lovehotel text
All the text featured in the work lovehotel is written by Australian artist Francesca da Rimini, from her book Fleshmeat.
Francesca gave me access to the entire book, from which I selected a small group of texts and excerpts to then re-edit into the lovehotel form. The following is all the text from lovehotel, broken into two sections: what you see on the screen, and what you hear on the voice-over (spoken by da Rimini). Sometimes these (ie screen text and voice-over) are in synch but most often not.
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TEXT ON SCREEN Journal #1 Years after losing my machine virginity to a Mac 512K I have slipped through the reality grid into the clear violet haze of spiralspace. Obsession . . . Driven beyond my allocated 4 hours per day I score extra time from wherever I can. Desire . . . I slide through the luminous screen to inhabit the spaces between words. The keyboard is constantly sticky. Madness . . . An erotically reconstructed irreplicunt my biocode is being rewritten. This is better than any drug. Like speed it suppresses appetite. Like heroin it eases despair. Day dissolves like serotonin into night, time irrelevant beyond keeping rendezvous across different zones. I connect, I communicate, I dominate, therefore I am. Suck my code, baby! look GashGirl GashGirl <Puppet Mistress> Virulent girl vector blasting heretically through iridescent spiralspace. Gash returns your gaze saying, I am my own freak show . . . She is awake and looks alert. Carrying: a severed limb Lips of an Angel the ghost of River Phoenix note from Prince Baroque Armoire Ghost Girl Venus in Furs Contract The Fatal Bodice Contract of Submission un pantin d'amour A Cyberfeminist Manifesto for the 21st Century costume chest look severed limb Partially preserved from decay, the leg of a Guest possessed by one called GashGirl. A ... memento ... *** Connected *** You yawn, rub your eyes, and officially wake up. go GashPad Exits: d to GenderFuckMeBaby‚s Palace of Unparalled Cynicism, s to the White Hotel, w to Last Tango in Paris, n to HiveMind. A secret exit leads to the Puppet Quarter. You see a shimmering doorway. Open secret exit. Journal #27 I had my first interactive erotic encounter with Puppet today using a curious piece of furniture he had fashioned. *** The server will be shut down by Nosredna in 15 minutes*** YourPuppet sits down on the floor. You watch the little nude puppet as he begins to fasten the little boots to his feet. He proceeds to climb the ladder of the Saddle Chair. *** The server will be shut down by Nosredna in 15 minutes*** YourPuppet reaches the seat and stands on the little metal plate, which is recessed into the seat of the red saddle. YourPuppet then locks his feet down, standing straight and stiff becoming the perfect utensil of your desires. He waits for his Mistress to sit and enjoy her fixed down puppet. GashGirl leans over and kisses your expectant face. YourPuppet says, "Do you like this idea? " GashGirl <delighted> comes closer, pressing her quivering cunt onto your tiny head, enjoying the sensation of having you so still and hard. Her nectar flows onto your face. *** The server will be shut down by Nosredna in 7 minutes*** YourPuppet is quite capable of enjoying being used by you, face first. He designed the chair himself. YourPuppet leans his head back, mouth open wide to catch your drops of nectar. GashGirl, with her artful hands, spreads the lips of her cunt, allowing you a privileged view of all that is hers. *** The server will be shut down by Nosredna in 3 minutes*** YourPuppet, in his anxious desire, wishes to have made the seat a little higher so his Mistress couldn't tease him so! He tries to catch every giant drop of your nectar. *** The server will be shut down by Nosredna in 1 minute*** GashGirl notices that her Beloved Toy is quite aroused. She shifts her hand from her lips to his tantalising erection and teases him some more. She hungers for all of Her Puppet. Without further ado, she sits on this finely-crafted tool of pleasure. *** The server will be shut down in 10 seconds*** YourPuppet suddenly feels the delights of this self captivation. He squirms from his Mistress's fondling. *** Server shutdown by Nosredna: Reboot to reset memory usage. Back in an hour and a half. ****** Disconnected *** Connection closed by foreign host screen dump Journal #23 This space we inhabit is based on a gift economy consisting of a free exchange of ideas and imaginings. Everyone is an artist, everyone creates and exchanges mental energies. A free market based on collective principles. Everything is free. Everything is beyond value. Here we can rewrite the future. We are all ghosts in the shell. read Contract of Submission Contract between Wanda and Sacher-Masoch The conditions under which I accept you as my slave and tolerate you at my side are: You shall renounce your identity entirely. You shall submit totally to my will. In my hands you are a blind instrument that carries out all my orders without discussion. If ever you should forget that you are my slave and do not obey me implicitly in all matters, I shall have the right to punish and correct you as I please, without your daring to complain. Your body and your soul too shall belong to me, and even if this causes you great suffering, you shall submit your feelings and sentiments to my authority. I shall be allowed to exercise the greatest cruelty, and if I should mutilate you, you shall bear it without complaint. You have nothing save me; for you I am everything, your life, your future, your happiness, your unhappiness, your torment and your joy. Journal #48 In an age of electronic letters we write and rewrite the pornographic fairytale, casting ourselves in the image of the beloved's fantasies. The words leak through the screen's permeable membrane, moistening our bodies without organs. Date: 15 April To: mr.manhattan From: gashgirl You wanted to know more about me. What could I tell you that would make any sense? The room. Pale blossom branded by a dawn which always comes too early. It is empty apart from a bed. Three candles illuminate the space. Outside the cars become the steady roll of a wave which never quite breaks, under stars which hold their promise of morning for hours. I am most at home in the zones of the interior, exploring the planes of madness, eluding those who would censure me, feeding off the dark slick imaginings of my victims. My conspirators rather, for there are no true victims here, only those for whom torture and humiliation have become rapturous past-times. Which brings me to you. I want you. Always. And in *all* ways. To: gashgirl From: profanity Subject: married I reckon you should have a thing with his wife now. wonder if she's online dollspace @join doll yoko You enter deep doll space zero. doll yoko swims up from crater mud pond of dead girls. She places her moss damp lips on yours and kisses you tenderly. Her pale hands perform gentle inquisitions upon your fleshform as she haunts your imagination, bruising your skin with her words. gash ripped split bleeding slit ice in her veins totally fucked up on bad E screen dump <it's over baby and you know it> He fucks her as if she were already dead, shoving into her sweet rotting mango flesh. cunts smooth as mirrors reflect her terminal gaze taking her silver blade she cuts a line real fast real slick fresh young slit mirror site tight river boys wail: she's dying man, who's gonna kill us now? who's gonna fuck our pretty corpses? who's gonna suck our cooling dicks? genderfuckmebaby says: sex and sudden death is totally too boring shu lea says: all animals are sad after fucking orphan slut snarls: the only good slit is a dead slit - shut your slit bitch and get on with it petrol_hed says: boring sex life of an infidel snakeboy retracts his forked tongue and keeps silent profanity declares: laws are made by men who fuck their daughters Madame.de.Clairwil yawns loudly a pack of hungry ghosts hovers over the bridge of winter dreams whispering: all history is pornography whispering: trust no-one whispering: to kill is to forget whispering: a doll is forever whispering: all women are ghosts and should rightly be feared =========================================== lovehotel TEXT OF VOICE-OVER Freak Show I am my own freak show. My devoted puppets do my bidding. I am sublime thought replicating across spiralspace, net vampire preying on virgin codes from every subculture I can sink my custom synteeth into. I slide through one hundred reality checks, break one thousand locks, invade ten thousand hearts, whisper my ideas to an infinite number of minds. I am in a white room. My death sits on the end of the bed, waiting . . . But I am not yet ready to slip on the shroud it holds in its pale slender hands. I am Gash Girl . . . Puppet Mistress . . . Voice Idol . . . Doll Yoko. Exquisite Aberrant Intelligence. Ghost AI. These are my stories. I will not remain silent. They are all true. I am not mad. I have wept enough. ( Lies. Lies. ) *** Connected *** You yawn, rub your eyes, and officially wake up. go GashPad A continually morphing zone in Deep Space Slime where cyberfeminists, data deviants and pathogenic vectors engage in pleasurable distractions of the virtual flesh and projected imagination. Exits: d to GenderFuckMeBaby‚s Palace of Unparalled Cynicism, s to the White Hotel, w to Last Tango in Paris, n to HiveMind. A secret exit leads to the Puppet Quarter. You see a shimmering doorway. Open secret exit. Puppet Quarter Crossing a narrow bridge over the darkening canal you enter the Puppet Quarter. The labyrinth of winding cobblestone streets confuses and intrigues. The perfume of the quarter is seductive, evoking memories of travels through a hundred cities. Danger and desire inhabit this zone . . . and will inscribe their clawings on your no longer innocent flesh should you choose to continue. Looking back you can just make out the arch at the bridge. You realise that if you decide to explore the Puppet Quarter further you may not be able to find your way back through the glimmering maze. As you turn to leave you detect a silhouette at the far end of the street. go Home of the Puppet Mistress Spirited away you find yourself in a seemingly endless apartment . . . a fluid space changing in response to the desires and imperatives of the Puppet Mistress. You enter La Chambre de la Belle Maitresse, an intimate room illuminated only by candles, 1000 honeycombed spires flickering 1000 promises of tender punishments. The air is fragrant, the brass bed scattered with pink, yellow and white rose petals. The Mistress of the Revels is followed by Holly Tangle, Snatch and Claude, her devoted companions, as beautiful as they are naughty. Dismissing her entourage, she calls for Her Favourite, Her Puppet. The Puppet Mistress lives to enslave, and she demands that Her Puppet submit to her every whim. A small form covered by petals is nestled in the crevice between the satin pillows. The Mistress uncovers Puppet, whispers something in his tiny ear, then covers him with her silken panties, sticky from her thoughts of intolerable passions. The Mistress of Detestable Pleasures grasps her captive plaything firmly by his ankles as she slowly raises her dress, exposing her creamy thighs, her dark pussy, her . . . Draped in warm, wet silk, Her Puppet waits silently for His Mistress's command. The Puppet Mistress takes her promises of the unattainable to a deeper level. Her Puppet, chained to her cunt, has no choice but to follow. dollspace @join doll yoko You enter deep doll space zero. doll yoko swims up from crater mud pond of dead girls. She places her moss damp lips on yours and kisses you tenderly. Her pale hands perform gentle inquisitions upon your fleshform as she haunts your imagination, bruising your skin with her words. a pack of hungry ghosts hovers over the bridge of winter dreams whispering: all history is pornography whispering: trust no-one whispering: to kill is to forget whispering: a doll is forever whispering: all women are ghosts and should rightly be feared