*oh* 
Suddenly I miss Hollywood terribly. It's 11. I could be shuffling along the boulevard, stopping in Capitol Rock, heading over to check out the amateur blues and sould singers, taking in the decadence that is Christmastime in Timseltown.
Awwwwwwwwww.
My apartment was so awsome. Sure there were roaches, hell it's L.A. isn't it? And the building was built in 1920. It used to be a hotel, I heard Marilyn Monroe stayed there. It's also in the movie "Marihuana" circa 1934. It was so incredibly gorgeous then. Now it's a slum, though it was being repopulated by the young hot bisexual art crowd when I moved.
*It had old hardwood floors and smelled like the city.
*It had French doors which I would gradly throw open every morning to welcome the sun and birds and crackheads and guys pissing on the stopsign. I'd hang various sarongs and tapestries in the windows and they would blow softly as I played Fank Sinatra or Marilyn Monroe on the stereo.
I'd drink Kaluha and creme while cozying in on a rare cool day and watch "Bell, Book and Candle", or "Some Like it Hot".
*I lost my virginity there.
*I smoked pot for the first time there.
*My best friend/roommate and I would decorate for a holiday and leave choice decorations up all year. One doorway was draped in purple twinkly lights, shiny black bat garland, mylar red heart garland and Mistletoe. The mistletoe was, sadly, never used.
*I used to go sit on the roof and smoke cigarettes and be depressed. I'd go up there to sunbathe and write and draw and marvel at how lucky I was to live there, on the good days. I'd go up there to watch the fireworks and the Christmas parade on Sunset.
*I had Buster, my first indoor cat there.
*I was a writer for a rock rag there.
*Not a single person I met in Hollwood under 30 (and most over 30) didn't do hard drugs.
* I went to Randy Castillo's funeral and stood in line to pay respect behind Ozzy and Sharon. That was surreal.
*I worked at Nikki Sixx's record label in West Hollywood til it folded. My roomie and I both did, and we'd walk into our place after a hard day telewhoring, and look at 8 months worth of Motley Crue/58/Nikki Sixx fanmail piled EVERYWHERE...and we'd just melt, we were so fucking happy. Just heaven.
*I was so happy when shopping in "Wacko" and the La Luz de Jesus Art Gallery. And Melrose. And Santa Monica. With what little mone I had.
*We'd go to Santa Monica and lie in the sun and swim in the sea on a perfect 79 degree day...in November.
*It's the only place where I've had orchids re-bloom for me, yay!
For a little while it was all so perfect. My soul was full of stardust and sugar.
That asshole ruined everything.
Suddenly I miss Hollywood terribly. It's 11. I could be shuffling along the boulevard, stopping in Capitol Rock, heading over to check out the amateur blues and sould singers, taking in the decadence that is Christmastime in Timseltown.
Awwwwwwwwww.
My apartment was so awsome. Sure there were roaches, hell it's L.A. isn't it? And the building was built in 1920. It used to be a hotel, I heard Marilyn Monroe stayed there. It's also in the movie "Marihuana" circa 1934. It was so incredibly gorgeous then. Now it's a slum, though it was being repopulated by the young hot bisexual art crowd when I moved.
*It had old hardwood floors and smelled like the city.
*It had French doors which I would gradly throw open every morning to welcome the sun and birds and crackheads and guys pissing on the stopsign. I'd hang various sarongs and tapestries in the windows and they would blow softly as I played Fank Sinatra or Marilyn Monroe on the stereo.
I'd drink Kaluha and creme while cozying in on a rare cool day and watch "Bell, Book and Candle", or "Some Like it Hot".
*I lost my virginity there.
*I smoked pot for the first time there.
*My best friend/roommate and I would decorate for a holiday and leave choice decorations up all year. One doorway was draped in purple twinkly lights, shiny black bat garland, mylar red heart garland and Mistletoe. The mistletoe was, sadly, never used.
*I used to go sit on the roof and smoke cigarettes and be depressed. I'd go up there to sunbathe and write and draw and marvel at how lucky I was to live there, on the good days. I'd go up there to watch the fireworks and the Christmas parade on Sunset.
*I had Buster, my first indoor cat there.
*I was a writer for a rock rag there.
*Not a single person I met in Hollwood under 30 (and most over 30) didn't do hard drugs.
* I went to Randy Castillo's funeral and stood in line to pay respect behind Ozzy and Sharon. That was surreal.
*I worked at Nikki Sixx's record label in West Hollywood til it folded. My roomie and I both did, and we'd walk into our place after a hard day telewhoring, and look at 8 months worth of Motley Crue/58/Nikki Sixx fanmail piled EVERYWHERE...and we'd just melt, we were so fucking happy. Just heaven.
*I was so happy when shopping in "Wacko" and the La Luz de Jesus Art Gallery. And Melrose. And Santa Monica. With what little mone I had.
*We'd go to Santa Monica and lie in the sun and swim in the sea on a perfect 79 degree day...in November.
*It's the only place where I've had orchids re-bloom for me, yay!
For a little while it was all so perfect. My soul was full of stardust and sugar.
That asshole ruined everything.