her. Curse of the nightjar. Blink blink. 

Eyes become watery. She wipes one away.

Tender Trap

Himself before her, an elusive derangement. Hanging on a merciless windy criss cross, his organs fuming. His hell, pillaging. Every fugue cast — outlasts.

Infections are life altering. 

What intercepts with triggers of interminable wanderlust. What preys in store for LuLu’s coupure de souffle. Her fey stray way, weened on relativism, zealotry, fashion and horror.

O the plummets. Moody beauty’s ships carry treasure buried in deep, full of lost causes, indignance, calamity.

LuLu melts in its mirror. 

Melts for Victor. Whatever the shine. There is no limits on LuLu’s figgy sapidity for looseys, promiscuous collusion with the sublime.

Nothing seems to keep it from burning like a candle inside her soul. Both ends melting towards each other, endlessly endlessly.

And the shocks like throwing rocks at her screaming empties. 

Spool spasm unfold…


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2 responses to “Subliterate Swoons and a Side of Dead”

  1. hotshot bald cop

    Why is it I always really feel like you do?

  2. hot shot

    Wonderful views on that!

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