but i dont do it. i know what would make me richer and hotter and cooler and even taller but i dont do it and i wonder if its cuz im genx and i wonder if its cuz im a hippie and i wonder if its cuz im a libra and i wonder if its cuz im a cubfan and i wonder if its because im a triflin fool whose gonna get chewed out by st. peter if i even make it that far.
super hot chick left me a message on my home phone and i didnt caller back. ashley who is pretty damn hot also left me a message on my home phone and i didnt caller back. a woman who wants to get me fame and fortune left me a message but i didnt caller back. someone very nice showed me a nice picture of her body part and i think i told her thank you but im not sure. yes i tolder thanks. but thats it.
my do i shoot myself in the foot. why do i work on my sails but tie tighter knots and lay more anchors. why am i such a weird beast who can do anything but settles for nothing. why am i me. why do i do this. why do i give it away to corporations and startups and undercover antihero agencies that rhyme with sbi who make me work all night even though ive worked all day.
how come when i pass by mirrors i dont even recognize myself even after two years with the shaved head why is my afro calling me back why is the belly leaving me why are the pants sagging why cant i find a new pair of shoes/
why do i keep tivoing regis and conan and the three stooges and the banana splits when i have so many channels to choose from, why do i listen to people who are so dumn, why dont i spend more than a dollar on myself when i can spend so much so easilly on cheerleaders who barely please me and why do i shut them out and close off my heart and yet feel like hugging every tourist on hollywood blvd with their suntans and bad shorts and cameras and cameras and cameras.
i want to say all youre taking pictures of are other tourists, all youre filming is the ghost of hollywood, all youre capturing is the resin of la. but where would i send em, santa monica? no. westhollywood. no. south central, hell no.
if you want the real la you have to live here for a while you have to lose your own style you have to get drunk in a rag top party in the hills go to an afternoon laker game and leave early at a dodger game. you have to eat roscoes after clubbing you have to find needles at the beach you have to hear the stale lies of an actress as you drive down pch. you have to learn to love the valley the real valley which isnt south of ventura blvd but north. you have to know your way to east la and eat more than just mexican there you have to buy plants in chinatown and one dollar tshirts that cost five if theres a bootleg iron on of g-unit on it.
you havent lived in la until you really know some celebrities, you havent lived here unless you know eight different ways to lax. you havent really lived here unless youve learned how to live with out lax. you havent lived here until youve been to mexico and frisco in the same month and you dont feel it.
none of this helps tourists who take pictures of the pretty woman apartment who take pictures at manns chinese who take pictures of the hollywood sign. smoke weed off the Y in the hollywood sign, get lost on your way to the watts tower, go to church at the forum, buy a taquito for a tranny at del taco, or hit the brakes when you dont see a line at pinks and youve gotten a taste of the angels.
have a drink in the window of the world, have a drink at the hotel california pool, have a drink at the rainbow at the whiskey at marilyns tomb. have a drink and dont drive have a drink and party right.
la changes so much that i take pictures to remember yesterday. la changes so much that they named it once. la changes cuz weve all seen it all. la changes cuz its one big mall.
today i went to hot topic at hollywood and highland and got two sonic youth washing machine stickers for ninety eight cents each proving that im the biggest loser fake punk rocker in all of america cuz what the hell was i doing there and what did i do taking the only good thing they had there.