Good artists exist in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are. A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetic of all creatures.
Inferior poets are absolutely fascinating…[they] live the poetry [they] cannot write.
Jesus Christ.
This is it. This is the look.
This is the reason why I have been having unsavory dreams about William Powell for weeks.
Watch this scene in My Man Godfrey. He follows Carole Lombard’s every subtle move like he’s sizing up his prey.
He feigns moderate interest while devising intricate and ungentlemanly ways to devour her.
She could be saying anything and it wouldn’t matter: “My father was a Nazi and I live off a diet of pork rinds and battery acid”
“That’s delightful,” Powell would calmly reply while looking down from his nose like it were the barrel of a 12 gauge shotgun, “I’m going to swallow you whole”
The tension! Of course! It was the tension! They’d already been divorced for 3 years at the time of filming!
Fuck The Notebook, the chemistry in this movie makes me queasy.
Next stop: 1936, please
Love,
Tayler
Epic, epic evening.
I partied with my mom, her apartment manager, hipster biker kids, and a lesbian fire dancer. We drank PBR and danced to Biggie Smalls.
…I am nothing if not completely uncalled for.
Why Los Angeles is similar to a parking garage:
- Often hard to find a spot; the good ones are usually taken.
- It looks bright and sunny at the top, but you soon realize you’d be much more safe and comfortable in the middle.
- The longer you stay, the more it will cost.
- Less about scenery, more about convenience.
- Everyone seeks validation so they can ride out for free.
I wrote more, but when I got to ” bad in earthquakes” and “they both have cars” I thought it might be time to stop.
Love,
Tayler
You guys, I think I’d feel out of my element at Sterling Cooper.
I wrote this today!
Its not about Jesus. Not a Jesus poem.
Not a rape poem either, don’t worry.
I’m fine guys, really.
It just popped in there…like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man.
No seriously, put the phone down!
It’s just an art-y phase! It’ll pass!
Love,
Tayler
Suitcase Living > Paying Rent
My current philosophy.
I plan on reviewing this credo in 2-3 months when I have become gaunt and tan not in a haute couture way, but in a hobo way; when the 5 outfits I have packed have all melded into an ambiguous shade of gray-brown, and the songs I have written are comprised mostly of harmonica and the lyrics “jimmy, crack, and corn.”
I’ll keep you posted on the results.
Love,
Tayler
You guys!
I made this video!
Its a music video for my friends Sebastian Clark & Normandie Wilson!
Check out their new album at www.musicforsmartpeople.com!
Ahhhh!! Yay!
Love,
Tayler
Dear subconscious,
Sometimes I wonder if I moved into my apartment just so I could play this song when I left.
I did.
And I sang loudly. And it was cheesy and sappy and perfect.
Goodnight, Hollywood Blvd.
You sexy deriding little minx, you.
Love,
Tayler & Ryan Adams
Dear Fruitopia,
What ever happened to you?
Strawberry Passion Awareness fueled my entire public school career.
I drank Raspberry Psychic Lemonade while listening to Jagged Little Pill and fantasizing about Christian Slater in Untamed Heart.
I miss you. You represent such a simpler and flannel laden time.
Come back Fruitopia! And bring with you Sea Quest, Blossom, Blind Melon, babydoll dresses, Ren & Stimpy, and slow dancing in gymnasiums while you’re at it.
Thanks.
Love,
Tayler
