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Ultimate Fantasy 107 Right to Love

Let me begin by telling you my ultimate fantasy. I call it the Right to Love.
I hereby exonerate you of the most heinous of your crimes.
The freaks come out at night.
Crazy Susan is out of a Hollywood script. She is pure bovine madness.
Hit it, baby doll.
All of you fuckheads still loyal to the Party, your blood-sucking muttlets, go home and lick your wounds.
I am
I am your political prisoner.
Life expectancy in this country is declining, whoredom is on the rise, the little guy is screwed over by a rigged system.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Go home to your tortured children.
Stop blaming the victim.
It is not his fault if his sex drives have died out. It is your fault if his reproductive system has collapsed.
In any case, let them giggle. I am finished with you. There are no more left for me to punch.
Get lost. You are not part of my strategy.
We already know how you planned the coup, you planted the seeds, engineered the coup.


Cleanse yourself. The dead are intrinsically miasmic.
Cleanse with flowers, baths, perfumes.
Cleanse the doors of perception.
Learn to open and close doors, build and burn bridges.
Sing, especially if you never do, sing for them and them alone.
Cultivate certain qualities - ecstatic, cathartic, flamboyant, chthonic - in all things.
Practice automatic writing, possessory trance and other methods of channelling.
Journey to the underworld and find your way out.
Take breaks, take space, take time, take liberties.
The freaks come out at night.
Everything dances.

Let me begin by telling you my ultimate fantasy. . .



Prompt adapted from First Protocols of Queer Goetia

· erotic, queer, GPT-2, RunwayML