Are the non-famous brave?

Do they encounter insurmountable odds?

Do they give to charity with fanfare?
I don't know.
Never seen their biographies on TV.
Maybe that's why so many desire Hollywood fame,
not enough appreciation for life unexamined.
If we all achieved fame utopia wouldn't be far off.
Think of all we'd do knowing interviews were imminent.
We'd have to eliminate career faux pas to keep lengthy decline at bay,
arrange some type of a super socials security,
federally funded posterior, face and gam guarantees.
Our economy would soar with wartime-like production
of trucks, cars, cities, towns and trains,
to blow up and inflame again and again.
No rocks thrown at Mercedes or Bimmers out of jealousy.
A Rodeo Drive at every corner.
We'd be looking in the mirror too often to start a war.
No more lawyers, politicians, junkies or crooks.
Everyone would work out six days a week,
all trim, tucked, bulbous and tan.
 
Plenty of award shows, galas and openings to display
wrinkle free skin, newborn pearly whites.
A star wagon of our very own.
Gold rings for every finger and toe.
A fountain in every living room.
A chicken franchise in every town we've got.
More than just a limo at the wave of a hand.
But let's not forget the most important thing, 
Offspring to perpetuate our perfected rituals of delight.
I saw them

Before the three phony stars

Whose shit stinks like everyone elses

A chance to come to Hollywood

Be melted into malleable puddle

Hollywood, just south of my home, north Hollywood

Home to human trafficking, pedophilia

Porn, S&M shops, whoring, wifebeating

And every illicit drug on the planet

Homeless youth broken, wander the streets

Boys and girls sell their ass and give

Blow jobs for a pittance

Powerful men and stage struck mothers

Complicit in offering up fresh cunts

Ensure the ready supply with promise

Of stardom

Kardashian Brittany Paris notoriety

Not talent, hard work, years of training

Discovery

To be used , fucked, fucked up, fucked over

Die on the street skid row

Run down room.

Predators feed the media blitz

500 channels 24/7

A fresh supply of meat

Arrives daily on Greyhound

Hitched trucks

Airplanes accompanied by

Celebrity obsessed parents

I say, for what?

I say, why not?

Lead the calves to the holding pen

Fatten them with unreachable fantasies

Herd them with penis prods

Down the chutes

To be slaughtered

And fashioned

Into the Golden Calf

promise to make your days so very “blue”

And to make our dear children hate you too

I promise never to by your side lay

Unless you remunerate me for time spent, and the day

Comfort you shall never know,

And anguish shall be your only shadow

Worriment and distress shall also your companions be

And I promise, me you shall hardly ever see

So, lets get this damn farce over with, why don’t we!
Hello holy
hollow Hollywood
skies.
Such a brilliant
and beautiful sight
casted down
upon the world.

Although we love
to pay attention
to the night time stars in the sky.
It seems that we focus
so excitedly
on the shining seething supernovas.
Powdered chemical explosions
volcanic silicone eruptions,
I cannot help,
but to look on with glee
to the grand finale, 
a glimmering shimmering, but fading light.
I don't mind
if you exploit me
because I want to exploit you too,
I want to
rape your mind
prod your emotions
and show you how to sell your soul for fame.

Lucious illuminations,
blissful illusions,
simply here
for the enjoyment of you and I.
We lay
beneath and amongst the stars,
the air
smells of sweat and sex
and I can't help,
but to lose myself in the arms
of a soft and sensuous breeze of desire.

I want to
lose myself in ecstasy,
and to hide inside of you,
and when the new day begins,
we can forget this meaningless mess.
We can
walk back into our trailers
and count our money
to the sound of others'
in amusingly agonizing tragedy.

For just one more night,

I bowe my head
to my money pile
I look to the stars for guidance
I pray to you for salvation.
On the very next day,
I spend away my earnings
I blissfully watch the supernovas
and I find a new goddess to pray to.

When the lights go out

We will go to the places we love most

And scream for the times

When we were nothing more

Than empty faces on a subway

With too much on our small minds

And a dollar twenty five

In our satisfied pockets.

When we claimed our nonconformity

And damned hollywood

To the pits of hell,

but all secretly dreamed of being

One of the stars someday.

Hollywood Haiku

An eternal beauty

Blossom lips surgical smile-

a Blemished heart