Guest Contributor: Cat Lady Extravaganza!!!!

©Thayna Alves

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The sound of the F train
Is pounding through my brain
Filling up the space inside
Where something just curled up and died
Every night upon my pillow
Since I left Amarillo
Teardrops trace the lines from me to you
And I can’t go to sleep

My reflection in your glasses
While other girls made passes
I wish I’d found a way to tie you down
But maybe I just got tired of the messin’ around
Some times in my dreams
I remember these old scenes
Cruising down on main street with nothing to do
But then I can’t go to sleep

The back seat of your Chevy
The way your breath came heavy
The flowers that you’d bring
And the way your mama sings
The child we miscarried
And the wedding ring I buried
These things haunt my mind the whole night through
When I can’t go to sleep.

Sexy Inter-War Cat People

I'm going to unearth a more historically believable self portrait of myself holed up in a bunker with a sexually liberated black panther soon, and I'll share some memories of that odd, confusing time in my life. But for now, I thought I'd break you off with a little preview of the remix. this is my mom and Nero relaxing in Hussein's bunker circa '89. Stay tuned, kids.

Varsity Booze

To whom it may concern
I took your picture off the wall
I put it in that closet full of shit
at the end of the hall
And it might please you to learn
I took the whiskey off the shelf
If drinking’s why you left me,
now I’m drinking just to leave myself

Well you could’ve found my heart
With a well trained Saint Bernard
And that little cask of brandy
Would really come in handy
Lost inside the snow storm of your love

If anybody’s listening
I took another shot
Yeah I got a raw deal
And I don’t feel so hot
This bottle should be christening
My baby’s brand new yacht
But it’s the last I’ve got
Think I’ll take another shot

Well, There’s romance in the moonshine
And warmth inside a glass of wine
Promises in a flask of gin
But tomorrow I’m alone again
Eighty-sixed from the barroom of your love

Festival Depress

I used to have a closeted love for Janis, because I thought only fat, sad girls loved her as much as I did. But these days I say, if being fat and sad is a crime, lock me up and throw away the key. I also love manga and supersizing it.

Tappin' Telephone Blues

You used to call me every night
We’d talk until the sky turned light
But l guess one of us fucked up
Cuz now when I call you don’t pick up
And I’m still on hold and single
And all I get’s a busy signal
We used to connect just fine
But I can’t get you off my mind
I’m tired of callin’ all the time
And I can’t make it on my own
Honey, I’m sorry but I’ve been forced to tap your phone

Oh, You’re making calls long distance
To some Arabian Princess
Yeah, pick up the receiver
It’s another eager beaver
Baby you’re so silver-tongued
With every word my heart is stung
With other girls your words caressing
I just pretend that you’re addressing
Me, but I’m digressing
I know it’s wrong but I feel fine
I can’t get off your party line


I used to think reception
Came after wedding, pre-conception
But in our case babe, it came before
Cuz I stopped knocking on your door
And I stopped following you around
Now I just listen to the sound
Of your voice upon the phone
So one day when you’re all alone
And all I hear’s a dial tone
When you are lonesome and blue
That’s when I’ll come back to you
And this time I’ll know what to do
Cuz I tapped your phone

I know it’s wrong but I feel fine
I can’t get off your party line

The HORROr.. thE HoRROR...

It all started out with good enough intentions. We all hated Nazis. No brainer, right? But somehow, somewhere down the line an almost imperceptible shift occurred. Suddenly, instead of blowing up German supply lines and printing insurrectionary pamphlets, the partisan fighters started printing posters of my face and setting off fireworks for my birthday. I tried to remind them of the cause, but I guess worshipping me as a demi-god just seemed easier than defeating the German War Machine. And hey, who was I to complain?

The Ballad of Frankie and Johnny

Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts
At least that’s what they seemed to believe.
But with a moon above
And all the birds screaming “Love!”
It wasn’t that hard to deceive.

When Johnny went in the Army
It was nineteen seventy two
The jungle was green
The Napalm was orange
And Johnny’s eyes were bright blue.

Don’t know what happened out there,
But when he came back something changed
When he walked in the yard
All the dogs up and died
He took the Y off the end of his name.

He married Frankie in April
By May she was pregnant with twins
But the day they were born
Pricked him like a thorn
Cuz instead of arms, they had fins

I don’t know what to do, he said
The U.S. economy’s failing
I’m fighting for breath
I’m worked half to death
I’m underwater and flailing.

Poor Frankie cried bitter tears
When he said “Sweetheart, the shame,
I feel I’ve been cursed
Things keep getting worse
And I’m afraid, my dear, you’re to blame.”

He took out his seven gauge shot gun
And shot her right in the eyes
He took the twins back the shed
Shot ‘em both in the head
And stood there and watched while they died.

The law caught up with him finally
In downtown they strung him up
They said “any last words
You need to be heard?
He said, "I ain’t never had no good luck.”

A very rare koala indeed!

Downfall

She ran out right in front of me. I tried to swerve but it was too late. A sickening crunch under my treads and I knew it was all over. I jumped out of the tank and there was Blondi, lying dead on the side of the road. The Fuhrer was inconsolable. When he killed himself a few days later, I couldn’t help feeling somehow responsible.

This is like that one time Too Short came into the Boulange

Memory Lane...

Oh my god, so I was going through my stuff last night, and I found this picture of me with my ex-boyfriend. We met on Jdate, believe it or not. We were both alone and scared of dying, so we made the misguided decision to be alone and scared together. On our one year anniversary he took me to his favorite sanatorium, way up in the Swiss alps. We awoke early and did calisthenics in the chill morning air. We delicately sipped light broths. He wrote a story, which he dedicated to me. It was about a guy who wakes up one morning to find he’s been transformed into a bra. He spends his days cupping breasts, but as winter approaches, he finds himself stifled by more and more layers of clothing. In the climactic scene, he is suffocated underneath a heavy beaver coat. The symbolism wasn’t that hard to unpack. I took a hint and hopped the next train back to Berlin.