Mr. Moneybags

There was a girl who dreamed of a life lit up in lights. Daphne. Where fame was the name of the game and everyone would look her way. She dreamt of a beautiful life, full of all of finer things. Her hopes were high and her bank account was low. She was a stunning girl who got by with her looks and her talent and her passion, but money was not something she possessed. A Hollywood star to be, she dubbed that as her title; struggling artists have more hope than most. Her days were occupied by auditions and her nights were wild and free. Imbibing in margaritas and on the Venice boardwalk with her actor friends and money she barely had. Daphne would soon meet a man by the name of Mr. Moneybags who would sweep her off her feet with his shiny things. He had the world at his fingertips anything he ever desired. Mr. Moneybags was a well connected agent in Los Angeles and all he cared about was the fast life. He had everything he ever dreamed of. He was the material male, the alpha male, the dominant male, the secretly lonely male. He longed for finding a girl who could fill that one thing money couldn't buy for him. He didn't want a friend, but a lover  he could just use to take the edge off . He knew he could afford it. He met Daphne on the corner of Sunset Blvd. and Hilldale Ave., patiently awaiting a taxi. He swung around in after spotting her and offered her a ride in his black vintage Porsche. She said why not, and soon they began using each other for their own needs.

Sunset Blvd and LA

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There's no business like SHOW BUSINESS
Normal folk stroll down unescapable means to no end for miles and miles.
STARS, who have etched their place in the biz, the propaganda the stars are, manipulating striving artists to become worthy enough to be engraved in the floor alongside another star one day too. It's magical. It's VOODOO Hollywood undead.

Everybody comes to H O L L Y W O O D, 
THEY WANT TO MAKE IT in the neighborhood.
How could it hurt you when it looks so good.

No where else in the world do you find that the signs even become American Icons.

It's everywhere. The signs that you're here, your'e amongst the Rich and Famous

That's SO LA . . .

Unavoidable, blatant, prominent Dream driving advertisements. Be it, or leave it. You're either someone or no one here in Tinseltown.
The city drives momentum and encouragement through signs, symbols, pictures and people. You can't be just average here. The billboards speak with efforts toward high accomplishment, fame, and success, because indeed being someone is SO LA. 

Fake It Until You Make It

The birds perch on Santa Monica Boulevard coming and going as they please. I glare enviously at them and their view of this robust vivacious city as I cross over onto Beverly Dr. Yet, they don't need to sacrifice, persevere or input hard work, they are closer to touching the sky then any L.A. dreamer is. They just know how to Fly. The L.A. dreamer follows the signs, down the boulevards, anticipating a final destination of opportunity to unfold their success.  

 I pray everyday for a sign to guide me, so I can one day perch too. Stuck in immense grid lock, I spend more time daily inching in traffic on the pristine streets of Beverly Hills then I do driving toward my aspirations and goals. I seductively take a sip the organic iced green tea, to keep up with the trend of healthy living. "That's so LA", I said, a Voodoo like mantra we all abide by. 

As I drive, whatever direction I take, the birds will get there faster. Faster than any aspiring and struggling artist or talent will. We are all riding down the infamous Boulevard of Broken Dreams.