L.A Times

The only place I ever felt like calling home, (after living in many places around the world), was Hollywood.
Which is very bizarre, knowing Me. Knowing who I am. It's everything I am not.

Everything you hear about Hollywood is true, there is no denying it. The shallowness, the obsession with beauty - everything you are told by the media.

But - just like Hollywood itself, it's a veneer. A mask, to show off to the world. (One that the film industry is more than happy to promote.)

My Hollywood was very different place.

My Hollywood was spent on 'the Blvd', the walk of fame. You were constantly surrounded by such a mixture of people. All walks of life, all backgrounds and nationalities, and all searching for the dream.
Actors actresses, comedians, writers..... It doesn't matter which particular field you choose, everybody was there to find their version of .......success.
When somebody said they were an actor or actress, the standard reply was always the same.
'So what's the name of the bar, you work in?'

Far from finding it as a seedy, desperate, soulless place, I saw the opposite.

I saw people full of hope, enthusiasm, ambition. (yeah, some delusional to - 'No Jimmy, you are not going to make it as body double – you only have one arm and one leg.')

Dreamers? - Yes, for sure. Everywhere.

I have met a million happy dreamers. Happy cynic's ? Not as many...
It seems quite logical to surround yourself with dreamers. Happiness is infectious.

Of course there were the stories of the tragedy's, and maybe I was fortunate as I never came across too many of them.

The biggest tragedy, that I can recollect, was the time your dealer ran out of MDMA in your favorite night club, or raving in the desert without any more mushrooms. Now that's cataclysmic!

So yes, there was tragedy.
I saw the gourning faces, sweaty, dancing, desperately searching faces....

It was normally around 2 AM, in the morning. Most weekends.

Apart from that trauma , life was a blast. (sarc)

Weekly jaunts up to Griffith park to see the sprawl that was LA. That view never got boring, never failed to feel how lucky I was to be 'right here, right now'...

Warm nights, cool people. (mandatory spliff of course).

Horse riding every week in the Hollywood hills. - yes! L.A. DOES have nature. (the rattlers were a constant concern, when on horseback).
That, in itself, was a beautiful couple of hours spent, on tiny trails, behind the Hollywierd sign. Almost every week.

Most weekends would involve a trip down to Venice beach, or Santa Monica, to look down at the tourists, and the cleavages. 'yeah, we live hear, don't ya know'.

It was a rare week not waking up to a sprawl of bodies, in an unknown wreck of a condo.
The party always carried on somewhere, long into the night, after civilization deemed it a good idea to go to sleep.
Empty bottles, full ashtrays, mirrors, and rolled up dollar bills...

Most definitely the party years.

The thought of living that life now, of course, makes me breakout in sweats and gives me panic attacks. - I must have been crazy. (oh, young, I mean)

Which brings me to the day I left L.A . And have never returned.

It was surreal, to say the least. -In fairness, mostly due to sleep deprivation, and vast amounts of party goodies...

I hadn't slept for 2 days prior to departure, and my Colombian flu had gone into overdrive - only relieved with copious amounts of JD. Mary Jane was always near, to calm me down.
Then time to go say hello to charlie again! ....you get the picture ,and the state of me, I'm sure.

By the time I was due to depart the Blvd, it was messy..

I was definitely not a pretty site – much worse than usual, I mean.

I was sad.

Arriving at the airport, with a few friends to see me off, was a whole other, surreal, four hours of my life. (that felt akin to 3 months, truth be told).

Leaving Las Vegas has nothing on me trying to leave L.A.

I'll tell you all about that one, later...

Cheers

PW