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
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
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!?!
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!?!
Friday, May 15, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 4, 2009
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
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,
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.
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.
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.
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.
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