7.27.21 WORK IN PROGRESS
Feed the Wake Swallow the Snake Melt with Flake
Words are birds are surds are curds. And the wallow swallow goes for bone.
LuLu LeSuere. Slake and break, gambles at heavens gate, where rises grieving demons — the whirl wide wind —
Voodoo body evil beautiful, slay the course? Every beauty thrown into the pile, blossom and scorn, rituals of cusp and dismay.
LuLu LeSuere. Spun between forces of upheaval evil and the johnny bee good.
Enchanting torrents, low down languors, LuLu delves right in, like sands through the hourglass, everywhere graces and storms and loves: the fly and die, spoon the moon, extol the baited tomb —
Shimmering and excruciate.
When love turns to dread, says Amber Watts, it’s lost inside the dick burning at the wick, flowing rowing towing glowing through it, can’t get out.
Constance says: very odd very very odd. Prisoner of Aporia.
Amber submits: mayfly fucks with every landing. With his prick still standing.
LuLu fell into something bigger than she was she was. Thats all. Sunk to bottom. Made love to the lob bottomy. Mysteriously pricked by Victor de Loveleye’s contingency, susceptibility, scope rope, beauty and its bellicose —
Who is Amber Watts
Amber audits the holy vamp pyre tisket a tasket casket.
Driven to ceremonies of death. Gothic sublime rhyme. Greedy for spiritual extensions.
Yes? she murmurs still breathing still breathing.
Constance goes by nickname Slatch.
Those two share air waves, homily homily screed, over lust trust misery and death, that which lies incurable within and how to transform — as lay there crying, sighing or dying — into an energy sector, that will finance the whole thing.
Everything encumbers the species with observance, Constance intimates of a constant pressure to inquest the beast, never rest, rover for clover, tease the hair, resurrect and feast…
Jam & Ham
Runagate ancient wellspring of hungry ghosts, hosts boasts ripostes. Allegories fraught irony, cryptic avalanches of elevation revelation.
Some call The Wasteland.
Things around the heart that survive and thrive, even in freezing wicked temperatures.
LuLu wages a war with cometh icemen at its core — what tempts them, how to melt them melt them.
But Victor knows there is no half way between grace and faith. It is all and it is nothing.
Laws that are flaws in “material” are yes, serial, chuck and bait, chuck and bait. Contrails for scales, measurement between nails, knocking one back with cousin Zack.
Love, always wants a way back in, LuLu says. Fights against the emptiness hoven by the wind, LuLu says.
Beauty lurches after brinks.
LuLu lurching ends up searching for brinks — where ever flies and fails.
Failure is keen to share wick, is knee deep in dick. Wrath math horny by half, mentation dements and elopes.
Victor alerts: she is a bleeder.
Search — never overtakes: the wonder whys. Repeaters bleeders feeders — hope against hopelessness, for strawberry boob barbed pie. Hand in blood, beddy beddy in love. Oh, bee hive.
(See trials of Sweeney.) Up in tree, all freak and sigh.
Oath for a loaf, insurrections come with hook and eye.
Lob bottomy flares up from deep in the wonder and dreadness of her cunt, desire flies, the mystery defies.
Mystic flares caroms collapses
The relay. Caught in a relay.
Propels, lures, peaks of terror wild with desire. For Victor’s body? For his weight to evenfall, the sun to come down, on top of the boundlessness, wicked sentimental enthrall.
To relieve air of its unholy weight. Mutinies rise up against pity’s horror of the innocent. Spasms of demonically dipping subductions waft through, forward backwards forward backwards.
Love hedges with dayglow diablo, in presence of desire and the fortuity of death. Its moralizing seducements, indulging beyond limits of breath.
Arises the mystic. In vivid sudden gusts. As if caroming off of Victor’s eye.
Shines out of all his holes.
Time absconds with visits from his moles. And the mystic suddenly branching sowing sod unfolding, mischievously given to dispersion, thin and edgeless immersion, vibrant dynamic robust.
Reveals, unseals, has no shield…?
Possibility snaps into view, beaming with a catch, achilles slipper, hanging wickedly — gloriole’s suppedaneum.
LuLu’s radicals, sparkle with mutiny and death, streaks of the holy absurd. And oh how the absurd relishes its delinquents.
To fail — is to hail nail bail — up against reason, antagonisms and irreconcilables forming sacred vesicles that pop with subacute rebellion. LuLu languors in hail of its heaven. Sanctimony’s perilous depths.Continue reading
First Draft 3.8.20/ Much Still to Edit 6.26.21 — It has a floor, and that floor is its doors, every line opens up a closet and looks in, via la lang bang. Every freedom that pops up in usage and time, is pursued. And repetitions lacing through also give it the sense of a floor, a hocus pocus locus, for its odd fastidiousness, no stone is the thought, once upturned, not overturned. And language is unrestricted, at liberty to extravagate. Thanks to the Symbolists, term got from Ed Wilson. (And the big 3.)
Vampire logic started out as a closet with press open drawers after hourglass began to fill up with testimonial — magic block built to have somewhere safety to rum for extracts, for blood on the walls of the ravaged, with force of love, rummaging through the manger of desire, a loam in the mire, beautifully attired —
That then turns into a hunting lodge of sorts. A vampire lodge? Posters: Hotel of The Undead. Purple and black velvet papered walls with red streaks, plush black carpeted corridors. Wing after wing, with draped open sesame coffins, each pitched with red satin like a halo of dusk under an altar window.
Char named: Cinder, dances down the hallway, in drapey and crepey — grey black green till strikes it red.
To long for blood or die trying, radical doleful Vampire Verity — turns and turns until provokes: a system of hyphenated young, measuring length of tongue, the pitter patter of bitter batter —
Hex tensions, I call them, scuppered overboard. Like pictures in sand turning into hungry glands eating the night for a fork.
Strangerness and divisions. Extensions, incisions, afflictions of proto photo religions. In regards to the stray from the present tense.
Shem longs to let Sir Lance A. Lots out of any consternation obligation. Erase any whatsoever implication — based on fear of dubious acquaintance, loss of simpatico, rue and foil of the ramp arts untraceable repartee.
LuLu preaches: resist resist: hainamoration, under burden of freedom — calls out: I don’t know have a nice day.
New thing: nets. Getting stuck in nets. Thats the new thing. All the way up and all the way down: the Dante. Bodies stuck at stations, inside the cross — Yes like a horror movie.
Do you have “they are bombing again” dreams that show up as a violence in paint.
Do you obsess over making maps, a beautiful geography of the mortal imp pour ovium of salvation and the wispy wretched wastelands, hell as a statement of system and project.
Yes I think of treasure maps as wing things based off of “the nether regions” — a Vampire wing thing bought off Dante with string to latch — chin down, she walks with lit candle, dressed in robe of the bottomless hoody. Cruising for extensions.
Wilty and guilty — scraped off sides of a shoe and pleading to hang out, let out, be out, go go go. To the end of reason and round the treason, and back around again, loop di loo.
Lulu is a mighty shrub, shrug, canvas to lug. Stunning wretched beam of beauty. A jump off wild American peaks, hoarding the mountains, hoarding the requiems of fold out deliriums and being caught by leg at rim of source — o leap and I will catch you in the eye, bash in the tawdry.
And, just like that, its a bird in a yardful that wobbles, falls through you, o ancient mattress, the feline Rhine veiled in breakwaters of a sweet falling failing emptiness.
Bums along the vine, desperate to affine, on the in betweens loving the yen the pen the yes I can — body, and banter, and buoyancy — open up the Walt vault see what sneers inside.
Thank you for parking on my lark. I will never let any of the Sue Rues live it down. I will honor it like, Flim and Flam, as an eternal flame. Where once, just once, in strife of the Fife, the home box got filled with gust of thrust billowing through my forgotten, my cherished four courses of lovey and lame!
The Vampire noose belongs where it swings. Long low and loose, till you’re caught standing.
Cut a thigh for the vault, fault. Dante o Dante is ravenesque ravishing hills pails and plodding–
The variety that haunts vaunts taunts saunters down the inferno (last sticky pa!) with vampire virility and puttering sputtering shuttering ass-o-nonce every wake of the take I am a lake. Off Wolfe’s crotchet. Forgive me that destiny, pleads the wake of flake by your brio.
Defoul defoul that smart set case of the hoods? Sure: with long churchy moans, chants of the pious filled and raiding and emptying with musterful groans, to The Beats of great drone —
Yea o sacrificial self worth — its beguiled through the “saves” sweet devout to be en thralled is to be en throned. The fix came in, showed up. Pot it be cloven.Continue reading
Collecting New Notes On
Trickster gods view of gargoyles as entry to pastiche. Pastiche gives entry into absurd, and Pluri party in general. Absurd gives entry into poetry as piss. Pastiche lets all gods come thru as mischiefs. Even language is resorted to mischief.Continue reading
IN LINE TO WORK ON
Dunning condum nation
Sometimes, turn it on here – just to capture its horror on me, its rebellion, expository cry in expunge of darkness.
Sometimes shrills up the hill – caroms and catches a cross current of feeding grounds, running around with a stick and other waves of shambling dynamite, freeing a sordid frenzy.
Swans scream suddenly burning up — on silence. Turns into a smoke signal, then laughter passing — with another scream — goodbye goodbye.
Living on Image
Frozen is a distension of hope. Never free from clucking after image as a pirate or pocket gopher does holy treasure.
Implicitness as markers in voodoo with void, both horror and beautiful almost every symptom a map of the world.
An awakening, hard spasmed wild contraries wrestling with rose entwined in bone, well known tattoo tragic god —
Talk suddenly turns solemn
Living on images. That thru a monstrous build up burn, reflect both passion and its obscenity, always rearranging agist, wag and flog, bright lethal odyssey.
Awakening fall into a dizzying chronic filmic, Pynch pops up poetically trained — by my flesh lost up in a lethal mesh, some of it haughty, some screeching hawkish needy, loved in ways unanswerable, shaken out of silence –
Or shocked into a silence that is remote — remote with what was once called music of spheres, or spheres of epiphany.
Eels or peels, always one sword that kneels, deep cut, one into another, next as if implicit with its fugitives from banality and eery rapport with what survives otherwise —
When its bottomless or tea totals – the wretched droughts.Continue reading
Boom boom boom. Push through push through. Pain beckoned in flames. Waft divisions of LuLu’s heart.
To make them shut up. Boom boom boom.
Sublime — finds neg peg, nail for pail, catch for blood drip drip drip — that sacrificial emptiness flashing through. Like firecrackers. Boom boom boom.
Something in the sand searched for it. As if something holy in it violently mattered? Reek with beauty and faux contagions of a holy death.
A kind of quarry, forever waiting out of bounds, predatory purgatory dilatory —
Desire always hiding in the wire, temptation salvation station of the criss cross exploding with irresistable emptiness?
Lulu believed in the holy absurd as a sacred contortion between love fate vulnerability odyssey tragedy fine fettle of fatality, ya know? that mystical mileu.
Visions that hint toward vagaries luau, lop sided cursed, lit like a fuse —Continue reading