This is a story. Rated R.

The most unfortunate thing happened to me today. I lost my job. But it wasn’t the fact that I lost my job that upset me. In fact, I wanted to lose my job. It’s the manner in which I lost my job that upsets me. I loved a girl at work, which is fine, but I suppose that it’s when you express your love that you get in trouble. Love, in the work setting, is not perceived as love. It’s stripped down to the carnal desires of the thing. It’s called “sexual harassment” and has taboos around it. But I wanted to be with the girl that I loved. The only problem, I suppose, is that she didn’t love me.

Eventually, she told my boss about my love for her, which as I said, had all sorts of taboos around it. My boss came to talk to me about it. He reprimanded me for harassing her sexually. I didn’t try to correct him and tell him that I simply loved her. I took his talking to and didn’t mouth off or quit, because that wasn’t the manner in which I wanted to leave me job.

I still loved the girl at work. I suppose that even if I tried, I couldn’t stop loving her. Love is a complicated venture, which is embarrassed by the work environment. They make it seem so indecent, so sexually driven. They don’t see the beauty in it. They don’t realize that love is such a strong emotion, and that it can’t be restricted or contained.

It seemed that she became less and less taken by me. Sometimes afraid. I can’t imagine why.

She told the boss about my love for her again. My boss gave me a final warning, and told me that I was going to be fired the next time that he received a complaint. I was angry, but I kept my anger in. This wasn’t how I wanted to lose my job. However, this made me dislike my boss even more. I began to feel sorry for him, though. He probably didn’t have love. He probably didn’t know what love was, outside of prostitutes. Maybe this was why he stripped it down to only it’s carnal desires.

I wouldn’t see her for hours because she would be on lunch break twice and three times a day, or so it seemed. That or the other guys at work would stop me from approaching her. I resented them all for the disregard for love, and became sad because they all probably only dealt with prostitutes, and therefore only saw love for it’s carnal desires.

It came to the day when I decided to leave work. The girl that I loved was there, and I saw her, and the boss didn’t say anything to me. So I took out my gun and I shot her. And then I shot my boss. And then I loved her body and propped my boss up against the wall and made him watch. I wanted his eyes to understand the true meaning of love. It wasn’t carnal. It was gentle. It was beautiful.

One of the guys saw me loving her dead body and was startled. He shot me in the arm with my own gun three times and wrestled me out of the building where he called the police. This wasn’t how I wanted to leave work. I wanted to leave with their bodies, and teach my boss an eternal lesson about love.

I wrote a bunch of thoughts on a sheet of paper while listening to BMSR.

I sleep on missing you
And I burn as long
As my cord is pulled
You pull my plug and drain
Me. You forget about last night

I want to be next to your
voice,
But you
Stock it with
White holes
And black
Tar

Waiting in time is suspenseful
Surreal
In this instance
I'm trapped in the wait

Calm down and throw me up;
It's half
Over
And I'm half
Dead

Suzy you
Slept on me,
Only kept you up for
Half an hour
Suzy you
Slept on me,
Why not
Wait a little longer?

You don't really miss me,
You're just taking what the
Doctor prescribed
And kissing your mom
Before you sleep

I can't think that you don't care;
You can't be expected to sit on something
You don't mind

I want to cry--
Silence is better than a contribution
And reasons are floors
In a burning house
I can't get in
And you won't get out

Am I such an afterthought
That you don't
Get the eyes
That I have

If sometimes I have to be away
You're already
There, you're already
There

You never
Miss what's
Out of earshot

My tone must
Be lost and
Your ears must drown
The hurts falls
Off around midday
The control towers sleeps;
The signal decays

I'm left alone
To holes
And I creep into
Them at night, mom
Why keep me up and away?

I embrace that loving you
Involves investment with
Minimum interest

But I love you and these are all feelings
You have to understand that I hurt
Because three-fourths
Of my soul
Lie in
You.

Aubrey tells me that I was high.

Scissors are only meant for one thing. Scissors are meant to open up the gate to the realm... DUDE! Did you know that there's a whole other place out there, did you know that? ...I was sleeping with scissors one time, no I think it was my dog I think she was the scissors that time and this whole thing grew from them...

I saw this guy with a shark and he was throwing it around at people and it was really sad because there were babies inside of the shark.

I wasn't picking my nose, I was making a new world.

Calculators sometimes they have these things and they get angry, NO! Calculators are used sometimes when you have to do things. Sometimes calculators are used because sometimes in war people don't know how to use their walkie talkies.

Cuz sometime Aubrey and I were in a sweatshop... (after being asked where we met)

You don't put rings on English

I was gonna say the sharpener... not the garden or anything.

Tyrannosaurus rex have very big nails and when they cut you, it's like a spaceship.

NO he has a black (something) helicopter and he's gay!

OKAY, if you know so much about ranger Dave what kind of child does he have? He has a boat child and he rides it sometimes. In episode four, why didn't he go to the prom? Because his grandma cut off his leg and was like, here come stitch it back on.

This won't fit, it's like, it's like a bunny. (In reference to USB cord for MP3)

Zach's scary.

You only have four noses

I'm never happy.

I'm never happy
The elephant flows from my legs
The elephant cuts up the floor
The elephant drinks my drinks
The elephant kisses my girl

I'm never happy
There's only one instance where I'm gone
And the sky doesn't bleed blue
That I'm okay with the lights outside
And the sunflower doesn't touch the wall,
And you're absence isn't on my mind

I'm never happy
And cloudless cover belittles my name
Sounds and hearts creep up on me
If my legs were silent, there would be no time
In time, with a beat, no time's gaze
And I frown downward into the space

I'm never happy
There's never much rainbow in my teeth
Only too many cobwebs in my mouth
There's a frog on your mind,
A frog under your hat,
And a kiss on your tongue
I can feel it;
The open sky tells me so

I'm never happy
The smile never comes galloping fervently,
It never imposes and lights my candle
The smile never takes me out

I'm never happy
This night should be wasted on romance,
Not multicolored gigglings and story
The horse sits and puts it's fingers in it's mouth
And validity rides away on strawberries and the backs of the leaves

I'm never happy
You're always with someone else
And the twigs under my feet scream "not me"
And the twigs under my feet scream "not me"
There's only cream under my eyes

This situation is boneless,
Boneless and awkward
Children only see it,
The bones cycling down
The lion winging our lines
This situation is boneless,
Its name is "tortoise shells mowed down"

I'm never happy
With me there's never a crown
I'm never happy
With you is always a saber
And a fine lad on your arm
The leaves all crinkle your name,
But there's always a knife in there somewhere
Though you told me you'd stay away

I'm never happy
There are always too many stars,
And this sunset is better painted with you
I'm never happy enough to drown,
For the light never quite touches my skin.

So, speaking of fire
I'm burning.

There's a crash of twenty souls in here,
And a constant slide of land after land after land
And the wrist falls upon the neck
And checks to see if the truth is really there
But the heart beats, and so it must be alive
She says so and so it is
But this volcano erupts anyway
Because I've lost the limelight.

God damn.

I'm trying to leak ink onto the computer
But my god damn pen's backed up
And my god damn mind is fucked up
And my god damn fingers don't like to type
I'm trying to write a few somethings
But my god damn imagination is quarantined
And my god damn thoughts are marginalized
And my god damn feelings are quelled
I can't write anything
'Cuz my god damn everything doesn't work.
God damnit.

:( :( :(

I'm dependent on your voice.
I look to your presence for guidance.
When you don't call me,
My face is butchered with contortions,
My eyes are saturated with emotion,
And my insides fight each other.
Your voice is my IV drip,
And I slowly begin to dwindle when I don't get mine.
So don't kill me, love.
Please, don't kill me.

The g word.

Little ugly children are the most disgusting things I've ever seen. Their guts are grossly grotesque, and the children always grow profusely. Their heads start to become all jangly, and their eyes always gel over in class. It's incredibly disgruntling to see an ugly child sitting, dangling, off of the edge of your rooftop. I don't know if this degrading act has happened to you, but the children always gurgle over my head, and it's incredibly disgruntling. It makes me cringe when grossly large children gorge on food, when they already have gracious pockets of it in their skin. Just makes me gag.

A little on Anger.

The soul lights the fire
And the chest holds the embers,
And the beast licks it fingers
As it rips apart the carcass.
And the hole grows larger
And the shade grows deeper
And the brow hangs lower
As the clouds grow cloudy over the untouched stream,
You look inside yourself to find nothing but steam.
And the kettle's sides are tickled with warmth,
As the steam rises and bellows forth.
When something inside has been especially slashed,
The ropes on the pulley are severed and dashed.
Down falls the elevator, and it sinks into a pit,
And demons fly up and climb all over it.
For it's not until you scream,
That you feel your heart gleam.

I'm angry; they affected my graffiti.

Graffiti is the extension of your imagination on a wall
And is to feed your pride
To expand your creativity
And unleash your penned monster
To quell the spirit of a graffiti animal
And hold superiority over them is a crime.
Graffiti is a part of the soul
And must be treated like a child
So next time you kick us out,
Remember, you assholes,
That graffiti can be written on any face.

A night
And the stars are bright
They're light
And the fog is right
I sit
Beneath a yellow tree
With it
Laughing at me.
A smile
That surrounds my eyes
A child
In me that cries
To beauty do I say:
Death
Do we part.
Human
Is the start.

Little bunny foo foo ridin' on a forest like ant a breevity and holding the the woods. The alittle baby came and the dame the tourist fairy and sad LITTLE BUNNY FOO FOO YOU ONLY GET ALITTLE CHANCES AND IF YOU GO OUT OF THE THING THAT GO AND FEAR FOOS I'MGONNA BASH YOUR GRANDMA.

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Edgar Allen Poe is like a writing desk
Edgar Allen Poe wrote on a Raven
If something sometimes comes after you,
Then sometimes monsters won't offer you hospitality
Because little blue oranges
And sky
Like a winding little birdie
Conk shells
And red lights
And blaring silver sentences
GALLOPING
GALLOPING
GALLOPING
GALLOPING
Lollipop
why is a raven like a writing desk?

Butterfly in the sky
I can go twice as high
Take a look.
It's in a book.
Reading rainbow.
I can do anything
take a look
its in a book
Reading Rainbow
I can go anywhere
Reading Rainbow
Reading rainbow

Ughh.

The keys on my fingers go
tap tap tap tap tap
And I punch in the black keys
I put in my life here
And I expect to be compensated
These things aren't related

My eyes are bleeding
From my fingers going
tap tap tap tap tap
And I look at my feet
Which laugh tap tap tap tap tap
I put a little brown bag

Wrong in the code.

I'm nauseous
And my stomach's down
I've been walkin'
All over town
I been tryin'
To find me you
You keep trying
To fly the coop

But I sat down
And I felt it
And I filed down
And I melted
And I kicked it to the curb

It's a calm day
And the water swells
It's a hot day
The bronze statue melts
And I feel it
The little beat of drums
And I can taste it
It tastes like gun

But I came down
And I felt it
And I filed down
And I spellt it
And it came along on the road

The tambourine hits on the leg
And my brother thought I was brave
For coming down along the way
To see if you were there with my heart to spare
Girl you left you weren't there

And I came down
And I felt it
And I filed down
And I spellt it
And it came wrong in the code

So if you find me
I apologize
For the wrong thing
That makes the river die
And don't cry
It came wrong in the code

CATS AND FINS.

Some Fins of Cats
By Khari Johnson

Some cats have fins. And are actually cats. Sometimes I like to write about cats with fins. Like right now. This cat had flappy fins. They were fat fins. And I cut them off. And it bled. And I lapped up the blood. And I smiled. Sometimes I like to lap up cats' bloods. Kings of elves are also cats with fins. I had a cat with fins. His name was Aubrey. And I cut off his fins. And I lapped up his blood, too. There was this one time when I opened the door and there was a cat with fins. His name was Q. He was an agent of Cats with Fins. I opened the door and he shot me because I cut off the fins of a cat. He wasn't very pleased. They got a detective on the case. His name was Private Eye Jones. He had a nose like a cucumber. He was a cat with fins. He told me that it was helpless, and shot me again. So this was my story about cats with fins.

FIN

Short Story

My name is Khari Johnson. I'm a fireman.

Seafood Dave

allow me to give you what you want
And open doors to the jaded room
Laugh at the backs of the emeralds and kiss the fingers of silver hair
I enjoy the shining nights
And I enjoy that phasing lights
And it's the rangling of the cowboys that gives me the days
I've escaped from hands
And wrenched my way from lies
Because you are lies
And I am not a liar
I am truth and you are everything that's ever been hanged
Everything that's been prosecuted by history books
And left out of bedtime stories

Silver bracelets are only there when humans exist
Rochester lolls silently and kills
Because onomatopetia kills
And then something silently kills
I know.
I know.
I know.

Rampant is the field of horse-jellied ravens
And the little feet of small Indians come on the stage
They play the song of fruits and berries
And beagles trumpet their lives away.

WHZTX ROHNG WHITH SE!AF00#Sd D4VeE3!?!

Opium.

It's raining silver opium,
And we eat it, we do
The rain shimmers
And we eat it

It's raining silver opium
And we taste it, we do
The rain glimmers
And we eat it

It's raining silver opium
And we're on the beach, we are
We get into the water
And we breathe

It's raining silver opium
And the sidewalk glimmers
We lick it, we do
And we eat it

We are opium ingestors
Anyway we can get it
The opium ingestors
We eat it, we do.

Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon.

Sane, are you? I don't think so in the least; in the least, there is a lack of opportunity in the guise of a yielding shield. Quite on the spot here is this theory, the theory that the universe orginated from a single bang, and that in the billionth of a second there was unity in disorganization. This is a true metaphor for the state of the mind; a metaphor which I ponder over and over within the confines of my walls of concord.
There was a rampling of the sheets under the cascading sky, and glamorous glitter touched the edges of thine eyes. It was a sight of such ogulent treachery to be so flagrant in appearance, and to come as vivid and underscene as the told tales of valiant men. I sat on the floor with these apprehensive thoughts, and this apprehensive mindset, and killed everything in the way of true and utter conquerance and defeat. It was a true challenge to overcome the mountains of built up creedence, and telling off the rabbit was a bit of an internal rockel. I came upon the decision that I would tell the smelling and smilling cat that it's face wasn't needed thoroughly in the essence of it all, and that I couldn't feel the understanding of the carniverous caulk that it called it's bones and limbs. I squeamed at the thought of such a reality, and cried the tears of the bleeding hearts.
I roasted samples of dreams on richly pasturized plants and ant hills, and let them swarm with the bees of creativity and silence. It was of high comedy, it was, this experience, and I longed for a life as enjoyable as this. But then I realized that I am only stuck inside of my mind, and that it's painful to be caught within the net of a dragon. It hurts, does it not, to not have the problem arms coming from out of your brain that do the appropriate things and attach themselves to the appropriate appendages of realism and shake hands in correspondence and cooperation? I know, for I can not seem to shake the hand of reality, as the hand of my mind is so white, and is only the refraction of the sun against my heart's amulet. This thought has been on my mind many days as of late, and has bursted the seams of my grand bureau open, exposing my wares to anyone who might cause them to be fired and ran down, lashed upon and excersised. Rememberance is only a face-lift above from sincerity, and is called upon only by the forces which you can not control; that is, the forces of everything serene and upon you, every weight that falls upon your shoulders not from emotion, but from the depths of the skies and the aural, oral, and all otherwise senses of the body, all of which are depthless in themselves. When stimulants are stripped from you, and your body is bare from all the basic spurs of nostalgia, it is taken upon yourself to drive these feelings into you, to permanently conquer triggers and plugs, and sever all the cords that restrict you from remembering untethered and continually in a spiral.

Romulus.

Servants
Are the ones who lead
And leaders
Are those who are dead.

Unfortunately.

I don't care enough to write.

Lamplight cry out.

Let's see the lemon tree
Lamplight, cry out
Let's see the lemon tree
Lamplight, die out

Rummaging through a life of funny
And searching for what's left, my honey
Evaporated because it's way too sunny

And for the record, my love, it's all the above
And killing seems to be known
Lawns are racked by peoples brains
And there is a Jewish stove
Lovely women cry out to me
And feel the bleeding with their trees
The images are so foreign

I'll be waiting for you baby, 'cuz I'm through

Lamplight, cry out
Lamplight, die out
'Cuz I'll get along with you.

Meh.

She's a fever
An eager beaver, yelling out words like, "kill that reaver!"
She's a rebel,
And a sick
She's the disease that gives you the crick
She's a love
And she's a hate
In a couldron, she resembles the Bates

She's a monster, she's a robot.

SHE'S A MONSTER

SHE'S A ROBOT

SHE'S GOT MY HEART GOING 'ROUND IN A SLOW TROT

SHE'S ON FIRE

SHE'S ON ICE

SHE'S AS COOL AS A CHILLED BOWL OF RICE

SHE'S A GIRL

SHE'S A WOMAN

SHE'S GODZILLA IN THE FLESH, I'M ASSUMIN'

OUT FROM THE DEPTHS AND INTO THE WORLD

SHE'S GON' BLOW EVERYTHING UP TO SAVE HER LITTLE GIRL

I'M HER BABY

I'M HER CHICK

I'M HER LITTLE MAN, HER BABY-BOY STICK

AND SHE LOVES ME

THAT MONSTER DOES

SHE KEEPS ME 'ROUND INSIDE HER PAWS

GIRL'S A MONSTER

SHE'S A ROBOT

SHE'S GOT ME WRAPPED AROUND HER CLAWS LIKE A LOVESICK NAPSACK

SHE'S GOT SCALES

SHE'S GOT FIRE

SHE'S A GIRL THAT WAS MADE TO CONSPIRE

SHE'S A BAD GIRL

SHE'S A MAMA

SHE'S THE BULLET IN YOUR WOUND THAT YOUR FOND OF

SHE'S A LANCE

SHE'S A SWORD

SHE PIERCES STRAIGHT THROUGH MY HEART WITH HER KNIGHTLY LACED WORDS

SHE'S A SWEETY

SHE'S A LOLLIPOP

WITH THE BEST TASTIN' LIPS AWARD 3 YEARS NONSTOP

AND IF THIS WAS A BATTLE OF THE SUPERPOWERS

WE'D ALL LOSE

'LESS SHE'D CHOOSE TO CONCEDE

BUT SHE STILL MAKES MY HEART BLEED

AND HER HEART IS JUST THAT SWEET

HER TONIC IS LOVE

AND HER CHARGER IS BEAUTY

SHE TAKES THE FORM OF A DOVE

AND DONS THE NAME JUDY

I WROTE THE BOOK ON THE MONSTER AND YOU, I LOVE HER I DO, AND I PEELED THAT LARGE HEART WHEN I HEARD FROM THE START THAT SHE LOVED ME ENOUGH TO SPARE THIS EARTH, BECAUSE SHE IS THE BEGINNING AND SHE IS THE END, SHE IS THE INK THAT COMES OUT OF THIS PEN, THAT MONSTER YOU SEE, THAT ROBOTIC TREE THAT GROWS AND GROWS IN MY HEART, AND WHO KNOWS, MAYBE OUR LOVE WILL CONTINUE TO FLOW ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON

SHE'S A MONSTER

SHE'S A ROBOT

LKO.

You are the world in my palm
And don't think I understand why we're not so calm
We're on a one-way track to the love we both deserve
Let's just pray that our car doesn't swerve

The girl of my life haunts my dreams
I hope I get one just like her
She calls to me in her a fluid voice
And draws my tears with fluid force
She's a monster,

Groginesz.

What a peace offering would be
If it could fly with me
But you don't tend to see the little parts

Have you ever looked into my eyes
Have you really seen what's there
Have you ever seen my cries
And my futile attempts to release some air
But you haven't because you don't
And the right's my own
Lay down your arms on the butchering board
And I'll show you what it's like to steal my hoard

You, my girl, are a demon of desire
A plant with a mission and a faeirie of fire
You climb more than once to the horizon
And yell the morning's song.

Alone and Aloner.

Salmonela cinderella,
Put it in your mouth
Kiss your lips goodbye
And slowly drift south.

Little bee, little tree
Dine with feeling
That feels like this
And cry because you see

Ring master, ring master,
There's something in her eyes
That wires my lips
And tires my lies
That keeps me afloat when the lion rears its head
And make iniquities feel like they're dead

In the evening sun
There's the amber sun
And it plays music in the air
And floats like it wasn't there
Its skull is described as blood
And it's blood described as mud
The name is nothing more than syllables
And the grass symbolized dragons
Keeping open their eyes and feeding their young
They hanged it on a cross with disgusting command

Fly and crusade, love the tirade
Feel the fervor and the disease,
Love the rap and kill the seeds.
Feel the rage and love the war
Kiss the earth and hug the floor
We all are the ones who fight for none
And fly and crusade on the bars of fun

The times are good and barred by us
Only in the occassion that we feign to run
Then we put down our hammock
And feel the disco rhyme
And pick up our ruckus
And laugh at our mistakes
Because when the life is gone and drained
We bleed some more
And the flies come about
And raid our stores
Because we're dead and it hurts;
For one thousand nations continue to lurk.

I'm tired of being so judgemental.

Barely anything left
Barely anything left
It came like a night full of theft
And pet the people with hands full of death

There's nothing on these bones
There's nothing on these bones
Only enough to take me home
And see the way that this half-life drones

Carefully carried was she
Carefully carried was she
Until she cracked underneath the sea
And became what she was supposed to be.

Innocence.

Innocence's parents were Guilt and Error. They reflected on their lives, when Innocence was born, and were determined to make her's better. It seemed that, as Innocence got older, they became more aware of all of things around them. Everything that they'd done, all the negative thoughts they'd thought, all of the impure actions that they'd undertook. They didn't want their child to grow up like they did. The influences of the world were too much, they thought, for Innocence to take. They unanimously decided, when Innocence grew to the learning age of one, that they'd lock her in the basement. They would feed her themselves, play with her everyday, and keep her mind pristine. They continued this the rest of her adolescence; not allowing any outside influences into her basement. They gave her toys without violent suggestions, and dolls that were fully and respectfully clothed. Eventually, Innocence's parents died. Presently, Innocence still resides in her basement, leaving only to get food from the refridgerator, letting reality pass her by.

Earth is all that we are.

Vision is a punished child.
It learns things that are taught from reprimand
Reality is composed of Van Gogh's.
What more is vision than a punished child?
A smudged spirit;
And to the eyes of nothing,
The creators of nothing exist only within themselves.
So the bear crawls out from his cage
And sees only what he sees;
The non-existent adjective
And the incorrect describing word.
What's correct English, the bear asks his teacher,
If English isn't correct?
His teacher responds:
Bear,
The fear is in your heart and in your mind.
We do exist,
And therefore everything else exists in completeness and absolution.
The native tongue of reality has been lost in translation
And there is none.
The color drains from our eyes and falls onto the ground
And begins to construct
Placing steel girders under the land,
Which small working men clamber up to paint the earth with the color of our eyes.
And so we live in an uncertain universe.
Are we equipped for reality?
No one knows.
Whatever you have no control over, build on top of it.
Control it.
Make it your own.
That's the philosophy.
We'll build an empire of knowledge on top of the village of actuality.
Forever and ever it will grow.
Ever larger and ever expanding.
Until we expand to our capacity
And die.
The bear nodded his head in a created emotion,
And turned on his heel.
But then the teacher stops him and says,
Imagination is necessary in this world
Else we would be nothing.
Keep that in mind as you go home, bear.
Imagination is necessary.
Creation is necessary.
Or else there's nothing.
Keep that in mind, bear.
Keep it in mind.

मस. निकाले नाबोर्स

इ एन्जोयेद मस। नाबोर्स विसित बेकाउसे शे वास वैरी फुन्न्य एंड गुड-हुमोरेड, एंड शे वास अल्सो अ हीरो। आईटी वास गुड तप सी हेर रेकोवेरेड सो वेल, एंड इ फेल्ट गुड अबाउट हेर फुतुरे.

And all around.

A night 
And the stars are bright
They're light
And the fog is right
I sit
Beneath a yellow tree
With it
Laughing at me
A smile
That surrounds my eyes
A child
In me that cries

Death
Do we part.
Human
Is the start.

Stars.

There are names for those lips
And shapes for that kiss
Constructions of that bliss
A form for that fist.

The light of day
Shines on the white picket fence
And we, the fish
We swim in it
And revel in what's been made of us

Jupiter never seemed so nice
The stars are synths
The rhythm is the beat
Mars never looked so hungry
The sun never so angry.

Parasites have been exterminated
And she has been lifted up
Her voice is the only light
The only tether for the self-righteous god
She's the reach of the arm
The feather to the corset.

Features are cut into stone
That stone resemble the features
The stone erodes
Features fall away
If the features deteriorate, does anyone hear?

And for what, as he looked up at the white sky,
Is this tear falling for?
When there are clouds of tears gathering around a single planet
What properties of specialty do mine hold?
In being human, I am a miracle.
In being human, I am in no way a miracle.

Vibrations of callous fingers
Against grains of horse hair
Make the soul lift.
Reassures.
And the green sky winks
While you float downwards.

Gray forest, I call on you
Sell to me inventions
And tell me why I should care.

Life dominates nature
Natural is everything that happens
Says man.

The road stretches from here to there
Over there is a land of red
Of green
Of silver
Of purple
A land with a galaxy
And two tables
With faces of love
And examples of beauty
And a grim reaper.

I love her.

So it shines, so it shines
And the tear trickles down his face
And he reflects on everything he's ever hated
His legs sprout trees
His mind sprouts humanity
And he decreases
He decreases from self-righteousness
And deals with the real pain of having a mind of humanity and a base of everything else.
He's torn apart.
His body is split in half.
His arms are strewn across the floor in chopped up pieces.
His upper half is eaten by raccoons.
His lower half floats in space.

Tension splits you apart.
Your existence should not be split into polar opposites.
Philosophy should not be forced upon you,
Because philosophy is a burden.
And accepting everything that goes against what you believe should not be encouraged.
When you have to pick between two truths, you're not going to live.
So to the stars I say, feed me.

Stars.

There are names for those lips
And shapes for that kiss
Constructions of that bliss
A form for that fist.

The light of day
Shines on the white picket fence
And we, the fish
We swim in it
And revel in what's been made of us

Jupiter never seemed so nice
The stars are synths
The rhythm is the beat
Mars never looked so hungry
The sun never so angry.

Parasites have been exterminated
And she has been lifted up
Her voice is the only light
The only tether for the self-righteous god
She's the reach of the arm
The feather to the corset.

Features are cut into stone
That stone resemble the features
The stone erodes
Features fall away
If the features deteriorate, does anyone hear?

And for what, as he looked up at the white sky,
Is this tear falling for?
When there are clouds of tears gathering around a single planet
What properties of specialty do mine hold?
In being human, I am a miracle.
In being human, I am in no way a miracle.

Vibrations of callous fingers
Against grains of horse hair
Make the soul lift.
Reassures.
And the green sky winks
While you float downwards.

Gray forest, I call on you
Sell to me inventions
And tell me why I should care.

Life dominates nature
Natural is everything that happens
Says man.

The road stretches from here to there
Over there is a land of red
Of green
Of silver
Of purple
A land with a galaxy
And two tables
With faces of love
And examples of beauty
And a grim reaper.

I love her.

So it shines, so it shines
And the tear trickles down his face
And he reflects on everything he's ever hated
His legs sprout trees
His mind sprouts humanity
And he decreases
He decreases from self-righteousness
And deals with the real pain of having a mind of humanity and a base of everything else.
He's torn apart.
His body is split in half.
His arms are strewn across the floor in chopped up pieces.
His upper half is eaten by raccoons.
His lower half floats in space.

Tension splits you apart.
Your existence should not be split into polar opposites.
Philosophy should not be forced upon you,
Because philosophy is a burden.
And accepting everything that goes against what you believe should not be encouraged.
When you have to pick between two truths, you're not going to live.
So to the stars I say, feed me.

Brain splatter.

And the black man knows it's untrue.
He feels as his ancestors struggled.
And the black man's struggle is to forget his self.
Black man's mind is still belittled.
His face still abandoned.
His psyche still wrought with the inferiorities of color.
Still not good enough, says the engine of his will.
Still won't try harder says the conductor.
There's no instruction manual on how to break free.

To thoughts of suicide he runs.

Emotion for a black man.

I don't love myself.Part of me is engulfed with silenced sin.
And when I want to shed my heart, all I do is hide in my skin.
The pen won't release its ink, reflecting what I feel within.
Rusty thoughts feast on my life, a trial made of tin.
So I don't want to speak right now, I would only like to write.
Humanity feels bleak to me because it's never been right.
And to delve deeply within the depths of my undying plight,
I'm never correct in anything, I lack divine sight
And as we fly forever past my angst and through my mind,
We'll find on this endeavor that the truth isn't kind.
I wish I wasn't myself, in a time booth filled with time.
I don't want to lend my mind and soul to the upkeep of mankind.

I beg of you, teach me how to do it like you, please.
I've reached the color where I can't handle these responsibilities.
I'm not the sort of dog that is bred to succeed.
In the double helix fog, you'll see that that's a seed.

In the map of my mind, there's a hole in the middle.
Even with the gap of time, I still feel belittled.
There's no love for him to give, said the riddle.
Couldn't I be played out like a zombie? piped the fiddle.To take care of a dime as pretty as this.
I'm going to have to forgive, love, and forget...

Through death and sex.

I think I'm more than a man. I'm more than a woman? I think I'm more than a life, for every breath develops my psyche, to the point of a self-proclaimed god, an entity that God has ordained to be in its highest place. Then fire will set upon the streets, as if fire from the water wasn't enough to destroy the wills of seven thousand winged horses, with manes of lion and tails of the scorpion. Lightning flashed as she ran into her house, to find that the lightning had struck her. Dark souls crawled and wept from the White House, every life died for dye, and had death consume them, for purposes of tranquil quiet, evil men and women found the kind of people, who damned the men of the fire line… German doing, the soldiers and the trees burnt by stupid will and charismatic will for change coming from a monkey's mouth. Many men will find, a death to soon refine, a longing to be kind, and a selling of the mind. Trends are no long for the reason of the norm and sometimes I wish I could still die, from the wish of head trauma. Grapes of wrath, my grapes of wrath that killed the fruits of the spirit, the life of the kite and the clouds on Olympus. Pantheistic fire breathing moccasins adorn my feet on this journey through death and sex.

HA.

Mark me down
Fight me now
Kiss me later after you mark me down
Tried so hard
To listen to me fly
From angel wings
And flying things
And death to men
I began again
Climbing down
Sounding now
Holistic plow
And don't fail me now

Find your life
In my eyes
Its not an easy thing
To disguise…

I don't really want it.

Curves and curves, slight turns and indents, smooth to the eye. Nothing more than the eye, the lust is no longer evident in the soul of my mouth. The fingers of my desire are no longer able to see through the haze of unknowing treachery my mind perceives from my eyes. Tremor for a talk list, killing myself over the need to want however never wanting to actually want it because of the moral standing that my soul embodies. Caramel tight lips graze against my imagination, and inflated chests caress my mind's eye. But in the physical, of the flesh, I don't want the more surreal and real parts of the human anatomy. I want the God.

Sappt.

There was a sandslide
It happened in my mind
It left life with no given shape or time
Abstract in its art with a crooked con artist sign,
it took with it all and left my will blind.
However the sandslide implanted new dreams
Its smooth sandy hand bashing open new scenes
It giggled as it left,
and gave me no means
to act on grand hopes and too-big-for-me dreams.
So now I sit with a sand-ridden will
Burnt to a crisp under the desert night sky
The soil's black and white and the water stays still
It's not use planting, it's suicide to try.

Dragon tales.

It's these days that I'm a dragon,
Hoarding my treasure with scales
And it's these days that they try to slay me,
And their chocolate moonshine prevails;
Entangled in the rooftop with the ketchup in their hair.
And it's these days that I'm fire, defensive of a tree
And slowly do I watch you with a dream-team lethargy.
From atop the golden chalice, to catch me if I cry, and stops me in my tracks, saving me with a sigh.
It's these days that I'm a dragon, with multi-colored skin.
And I watch these jelly beans sprout their jelly fins,
My penultimate end.

The gallery.

I don't even understand my feelings. So I can't begin to write about them. I want to write in metaphors, as to shade my feelings with some sort of cloak, so that I can thoroughly assasinate my thoughts without alerting the gaurd. But my mind just won't work like that; maybe because its so cloudy from the precipitation you've caused. It's rained upwards for days now, and how skin reacts to water is how humans react to hurt. And it's just, I want you to know that I'm a desert right now. I'm over-heated with nothing to cool me down. But you know, I was once a valley. I was once a lush oasis with grass and rivers and streams and inhabitants, until those indecisive plate tectonics came along. And I find it interesting; the inhabitants sucked me half dry, and they just did away with me. It was just reap and reap and reap, no off season, and eventually, even though I had put up with all their abuse and gave them so much service , they left me. They used up my resources and left me. When they talk amongst themselves, I hear them say that it was because they thought I was creating volcanoes, which would eventually kill them. And I'm glad that I'm gettig this off of my back, because it's been like a ghost. But it's been a ghost in a different sense... more like a ghost that lingers everyhwere. A ghost that is the smell of the air, a ghost that seems to haunt key-words and phrases, place names and jokes. But then it could also be liken to an elephant. Naturally, you'd be confused as to why an elephant was there on your back in the first place, but it would also be incredibly painful to carry a pacaderm around all of the time. You'd hurt, you'd be in pain. You may not have noticed it, but I also feel like an insane thought. I always wondered if I'm thought of by other people, but I couldn't be. I couldn't be. And I mean, I want you to understand that I know I should've abandoned ship. 'Cuz like, everyone else has. But it's just too difficult to abandon a ship that you've wanted to sail on for such a long time... Especially if you were having the time of your life. And yes, you may remark that sitting on a sunken ship is hazardous to your health. But I'm still hoping for some aircraft carrier, underwater crane, the Coast Gaurd to come and haul it back up and return it to its former glory. It's childish and ridiculous, because God knows this ship is too far buried under the iron sea to ever be revived. And last thing that I'll say to you before I leave: I know you live in a different country, so it's really hard to talk to you. I wish I could talk to you, because I know that we, by ourselves, could make world peace; make things right again. But I can't afford long distances, and wouldn't have the words to say anyway.

100 things.

1. They'll thrill you or sedate you.2. The most relaxing thing in the world is to sit back and to think about God being a glowing cube with simple, complex mechanisms in some different dimension.3. Girls are energy vampires, and it's amazing how much entertainment they demand from you.4. Brennan' actually a really good friend.5. The reason why people think teenagers are pathetic children who are cute to be heard, but no to be listened to is because we think that way about ourselves.6. It's generally not a good idea to go into high school hoping to be excluded from everything.7. Conversations are a chore, an art, and probably the hardest chore that you will ever undertake.8. Girls will not be impressed with you unless you're funny.9. It's amazing how little attention even your best friends can give you.10. Usually, parties suck unless you're the most attractive person there.11. Capitalists really are the scum of the earth, and Cash really does Rule Everything Around Me. 12. Ideology is hate.13. Energy is a life-force, and more than just stamina.14. Ignorance is a plague.15. To express yourself you need to know what you're talking about.16. Honduras is optimal for saving a community.17. Do NOT drink a 40 proof.18. Apathy and fear are the two biggest turn-offs in a human.19. Society is a system that can not be overridden. 20. Talk is WAAYY different than action.21. The ghettos are beautiful. 22. Sondre Lerche is probably the biggest most beautiful kept secret ever.23. It generally isn't good to insult people too much. 24. The mayor likes to talk when he's nervous.25. It's much less effective to work on a Mayor's Youth Advisory Council when you sit in a circle and do Warm-Up questions and interactives.26. Most things aren't necessary.27. A minimalistic view on life isn't necessarily a bad one.28. Family truly is all it's cooked up to be.29. Balance out your political connection. 'Cuz politics will kill you.30. Girls are most likely clueless, and more violent and scary than the Mafia.31. Riding your bike 8 miles isn't worth it in the long run.32. It always rains at the perfect times.33. The fabric of reality has rips somewhere...34. There are set rules and strategies, regulations and ways, tactics and cliches that are involved in picking up girls, talking to girls and conversations in general.35. Never have really cool best friends, because then you'll always compare yourself to them.36. Whoring really shouldn't be acceptable.37. It's good to respect women.38. Never judge a book by its cover. I know, cliche, but I've truly realized that this year. 39. There are soo many opportunities for youth to do things. They just don't think they can or don't want to.40. School is a very complex society that is very dysfunctional, due to all the small pubescent children running around.41. It's a good thing and a bad thing not to get involved with too many girls.42. Short people think they're better than you, though they won't admit that they think they do.43. People don't believe in God because they can't conceive any other God than man. 44. People always question God because they try to match a nature to a genuinely unknown force. They try to match a god to the human condition, and to what we go through. Usually, people don't notice that it's not God that they're against, but religion.45. Islam is beautiful.46. Khari's going to fail at women after the age of twenty.47. Anne Hathaway is fugging sexy, and Zooey Deschanel is the kind of chick you'd marry.48. It's unbearable to listen to a song that used to bring up feelings in you, and then find out it does nothing for you anymore.49. Poor people do exist. 50. Humans are their money, unfortunately.51. Don't like people for their breasts, guys. It just effs things up.52. Everyone is a person, and should be treated as such.53. Everyone humors me. 54. Racism is in no way gone, but is still visible EVERYWHERE. Black people are still very much enslaved, in a modern way.55. Slavery has left me with a very confused personality. I hate white people, and I would like to be a white person.56. Regina Spektor is awesome.57. Girls are generally too beautiful for Khari.58. CSS is extremely difficult.59. What if we were just... cascading style sheets?60. The dark is actually the best place to see the light.61. Meditation does wonders.62. Having a two-way monologue is very painful.63. Spirituality is natural. So it shouldn't be called "spirituality." It should just be called nature.64. Communism is the savior.65. The Illuminati is not to be hated, but to be impersonated and debunked.66. Bolan is the worst person to take the world over. Because he will not help you.67. Thinking is the only way to sanely get through life.68. Geometry is simply teaching you how to think abstractly.69. Your best friends are going to be shorter than you.70. Writing isn't hard if you just write.71. Plot is better in nonsensical metaphors.72. Your history is always going to follow you, no matter how seemingly innocent it is.73. Memories are stapled to you forever.74. Winter is actually more filled with memories than fall.75. It still holds true that "nothing is that same, now that it is November."76. I haven't learned anything else.

Nasty love poem.

It's not that I love you, it's just your eyes are the only keys to my soul. It's not that I love you, it's just your skin is my covering from this world.It's not that I love you, it's just I'd give my life for you.It's not that I love you, it's just that you're gaze makes time freeze, inconveniently freezing my mind, inconveniently speeding up my heart.It's not that I love you, it's just that your voice triggers all of the endorphins in my brain, releasing pleasure into every inch of my body.It's not that I love you, it's just that I miss you.It's not that I love you, it's just that your laugh is a reflection of the sun, shimmering faintly, free to grow with intensity and wean depending on the cloud patterns, and filling anyone who hears with a luminescent light.It's not that I love you, it's just that your allure is that of south pole and north, it's just that I can't escape it.It's not that I love you, but you're figure is so ingrained into my mind that if I was to cut out the black underneath my eyelids, you would have before you a portrait of yourself.It's not that I love you, it's just our memories are as real life and right now as losing a leg, and are more desirable than my own reality.And I mean, it's not that I love you.Is it?

Howso, Quills?

There's a sprinkle of everything else in her eye,
Likened to an ice cream cone with everything on it.
She's a blank slate,
On which you just figured out that all of the drawings you've ever loved were scrawled on.
You realize that she's an overall summary.
You can't judge this one my friend, because this dog is a super-breed.
The voice of a terrier, the legs of a greyhound.
But do you know this?
For a true fact?
No, because you're a few miles away.
And a phone is merely a contraption to exchange souls,
A business wherein the operator can add reverb, phase out, or inflict tremolo on a voice.
But it's unmistakable that she is everything ever.
Though she hasn't been seen, encountered, she's everything I've encountered.
And I let that sink in.
And then I cry because she's them, A nicely mixed smoothie that I've never tasted
But judging on the aroma, my favorites are inherent.
Is it ethically okay to love her because she's not her?
But then is she her?
More of a manifestation of all the dreams you've had.
So, answering my own question, answering your own question, you don't love the country.
You love what makes up the country.
Do you not?Is she not my future?
I know I'm her future.
But the future has the ability to be chopped...
As Donnie Darko teaches, it's only your fault that it's been chopped.
But it's not.
So what do I do?
God is Change.
What do you do?
Do you love the culminating event or the planners?
Do you continue to romance the light bulb or do you simply recognize that it's the filament...?
I mean, I like her, of course I do.
But she's not her...
And there's miles...
And there's parents...
And there's friends...
And there's girls...
And there's me.
There's me.
The reflection of all other things.
Is me.
So what do I say to you now?
Do I ask you the question that I promised to ask?
Or would I be cheating you, madame Face-I've-Never-Seen?
I don't want to cheat you.
You're beautiful.
And elegant.
Unique.
And quirky.
I'd love to take your voice into my soul and hold it hostage.
Bend it to my will.
But who knows if that's really what I want?
I don't know.
What should I do?

The earth is mine.

The earth is mineI findThat if I thinkThat I canMake plansTo change itI canI canBecause I'm the soul proprietor Of this land.And soIt goesThat I change myselfI change my mindAnd every-thing elseIt has to be differentI can do itIf I justUse the sunTo load my gunVan Jones will sayThat's not the way.The earth is mineShe's in pain, fineBut seeThe really problemLies in meWhat have I changed In my lifeSo strangeOf you to askNothingNothingNothingDo I like war?Yes.Do I like guns?Yes.Do I like apartheid?Yes Yes Yes.Do you see an inconsistency with what I'm saying?Saving the earthMeans savingMankindAs it's menWe must not be blindTo the onesWho affect it mostBut we should follow Our friends and foes.The earth is mineI findThat if I think I canPlan To change ItI canIt just takesA minor Adjustment in me The ones that we all don't like to seeBut I pledge on this dayTo change my waysBecause the earth.Needs me.Take off your battle armorAnd sit down.Let's be free.Let's fix her.Let's fix me.We'll fix me.We'll fix me.

Dr. Seuss

He was born Theodor Seuss Geisel in Springfield, Massachusetts on March 2, 1904. He died September 24, 1991. His childhood was stricken by prohibition, and filled with activist activities. He wrote Jack O' Latern, which was the first time he used the pen name, Dr. Seuss. He was sent to Oxford to do a fellowship program because he lied and said that he was going to be sent to Oxford. Helen told him he should become an artist, and he did, as well as her husband. He turned to children's books when he returned from war.

Publications:

As Dr. Seuss:
And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street (1937)
The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins (1938)
The King's Stilts (1939)
The Seven Lady Godivas (1940)
Horton Hatches the Egg (1940)
McElligot's Pool (Caldecott Honor Book, 1947)
Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose (1948)
Bartholomew and the Oobleck (Caldecott Honor Book, 1949)
If I Ran the Zoo (Caldecott Honor Book, 1950)
Scrambled Eggs Super! (1953)
Horton Hears a Who! (1954)
On Beyond Zebra! (1955)
If I Ran the Circus (1956)
How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1957)
The Cat in the Hat (1957)
The Cat in the Hat Comes Back (1958)
Yertle the Turtle and Other Stories (1958)
Happy Birthday to You! (1959)
Green Eggs and Ham (1960)
One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish (1960)
The Sneetches and Other Stories (1961)
Dr. Seuss's Sleep Book (1962)
Dr. Seuss's ABC (1963)
Hop on Pop (1963)
Fox in Socks (1965)
I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew (1965)
The Cat in the Hat Song Book (1967)
The Foot Book (1968)
I Can Lick 30 Tigers Today! and Other Stories (1969)
My Book about ME (Illustrated by Roy McKie, 1970)
I Can Draw It Myself (1970)
Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?: Dr. Seuss's Book of Wonderful Noises! (1970)
The Lorax (1971)
Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now! (1972)
Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? (1973)
The Shape of Me and Other Stuff (1973)
There's a Wocket in My Pocket! (1974)
Great Day for Up! (Illustrated by Quentin Blake, 1974)
Oh, the Thinks You Can Think! (1975)
The Cat's Quizzer (1976)
I Can Read with My Eyes Shut! (1978)
Oh Say Can You Say? (1979)
Hunches in Bunches (1982)
The Butter Battle Book (1984)
You're Only Old Once! : A Book for Obsolete Children (1986)
I Am NOT Going to Get Up Today! (Illustrated by James Stevenson, 1987)
Oh, the Places You'll Go! (1990)
Daisy-Head Mayzie (Posthumous, 1995)
My Many Colored Days (Posthumous, illustrated by Steve Johnson with Lou Fancher, 1996)
Hooray for Diffendoofer Day! (Posthumous, from notes, with Jack Prelutsky and Lane Smith, 1998)
Gerald McBoing-Boing (Posthumous, based on story and film, 2000)

As Theo. LeSieg
Ten Apples Up on Top! (Illustrated by Roy McKie, 1961)
I Wish That I Had Duck Feet (Illustrated by B Tobey, 1965)
Come over to My House (Illustrated by Richard Erdoes, 1966)
The Eye Book (Illustrated by Joe Mathieu/Roy McKie, 1968)
I Can Write (Illustrated by Roy McKie, 1971)
In a People House (Illustrated by Roy McKie, 1972)
Wacky Wednesday (Illustrated by George Booth, 1974)
The Many Mice of Mr. Brice (Illustrated by Roy McKie, 1974)
Would You Rather Be a Bullfrog? (Illustrated by Roy McKie, 1975)
Hooper Humperdink...? Not Him! (Illustrated by Charles E. Martin, 1976)
Please Try to Remember the First of Octember! (Illustrated by Art Cummings, 1977)
Maybe You Should Fly a Jet! Maybe You Should Be a Vet! (Illustrated by Michael J. Smollin, 1981)
The Tooth Book (Illustrated by Joe Mathieu/Roy McKie, 1989)

Falsies.

Khari Johnson February 23, 2009
Mrs. Gamzon’s Class Holden Caulfield Assignment

There's this guy Gerald, really stupid, a big moron and phony as hell, who all the teachers like. It just makes me so goddam angry how he goes up to a teacher and shakes their hand, and he gets 'em all buttered up and all, makes good friends with them, and then fails everything, but still manages to pull a B+ out of his ass! I hate to see lousy guys like that. I really do. But the other day, I was just horsing around, trying not to get bored, playing with a stupid drop down ironing board in our room, and it fell right on his crumby head! It killed me. I was rolling on the floor for four hundred hours.
Anyway, when I was walking home yesterday there was this piece of bacon on the floor. What a stupid thing to do. Why would you put a goddam piece of bacon on the floor, anyway? I didn't get it; it was a stupid thing to do. I mean, were they waiting for some damn moron homeless guy to come along and pick it up and say thank you? Hell, if that happened, it'd probably be the same day I got a goddam Cadillac.
So I do track at my school, which is pretty stupid because I have no wind at all. Track team was crumby though, all the guys were morons. They were all rich and all, so they always acted like they owned running or something, but none of them could run if their goddam lives depended on it. I mean, if I tried, I could probably run faster than all of them, but I have no wind at all. And I don't really care in the first place. I didn't win anything or anything, but my mom was still pretty proud of me for joining a team and stuff. That's something I hate, it is, when people are proud of you because you actually did something. It's like they think you couldn't do anything in the first place or something. Like they're reassured that I'm capable of living or something. Annoys the hell out of me. It really does.
Anyway, I have this coach, Mr. Brunderslard, who is a really classy guy. He's got a good sense of humor, too. There was this one time when I was horsing around with some basketballs, trying not to get bored, and I put them in my shirt and said, "Like my falsies, boys?" It killed me. I looked at Mr. Brunderslard and he was rolling on the floor for about twenty minutes before he told me to take the basketballs out of my shirt. I didn't mind since he had a good sense of humor and all.

Holden.

There's this guy Gerald, really stupid, a big moron and phony as hell, who all the teachers like. It just makes me so goddam angry how he goes up to a teacher and shakes their hand, and he gets 'em all buttered up and all, makes good friends with them, and then fails everything, but still manages to pull a B+ out of his ass! It hate to see lousy guys like that. I really do. But the other day, I was just horsing around, trying not to get bored, playing with a stupid drop down ironing board in our room, and it fell right on his crumby head! It killed me. I was rolling on the floor for four hundred hours.

Stargirl response.

What a herd mentality people have. Change comes, we follow it, we get sick of it, we revert. Right?

Stargirl again.

Khari Johnson

What is intriguing you about the characters?
Their grasp on reality is intriguing.

What is intriguing you about the plot or setting?
How beautiful it is, it's realitive newness, the desert setting and the sun.

What is stopping you from reading?
Not enough time to read.

What is going on in the narration/POV/voice that either grabs your attention or has NOT grabbed your attention?
I like how it's narrated from an outsiders point of view, which is a point of view that is very relevant.

Pg. 17, the second to last paragraph.
This was well written because of the isolation and strangeness it affects on the reader with the lines, "She walked directly into the sun," and "With every step the silence grew, as did my sense that she knew-- had all along-- that she was being followed.

It's something I like to call fascism.

1. Read the title of the book.
2. Read the biographical and critical material about the author (see link)
3. Read the background information
4. Page through the book.
5. What are you expecting this book to be about?
6. Do you think you will enjoy the book? Why or why not?

1. Stargirl.
4. A girl who is different and trying to adapt to high school life.
5. I think I will because I've read Maniac Magee, Wringer and Loser by Jerry
Spinelli and liked them all.

Culminating skylight review.

It was an improper sky
Who's name was Quasar
With many languages pressing against its mellow ears
It fell with a certain oddity, and had no respect for the paradigm
And drowned the ignorant tatuology of the naysayers underneath
It was the father of revolution,
The grand image of change
That says, "if the sky can do it, so we can!"
And they chanted their somber chants and raised their crowd-spun flags
Splattered with black, white and yellow
The sky crowed quietly, with a carmine sort of shiver
And laughed at the utter misenterpretation of its strangeness
It bent inward and fluctuated,
And they responded: "and so the sky does, and so we shall!"
And their crowd-spun flags
Splattered with black, white and yellow
Bent inward and fluctuated and
waved with a shimmering eye towards the sky
And the sky merely sighed
It was just bending its sides
Stretching out its kinks
Taking a break
But this was a change in the tautology,
And offered a different objective
For which the people below now thought was obtainable
But in the wake of its turbulence,
Came winds a hundred miles per hour
That were infuriated by the flags
Speckled with black, white and yellow
The winds grew sharp and honed its precision
While the sky sat bending
Testing its limits
The people shouted below,
"The sky is our savior"
And waved their flags
In a torrent of pressure,
Of heat and of purpose,
The winds blazed past, razing their arms
And burning their hands
They went, determined, straight towards the sky
They cornered the sky
And smiled with the tips of their flames
And liked their lips
And the sky cried,
And the sky limped slightly, with a hint of green in its fabric
They cut through it
And the sky fell, lolloping into heaven
Fitting into place in its permanent afterward
And the people below went back to their graves
And everything as was
Because Quasar was dead.