There's always been something
so Hollywood about her--
and I don't mean
21st Century *******.

I'm talkin'
Judy Garland,
you're the bee's knees
type of Hollywood.

Now, listen'--
this girl--
I'm talkin'
Bombshell-Cutie
(she'll blow your
******'socks off).

I'm talkin'
Cinematic Beauty Queen;
skin freckled with film grain
the same way the night sky
is freckled with constellation,
mouth parted like velvet curtains,
only to reveal the sweetest prose.

She is Mystique-Fatale,
blazon in colour
among dull, sepia tones--
an Oz among all
the dreary Kansases.

She is allure and poeticism,
hair curled grand,
dressed to the nines
in lace and satin
(they wonder
what lies beyond the
half moons of her *******
and the slit in her gown,
if the butterflies
run rampant
between her knees
like everyone says).

Do not underestimate her--
she is both
Shirley-Temple-Sweetheart
(her kindness
does not falter)
and Pinup-Girl-Honey
(one would not think
to challenge--
to break--
a woman
so prolifically brazen,
but they try anyway).

In a world filled
with actresses--
please, darlings,
save the acting for
the stage,
******* it--
she is so ineffably herself.

She does not reserve
her emotion for
the theatre alone;
she is not afraid
to cry, and--
Jesus--
when she cries
the earth shakes
with the very profusions
of an opera singer's vibrato.

And, God,
you should hear
her poetry,
brimmed with images
picturesque and tragic,
straight outta the movies
it would seem.
Yet, her words
ring with something
so inconceivably real.

And that's what
you've always loved
best about her--
she is the truest person
you've ever met.

It's a shame, then,
that you wouldn't stay
for the grand finale.

But,
with or without you,
this show must go on.

(and it has).

After the incident
we gathered in the reception area
Stalling
Making small talk
Vaguely excited and vaguely bored

We were leaning into
Little gala tables
Covered in white linen
Raised for conversation or
Fashionable idleness

Why look who’s here!
You were slipping by
Like a noblewoman
Floating in her day-dress
so the human machinations didn't show

Why it’s been thirty years if not a day!
It’s not like you were exactly moved
My friend, your friend
barely roused you
Are you plastic?
A formally once-was?
You looked at me as if your eyes were
Marbles
Made of glass and somewhat pretty,
Just for decoration
It was hard to say in such darkness
Your darkness in particular
It may have been the suit.

I know that they’ve fêted you here before.
A king returns!
Is it the magma chamber
for your imminence?
Or a mere
Alcove?

The face doesn’t really move
Much anymore
Forever frozen in a slight smugness
Your mouth that strikes me as
somewhat meta
if that’s at all possible
And it seems to be
A bit rude
A noirish marvel
A dark star

Funny you never once looked at me really
Never said Hello
Nor Good Evening
And the things that
I could have said
Do you remember how you tried to drill a hole into a poured concrete floor
with a cheap tool
while we laughed about dentistry
as opposed to *** practices
How I tried to find a cherry picker
through the yellow pages
on a Saturday afternoon
How you quizzed me about my practice and how I played dumb
How your dealer ate my dinner when I was looking to the right

But I remained silent
bemused more than disgusted
It has been a long time and
Why would that
forgotten phospherence
be me?

I wanted to say
Did you know
that that penthouse after-party
at the
Marmont
was one of the saddest nights of my life?
I leaned over the balcony and stared at the Marlborough Man
puffing rings onto Sunset Blvd.
Desperate.
How has it come to this I asked
shocked myself
This has all gone so wrong.
I looked down upon the street
watching the rings echo
and cars swerving off to nowhere

No amount of drink can fix this night
and they killed the joint without me
being boys.
One is now dead by hanging.
I’d have preferred the other.

But here you are.
Silent
with absent eyes
after all these years
I never opened my mouth
I couldn’t seem to configure the lips precisely
I don’t know why
Perhaps they refused to comply
despite my feathery efforts.
No need.

Expectation

We bow to our gods
Our demigods

Take sides
Give credit where we think
Credit's due

***** at the other

An exercise in hope
Despair, disgust

An act of rebellion
Worship, boredom

A little entertainment
Perhaps

Oh Holy Night is blasting
But it's business as usual

What did we expect?

The Donald's having another
Rad hair day

Merc is mixing up yet another shot
In the arm of the unsuspecting ignorant

Monsanto's engineering one more
Pernicious stew for dinner

World War Three pending
At Arm's Dealers Inc

A trader goes Kachung

A raven drops his doodoo

Really
What did we expect?

Shiny stilettos go clack clack

A homeless man shivers in the rain

The guy on the bike gives ya the finger

Grandma turns on and drops out
Can ya blame her?

Another heart-breaking day
For the broken

A little goodwill
For the willing

Martin Lawrence sneezes
And we can't help ourselves

Hilarious

Charley Sheen loses his knickers
In repeat spin

Another bad news nugget
For the rag-mags

What did he expect?

The jingle bells jingle

It's tinsel time again
The gift can go bye bye in the mayhem

In this the season of high expectation
It's good to have less expectation
To worry less, to feel more

Share
See what happens
Expect a miracle
or
Expect nothing

The gift
Ah the gift

The present
Presence

That is all
What did I expect?

2015 for the present

the misty skyline at 11am was what did it
there were also the neon lights
flashing a few blocks uphill
the silhouettes of palm trees
and the smell of gasoline and churros
one couple behind me speaking russian
and a group in front speaking spanish
stepping on the stars
and capturing moments in the sky
those big block letters on the mountain
and also the rest of the mountains
the picturesque hanging lights
and dimly lit restaurants
the balconies and the bustling crowds
panhandlers with their money’s worth
and a nighttime energy to die for
but it was the misty skyline at 11am that did it
this truly is the city of angels
and i am among the stars

There is such a thing
as
the Hollywood Blonde
They all seem to know one another
Each one thinks that
They
Alone
are the most sublime
The most inspirational
The Musiest

Like Water Nymphs
They form their group instinctively
The Hollywood Blonde
And if you are a Brunette, say
Or Chinese
I know one and she has the most magnificent *******
Nevertheless
Irregardless
the facts
The husband and the house
The hotels and private jets
Know
Know that those Hollywood Blondes will do a lot of stuff
Without you dear one
“Sorry” they will shrug
They swim
And dine
And gather together
Luminously
And will let you know
after The Fact
Even movies
Or just returning phone calls

Why do they form the horde?
Perhaps they really are genetically special.
Why do they pride themselves in their isolation?
A mystery still.
Courtesan?
Geisha?
Cheerleader?
Mystery Side-Piece?
Wife?
Ex-wife?
Widow?
Oh yes.
Is it an unknowable path that they are on?
A hero’s quest in a bottle of peroxide?
Applied every three weeks.
I’d like to think so.
I wish that they would share what they know.

But we already know.
A mind is not necessary
although helpful
Chic? No. You can wear anything.
A steady, warrantied beauty?
No
No just hair
the color of wheat
Or a corn tortilla
It’s never spun gold
No matter
What you’ve read.

36
18
33
Are Barbie’s measurements
Can you imagine the pressure.
When the lines appear and it’s over?

Filmmaking should be an art form, not merely a business.

The creative process should be personal, not impersonal.

Filmmaking should be sentimental, not political.

Performances should be natural, not robotic. They should be authentic, not artificial.

Writing should be truthful, not bogus.

Cinematography should be ambitious, not pretentious.

Premieres should be on a big screen, not a flat screen.

The audience should open up their preferences, not solidify them. They should respect traditions, not belittle them.

Profit should be a reward for hard work, not a motive for it.

Filmmaking should be intoxicating, not grueling.

Credit should be a right, not a luxury.

Ownership should be divided, not bombarded.

Final cuts should be final, not temporary.

The industry should be welcoming, not selective. It should be open, not gated.

Investors should require trust, not demand control.

We should treasure movies, not forget them over time.

Artists should be publicized, not exploited. They should be grateful, not prissy.

Celluloid should be valued, not endangered.

Equipment should last, not outdate within a year.

In a country full of opportunities, why is it so difficult to achieve what you want? Better yet, if you work hard enough, why could you still fail?

Yes, you can laugh in my face.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDII)


So Hollywood makes films of books, and hence
The De'il Wears Prada, or somesuch detail,
That purse I found at erm, Goodwill in pale
Excuse the thing itself, I guess.  Good sense
And taste, what Vogue swears by, oh sweet pretense!
It's leather, red and black with accents they'll
Approve of--buckles, rivets is't? t'avail
Hauteur in proper style.  Don't ask me whence.
I do not dress like some old frump as twere
Nor paint my face, although my nails would do
Some good if I could find some polish fer
Them.  It's a lie decked out as if's not true.
Yes, true.  But we put Trump in cuz it's poor
Nay, worse than poor:  cuz they are devils.  You?

08Nov18b

No Needy Eyes,
want for nothing,
only freedom eyes,
we have everything,

don’t mind the metaphors,
please pardon the ego,
I’m at Delilah’s high and,
I’m with chillin’ with some villains but they’re kind folks,

all vocal all loco,
let’s have a staring contest,
got a grip on my soul like a chokehold,
staring at me till my face melts,

humble as a roamin’ Nomad,
uncomfortable as a *** addict with a bad rash,
actually I take that last add back,
yeah I’m a ****** but no I don’t have a rash,

but I do have a pocket full of cash,
and I feel good but I want you bad,
swear to God I love You,
always will always have,

and that’s fact,

so real,
I wrote this on the back of a kin nap,
or rather a napkin,
either way I’m back in like I’ve been back,

back in,
this City of Angels,
with a bottle of Sin,
and some Best Friend Strangers,

all in on that God Level,
and I don’t wanna go even though,
I here the Devil callin’ and suspect I might be in trouble,
so I stay in the fast lane and take it slow,

gotta it right here so there’s no reason to go,

no Needy Eyes,
want for nothing,
only freedom eyes,
we have everything…


∆ LaLux ∆

October 8th, 2018
Hollywood, CA.