Adventure Time - Finn 3 FauxNoir
tyler / writeswords / listenstomusic / takespictures / playedsims / isdead
Too Much Text

I thought there was something strange going on when I noticed my glass pulling, what most refer to as, a “Jurassic Park.” My first instinct was to make a joke relating the situation to horse shit, like you do, but then the panic set in. It could have been a rhino. It could have been my imagination, but we know better than that. It was an explosion— a series of them. Shrapnel came flying through the open window and sprinkled my face and lap. “What the holy fuck!” I shouted at the height of my new-found sense of humor.

I fell to the floor. Well I plummeted really but I was alone so no one was there to laugh. I’m not really sure who would laugh at a time like this, a time when bullets are screaming through the window. Then there was laughter in the doorway.

"What are you laughing for?" I shouted at the intruder. "Can’t you tell there’s a war going on?"

His laughter subdued, “What’s your name?” he asked me.

"I don’t know," I replied, "I don’t think he’s thought that far ahead."

"Who hasn’t thought that far ahead? God?"

The shots ceased their fire. “Yeah something like that I guess.”

"Your God is about as helpful as a twenty-something on a computer in California."

I paused for a second, not on purpose, but because I needed to think about that for a second. Another shot echoed through the window. “Better than nothing, don’t you think?”

"I’m not really a fan of meta." He motioned outside, "You should get out of the building before they start with the mortar rounds." And with that the stranger was shot in the head, in that special place that explodes. He was laughing when it happened and it made me think of Mexican food. Maybe dinner was ready, elsewhere, in a cozy 3 bedroom house where the air conditioning was on.

It’s all true, honestly. And then the world evaporated and I returned unto where I once came, eagerly anticipating the start of tonight’s selected family time movie.

22 Jul
Assorted Dreams, etc.


like you want when the dark is out

and the coolness isn’t as


as you wished it to be,

with pursed lips and eyes

blue-bleeched through stinted

lashes, feathery bow strings that sing

as they petal the air

I pick one up with a poke

a delicate one

(reminding me of you)

and I cast a hush over its slender

adventurous body

that curves

with a dance forward and lofty

Dusty in the night like my coos

out the window to you

towards you like when I try to sleep

and I dream with my toes stretched

so I might not tatter the water

stilted, reflective

and violent when I disturb its borders

I must speak of you

and the purpose of my journey

before the harmony gives way to respect

and other such principals

I weep at, the opportunity

to bleed for those causes

to give birth myself, to beauty

and not in a way

too “Et tu, Brute?”

Maybe a story will emerge

maybe the trust will be there

not like this judgment

thrust upon us

from the breath of our loved ones

So dismantled in the morning

are they, from the get

that they would thunder your shoals

and boil you alive

like luncheon!

because you were so brave as to be bare

To be alive, and to live with it

That is a statement

(or a condition)

and I will try dying for!

(or the other way around)

Whichever works given the wondrous occasion

that I might fill this world

with luscious carbon-monoxide

T.A. McElrath

21 Jul — 2 notes
there isn’t One this time

Bypass to balance, double time

even the scales of a figurine

objected before it finishes

its speech. Not

human, and a pause

for effect. It could be the sky tonight.

It could very well be

that my love for warm blankets

cocoons me deeply, nuzzled!

It steeps away

wanders from your reach,

de stijl-ed (where are my sisters?)

up from the underneath

where breath is chilled and the cars park

above. Hello there friend!

We are down like a frosted cavern

crystallized with ravonous jewels

ripped from skulls crudely

like my eyes (crudely still)

that rest upon misty sights

Blinding wretch,

plaqued with infestation

and glistening

aglaze in the sun, to shrivel

How does one whither and not die?

By bottle of memory, cryptic

burial! leave me bones

protruding out, yeah

to the bloated blue

that hangs overhead

like feet

like my feet familiar

in the way they sway.

I knock at them like wood

You better fucking believe they’re hollow

as I wander far from you,

wretch. Burn

16 Jul — 4 notes
Hide your kids, divorce your wife.

Pancakes are easy when elsewhere, people are dying.

On the daily, news, profiteering and excuses from a public

docile and open-minded en mass obliteration

No worry. They have nothing

to hide. Not like the upper echelon cloaked in green

auras that terrify our children like darkest matter.

The only things in a 5 year old’s closet

are the skeletons of their parents

after a good row and some pathetic make-up sex

because they told themselves

-their kid, nothing

happened. They speak of no problems so they can

fuck freely. It is the only freedom

they’ll know in their life

since their parents did the same things to them

only worse.

Makes for a martyrdom of tiny-feets

connected to little-toe that tip the streets

because they have no sidewalks, they all-ended

and swallowed-up the adolescents suffering absenteeism.

Tell them to “Just say no.”

Tell them to be quiet and to sit still

and to take tests

and not to cry

That asking questions is evil!

and display them in make-up and demonstrate identity via

pictorial representation

Because advertisements are harmless

and their food is a cocktail

just like their pre-pubescent bodies

of hormones and neglect. So long as they’re fed,

that’s good enough—

They’re better off as a broken body

caged inside a nuclear facade

tagged with the welfare-dollar sign

(What a blow, what a disaster to the Americans

should a child be cared for others who would love them

like they love each other)

In this same world where the only love that lasts

is greedy. Everything, everyone else

is politically evil, and potentially everywhere

so long as it doesn’t generate a profit— like pain powered

bodily batteries stuffed into Glad-bags

(think processed-sausage in shotgun casings)

Then you need to shut the fuck up and just accept

Tell yourself to say nothing, and not to ask questions

otherwise they’ll pump your guts full-of-fodder

that tastes a lot like breakfast.

The one you never eat.

29 Jun — 3 notes