Hollywood Nights
Part one
I loved you so much.
I know that doesn’t matter now, the person you used to be is just as dead as I’m finally about to be. We are ghosts and ghosts have no sense of self, only regret, we are shades left to act out their simple play and then begin again fresh the next night. Entities who are never allowed to realize that they are stuck in the copier of life, being printed and reprinted in an endless loop only to be shredded once more before dawn comes along.
Shit, I wish it was all that simple. I wish I really knew what comes next. I wish I knew that I could sit here on this park bench, ready to become a real-life meme as I wait for this bastard sun to crest over the trees and make miserable ash out of me. I wish I could eternally haunt our old place off of Melrose along with the ghost of you. We could replay all our best moments just like all our favorite LP’s. Then again, you never hear about all the happy ghosts. No one talks about their run in with the transparent couple that meets up only to strut along the dance floor.
I’m not sure we could coalesce much or well in that bland old shit box, not without our records and I don’t think ghosts are allowed to keep their collections. Instead I guess we have to face reality, or I do at least. We worked together and well, just as long as we were both high and we never had to spend very long wondering what life would be like without that.
We worked because the money flowed and so did the booze, and the pills, and the parties, and the coke, we jelled because we were a well-oiled machine and maybe the greater part of my nostalgia for what was us is nothing more than the longing for better times. Maybe I don’t remember us as well as I think I do?
No, fuck that. I did and I do. Us, is the only part of my former life that I am still sure of. What we were was peas in a pod, what we were was happy, truly happy, not because of the easy times and hard drugs, but despite them. I would have loved you in a shotgun shack without a spare dime to squeeze between us. I would have loved you, dry gulch and wet eyes. I wouldn’t have just gotten clean for you, I would have nine to fived for you. Sort of glad it never came to that though.