Saturday, December 25, 2010

the last time taylor motari blogged way july 30th, 2009. about the fantastic mr. fox. and a coen brothers movie. what a loser. now he's losing his mind. by july 30th, 2011, he'll be on acid killing himself with fireworks. because he will have been obsessed with both things since around the beginning of the month, in preparation for the terrible fireworks show, put on in a walmart parking lot on 4th. he got real stoned and a cherry bomb blew up in his ass and he's dead.
blog poetry?
online personas
is it rubbish?
is it dropping a pebble into an ocean of electricity?
yes. but so what.
at least i'm not in a psychobilly band and have a painted on moustache?
or should i do that?
is that who you want me to be?
because thats what's gonna happen.
if things keep going the way they're going.
i'm gonna be eaten alive my clingons next year. i'm gonna try to go to CONVERGENCE! am i that far gone? i hope so. it's gonna be great and i'm gonna die of alochol poisoning and floating in the pool. painted goth. and i'll will have spray painted a message on the bathroom wall in gold that reads: "HERE IS MY DISAPPOINTMENT IN MYSELF". and it'll have drippled down to the floor because i held the can slow and steady and printed each letter exactly perfect. but disappointment is spelled wrong and is a little bigger for effect.
that's too cool a way to die.
the other day i could've choked on a dorito and no one would've noticed.
i kind of did hoke the other day, on something bad for me. but the choking wasn't that bad. the food was bad for me. because i eat food that's not good for me. it's just stuff that i think taste good. like doritos. doritos taste good. to me. some peaple like peas. i don't.
i'm like an eagle who has a dirty piece of plastic sticking outta her nest, but doesn't give a shit.
because who cares you're only a fucking eagle?
what can you cheat death you stupid eagle.
go get something to eat.
or you'll die.
and if you have kids you gotta kill something for them and eat, and for yourself, or you get nothing.
who needs more eagles anyway?
what are they really contributing to the world?
eating an occasional mouse? so what. eagle. some people work for a living. you fucking bird. get a life. make a plan, why don't you.

crystal castles.
jon "bermuda" schwartz

i can't believe it. how awesome it still is. fucking masterpiece.
bill murray's at the top of his game with richard donner directing!! he did superman!! he's Awesome.

if i wrote a book, i'd name it "QUEEF BUCKET" just so i could get on the news for ruining some old ladys evening. or like a hundred years from now when the masterrace is burning books in the streets, mine gets tossed in too. i don't wanna be remembered for something like, "a long walk home from the POUND. or some crap about being uplifted by great memories. i wanna write negative trash that fucked up kids and creepy old people like, i want to be despised. i want to have to defend myself at a pta meeting and no body wants me there anyway. that's sounds awesome. i'll do that.


visual inspiration
bat for lashes "what's a girl to do?" music video
yeah yeah yeahs "zero" music video

cry stalLION
made scarce
bison puff
brian emu

did she make the letter "A", capital, on purpose or was it just the begnning of a sentence? is it aweosome, or Awesome? was she so lazy she couldn't erase the automatic capital "A", and replace it with a lower case "a"? does this mean she doesn't think i'm Awesome? am i awesome or Awesome? am i awesome or Awesome? am i Awesome or AWESOME? AM I REALLY AWESOME? AM I REALLY AWESOME? c'mon. no. i'm not even awesome. i'm just some guy to her. like a bug or a snake, you know? some cool thing to love you and annoy you at the same time? this guy who just, is in awe of you, and you and you think that's cool. i guess i'm a cool guy. i know what's cool, i'm a guy. cool guy? huh? but you don't fall in love with "cool guys". you fall in love with "men". adults. guys who grew the fuck up and quit dancing around like a maniac every night did some real work on himself, and they had to become men. that's one thing i'm not. i'm not a man. are you kidding. what do i operate heavy machinery in the summer and women scream when they see me with my shirt off. i'm this guy you met in kindergarden who now is older does drugs. and thinks he can get away with playing the guitar. my ass. he's a fucking loser who doesn't have that bad of a limp and doesn't have a wussy looking face. really. it's scary. i would go making friends with me if i were you either. i look like i just killed your dog on purpose and has been living under your porch for weeks, but you pretend isn't there. and you know he doesn't have the balls to break into your house. it's just sad. but it also makes you mad kinda. he's like, a bum, basically. and he looks like he wants to be.

this is an online 2011 electronic notebook. of mine.

taylor motari.