got your car? you gotcha car?

yup. greatest video ever. makes me smile every time...a shirt, a shirt...

If nothing else, watch the last video

Recently, I waxed and buffed my metallic casing to a pristine shine and applied a healthy dose of WD40 to my joints. My synapses began to spark and shudder with the harmony and rhythm of electric current. My neon lights began to blink and I began to sway. Why, you may ask, would a handsome young robot of sound technological mind and metal body suddenly feel overcome with the desire to dance? One word, six syllables: DisMotherFuckingCo. Disco? Yes. Fucking Disco.

What may have caused this sudden desire to go all Travolta? Well I've been listening to a fair amount of Hercules and Love Affair. Not to mention the James Murphy FabricLive where he just mixes disco. On that note here is the Hercules video for "Blind," which is just the right amount of weird.



So, now that I've infected you with the disco bug. Here's a quick lesson:



I've got big plans to purchase a white polyester bell bottom suit to cover my aluminum shell and top it all off with a $12 gold chain and some chest hair spray painted on my upper torso. Then and only then will I feel complete. I do not want to save starving children, or cure AIDS or cancer, I do not care if the war in Iraq rages on or comes to a swift close, I don't give a fuck about the economy. All that I want in this world is to hear that funk blare from high powered speakers while the dance floor flashes neon green and pink beneath my feet. I just want to DISCO!

And with that:



I have no idea

But she never lost her head, even when she was giving head...

Journalist: Are you a transvestite or a homosexual
Lou: Sometimes
Journalist: Well which one?
Lou: What's the difference?

Hahahah. His arrogance and indifference throughout the interview is absolutely hilarious. His ability to take himself so seriously while simultaneously mocking the entire situation is pure comedy. I wish there was some way Obama could go back in time and return with young Lou Reed in order to appoint him Press Secretary. Watching young Lou Reed field questions from a panel of White House reporters would be high comedy.

White House Reporter: Mr. Reed what does the president plan to do about the war in Iraq?
Lou: What difference does it make?
WHR: Are you saying the President has no affect on the war?
Lou: I'm saying there is no war.
WHR: There is no war in Iraq?
Lou: What does it matter if there is or if there isn't?
WHR: Well what does matter to the president?
Lou: Drugs.
WHR: The president is concerned with the war or drugs at the Mexican border?
Lou: Yea.
WHR: In what way?
Lou: Confiscating the drugs for personal use.
WHR: The president is using drugs?
Lou: No. I am.

And so on...

Oh how I wish this was the case... in a perfect world.

You know what I think of the transgendered? I think they can go fuck themselves!

"I bet you love Daft Punk. Blog about Daft Punk. What about Daft Punk? You should talk about Daft Punk!"

I've had it up to my USB port with this bullshit robot-stereotyping. Do I like Daft Punk? Hell yes. Hell FUCKING yes, as a matter of fact. However, I do not require muscians to wear shiny metallic helmets and compose anthems of laser noises and harmonic auto-tuned vocals and spongy synth in orderto call myself a fan. I am not as predictable and narrow-minded as one might assume. It is classic robot stereotyping to assume that my tastes are predictable. My brain is not just a programmed jumble of fiberoptic wiring but a cultured, pop-driven, often chemical soaked and malfunctioning organ. You humans assume that you are the only ones with flaws and pain, sorrow and ecstasy, the only ones who enjoy a good Britney Spears video now and again, while we robots merely spit binary code. Incorrect. We are not so different. You are hard-wired as well- with soggy veins and bologna flesh. And you are programmed by magazines and cliques. And you too like Daft Punk. So do not assume that I only enjoy the auto-tuned funk of French electro-pop. Sometimes, I too, enjoy the sorrowful baritone bellow of a gender confused vocalist. I mean hell, all I got between my metal legs is shiny aluminum, and I got both ports and plugs on me, I can identify with a little gender ambiguity. And with that I present to you, the album art for Antony and the Johnsons upcoming album "The Chrying Light":


Wow. I love Antony and the Johnsons. This shit is hilarious. Anthony is the brains behind this entire operation and you gotta hand it to him/her/it. Here's his/her/its explanation of the cover-art and album's inspiration:

"The Crying Light is dedicated to the great dancer Kazuo Ohno. In performance I watched him cast a circle of light upon the stage, and step into that circle, and reveal the dreams and reveries of his heart. He seemed to dance in the eye of something mysterious and creative; with every gesture he embodied the child and the feminine divine. He's kind of like my art parent."

Kazuo Ohno is apparently the terrifying creature in the cover-art you see above. Now, I know what your thinking and the answer is No, apparently that withered, emaciated, flesh-eating witch-ghoul is, in fact, an actual human being. And a fucking man for that matter. If I ran into this Ohno character in the street I would instinctivly blow its head off with a 12 gauge shotgun before it could sink its teeth into my supple flesh and attempt to eat my brain and recruit me as a member of its slow-moving zombie army. But from what I gather from Antony's explanation, this goblin dancer does not move about as if in the borrowed body of the undead but rather with elegant grace. While I do maintain a somewhat fratastic allegiance to the doubtless fact that Antony is a bit creepy, I cannot deny that the man is a genius and his music is fantastic. Is Antony a man or a woman (or maybe today he is a boy but he hopes to grow up to be a beautiful woman), is the picture a zombie or a renowned interpretive dancer? Who's to say. Antony is a man who has set up shop on the blurry lines that divide things we thought to be certain. And as robot who enjoys the fantasies of Pop-culture, I appreciate anyone who distorts and forces into question realities that were previously thought to be certain.

To conclude here are two more videos for your viewing pleasure:




Another World- Antony and the Johnsons
Apparently Antony really enjoys interprative dance.



I love everything about this. He clearly really enjoys this song, which is a hilarious thought because I normally think of Antony as being really intense, mournful and melodramatic. Check around the 2 minute mark. He really starts to get into it.

fuck the queen god save the children of the electro age... and why am I reminded of T. Boone Pickens?

Justeeeeeeceee "Stress"


Air France "Collapsing at Your Doorstep"


Two of my favorite videos from the past year. They function on very different wavelengths in nearly every way. A yin and yang if you will : crack and heroin, mma and yoga, robots and humans. The Stress video really gets my synapses firing at a rapid rate and gets my neon lights blinking and metal sparking. The frustration and rage are palpable. My favorite part is at about 1:30 when the one guy is shadow-boxing behind a bus-stop and one of his angry French sidekicks looks up and just mean mugs the camera. The "Cross gang," as I like to refer to them, is unrelenting throughout the video; their taste for destruction is insatiable.
Now as a robot you would assume I would have a severe distaste for the lack of reasoning and organization embodied by these troublesome Frenchman. Incorrect. There is a beauty in chaos that is undeniable. Watch both videos and tell me which elicits a greater sense of comfort and joy- a feeling I think synonymous with beauty. There is a perverted romance in watching the inexhaustaible energy with which they tear the world apart. As a robot I am especially primed to appreciate the anger and frustration that accompany the often unavoidable normalcy and reptitive nature of life. These little French hoodlums are out to say fuck all, and I'm fittin' to get myself a leather jacket with a Justice Cross and smash some rear-view mirrors and harass some subway patrons myself.
Just talking about it make me feel like I could short-circuit at any minute. So I recommend watching the second video as a way to reboot your operating system.

ain't no love like robot love... and an introduction to faulty wiring

Chris Cunningham's video for Bjork's All is Full of Love: an obvious introduction to this forum and to the beautifully romantic robotic-erotic overtones that will plague all you see and read. You may be thinking "that doesn't make any sense" and therefore I repeat: A perfect introduction. Along with the two pieces of writing that follow.

The Loser
by Shel Silverstein

Mama said I'd lose my head
if it wasn't fastened on.
Today I guess it wasn't
'cause while playing with my cousin
it fell off and rolled away
and now it's gone.

And I can't look for it
'cause my eyes are in it,
and I can't call to it
'cause my mouth is on it
(couldn't hear me anyway
'cause my ears are on it),
can't even think about it
'cause my brain is in it.
So I guess I'll sit down
on this rock
and rest for just a minute...

And then there is this drivel that follows; drivel produced by some malfunctioning robot circa 2006, you can almost hear the synapses mis-firing and the android's wiring short-circuit. I was an ugly robot when my systems produced this mess. But it paints quite a picture, really sets the stage. Wouldn't you agree? And hey, a robot is only as good as technology allows.

"There are certain people I would like to thank. Certain corporations and facilities behind the engineering of what follows. Certain logos and catch phrases and do-it-yourself handbooks.

Thanks is well deserved.

For what exactly?

I’m not too sure.

Thanks to all the pushers and hipsters who helped make this possible. Peter, Thomas Pynchon and the Marquis de Sade. Thanks. There are others. But I’m sure they would prefer not to be named.

Eat it and purge thankful bursts. Happy trails amigos. Buen dia and so on. All those to thank, I thank you. You know who you are. Thank you all for allowing for madness in the world. A little madness that gave me room to move for these 23 years. Cram it all in. A clusterfuck of an American brand. Nobody-Does-It-Better-Like a Rock-Chevy-Tough-Have-It-Your-Way-madness. Thank you to those who sold it straight. Who gave it away cheap or free. Eat it up. It’s better than the alternative. "- some ugle robot 2006