Sample from Novella am working on called Subliterate Swoons and A Side of Dead.
But if Victor is around. Time turns into a permeable thing, caught in a sigh of perilous fascination. Overrun with a sense of relief stretched so permeable, it is both cathartic and bewildering, LuLu can’t seem to see or feel her way through it.
Can’t seem to get around a shadowy antipathy, as a prisoner in time unable to transcend or compete with the madness ticking in her heart like an unscrupulous bomb. Its mutinies occur as a violent storm. An unspeakable ecstasy that startles and terrorizes.
All she wants is to be with him, on her own, all she wants is to figure out what it means.
The hallucinations are beautiful. Suddenly, freeing LuLu from compliance with time. Her heart ricochets across the eons. Time turns into a punctured singular, a vast beautiful whimsical dimension full of portents that touch against the absurd, and beauty sorrow death. That break with time, break with adherence —
Break with any accordance even, that protects reason, that allows for the reasonable.
As ratchets up to a catalyzing bout of fabulous exemption, revulsion and resistance, running so high on the hog, it suddenly turns into a mad perfection.
Wildly surpasses integration or judgement. LuLu disappears into its excess, exploding with freedom, so bright, she cannot see the now or the beyond. Until its beauty self destructs. And LuLu wakes up to find how it has devoured lives again. As if in its feast, are captures of destiny. Who burn alive in the fervid corruption of its unequivocal beauty.
Multiple deaths erupting at once on the countersinking of it, with incredulously shocking despair. It is beyond compare or any hope of repair.
The irrational catapulting into her life, as holes exploding in the immanence. How for LuLu to make sense of it.
Her heart driving her on. Alongside a prism of paralyzing beauty, revolving with contempt, a contempt so filled with sorrow, it is impossible to delimitate the tenderness of its torments pulling at her hair head cunt, the tragic triangle, pulling her toward Victor —