The Obliteration of Los Angeles

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Truthfully, if I had my way Los Angeles would be obliterated left for nature to reclaim. I know that this sounds extremely drastic, even to those who already despise the city. To you east coasters who view this tremendously awful city as some kind of heaven on earth, I’m sorry but you should seriously consider ditching your plan to run off to Hollywood in order to be an actor. It may seem like I’m just a cynic who has no belief in you. I am a cynic but I have no idea whether or not you have any talent, and honestly I do not care in the slightest. You may be reading this and planning to attack me on some sort of social media when you become famous. If you do prove me wrong, I encourage you to do that.

Honestly, your impending doom is not your fault. It’s that God forsaken city who should receive all the blame. Let me tell you about my old man and that city. My father went there to become an actor. He wasn’t one of those dropout punks who think they have natural talent. He was involved with theater throughout most of his life. He went to hollywood not because he had a dream, but because he just wanted to try it. In fact, he graduated out of Boston College with a masters in communication. Basically, I’m just trying to say he did not need to become an actor. Anyways, he was a spectacular actor. I’ve seen some of the stuff he’s done, and let me tell you, it’s pretty great. He starred in a movie it wasn’t any good or popular but I still think that it’s pretty cool. I’m sad to say that he left that city with no money and the experience of being mugged. I love my old man and he ended up alright. He owns two solar farms in a small central Mass hick town. Growing up I was one of those kids who believed that LA contained all of my hopes and desires. With dreams of lust and greed propelling me, after college I headed to the belly of the beast in order to become a writer.

I graduated from NYU with an english major. With this at my side I thought that my future would be filled with dollar signs and women. My parents were quite proud of me. I hadn’t told them that I was planning on moving out to the west in a few weeks. When I finally came around to letting them know my plan, I prepared myself for the worst. I expected screaming and slammed doors. Needless to say, I was shocked when they smiled and gave me their blessing. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that as much as I loved them, I was going with or without their permission.

I had enough money to buy a trashy apartment in a dump of a neighborhood. When the day came for me to leave, I hugged and kissed my parents and promised to call when I landed. As I was loading my stuff into the air taxi, my dad put his rough calloused hand on my shoulder. I could feel the strength which coursed through his arms. He turned me around. For the first time in my life, I saw fear in his eyes. Before this moment he always seemed to be immortal. This moment the god like image of him that I had built up over my entire life shattered into millions of pieces. His scraggly beard was wet with sweat that had poured from his face.

“Brandon, I want to talk to you before you leave.”

“Sure, what’s up Dad?”

“Be careful out there.” Usually I would find a witty remark in order to express my calmness. This time however, the seriousness in my father's tone caused me to hold my tongue. I stuttered, while I searched for the appropriate response.

“Dad, I..I I’ll be fine. I mean, you have some friends in LA right?”

“Not anymore, they all moved out years ago.”

“Well, I’ll be fine.. I’m a really good writer and-”

“That’s not what I mean. I know you are a spectacular writer. In fact, I’m confident that you will soon sell one of your scripts. I’m asking you to be careful of yourself around others. The people there.. they are very different from the people out here. So please, don’t stay too long. Get off your feet and then move. Anywhere in the world except for there.”

“Don’t worry Dad, I’ll stay only as long as I need to.”

“Stay safe son, I love you.”

“I love you too Dad.”

This next part is not about my financial failure. My father, as always, was right. Two months after moving into a low run, beat down apartment with dirty windows and rats in the walls, I had sold my first script. It was a gangster movie, with twists, turns, two faced characters, violence and lots of physical relations. I sold it for a million dollars, which I was joyfully surprised of. I had expected to be left with a lousy four digit check or nothing at all. Immediately after transferring the million dollar fortune into my bank account, I left my apartment and moved into something a hell of a lot nicer. Something which was a block away from the beach. My new home differed from my old in many ways. Instead of hearing rats scrambling up and down the walls, I heard the agent who lived next door discussing whether his protege actor would be playing the superhero or villain in an upcoming Marvel movie.

In my naive newly rich mind, I could not bear the thought of throwing no celebrations in honor of my new status. So, I invited all of my new LA friends and told them to bring as many drugs, alcohol, and woman that they could and come to my home. That very night my apartment was filled with people as fake as the professions they chased. Each of my friends introduced me to a new beautiful women. Each one more attractive than the last. I could tell by the way they looked at me, each of my “oh so loyal” friends had informed them of my most recent achievement. As nice as it was to have all of these woman batting eyebrows and blowing kisses meant for me. I couldn’t help some weird feeling of sadness. I knew deep in my heart that any of these Los Angeles girls would sleep with me if I asked politely. I got rid of the sad feeling through self medication. I began to drink heavier and faster, trying to hit unconsciousness or that sweet feeling of drunkenness. I really didn’t care which. Unconsciousness one, and I felt myself fall back onto the floor before my vision went dark.

I woke up at around 3:30 the next morning. My head felt as if it was going to split in half. My house was void of people. Much to my dismay, that feeling of sadness that I had felt the night before had grown rather than shrunk. It was a tough uniquely weird sort of depression. I felt as if my body had been empty of all purpose. I tried to cheer myself up by reminding my brain and soul that I had achieved my dream. I reminded them that we were rich. They, or shall I say I, didn’t feel any happier. I stood up, and was immediately struck with ten times worse my originally headache. Letting out a groan, I dragged my feet in front of each other, with a destination of my bed. When I finally reached it I allowed myself to fall within my blankets. I fell asleep immediately. My last thought was of my confidence of feeling better when I woke up.

I did not feel better upon waking up. In fact, I felt worse. I felt like I was trapped in purgatory. I thought of what my father had said. That day seemed like a distant memory. Was this feeling what he had warned me of? Had he experienced something like this before? Is that the real reason for his departure of this city? Should I heed his warning and leave? I was successful now, and more importantly, my name would be known soon. I could sell scripts from anywhere now. No, this is just the beginning. I could not leave. My mind turned to the woman who had been eyeing me the night before. I would not find anything like that anywhere else in the world.

The decision to stay is undoubtedly the biggest mistake I have ever made. The next few months were filled with nothing but alcohol, writing, and lust. My life had become a Bukowski poem. The only benefit of this time, was my next script turned out a hell of a lot better than the first one. I sold this one for two million. The production company asked me if I had any desire to direct it. I politely declined, as I felt a sort of satisfaction in my Bukowski like life. I talked with my old man a lot over those few months. I told him about my current state of emotion. He told me that a smarter man would leave and find some other place to make home. I didn’t listen. I knew how terrible it was out here, and I was extremely cynical about the people and culture of the area, but I was extremely addicted to the very people and culture that I constantly complained about. There was something about the plastic quality to them. I would find myself staring at them for hours. I found it amusingly ironic that most of the people with this uniquely identical quality were pursuing a career in the acting industry. I believe that a few of the people who I labeled as fake went on to become spectacular actors. Maybe all actors have to be a bit counterfeit. Of course, not all of them are like that. I could name hundreds who I found to be real, actors such as: Duval, Brando, Pacino, De Niro, Dicaprio, and of course a hundred more. These people share no similarities to the names that I have just listed. These people were not trained as actors. These people did not gain two hundred pounds, or eat raw meat in order to play a part. My acquaintances in the city of Angeles were such great actors due mainly to the fact that they could switch personas in a heartbeat. The problem with people who can do that, is they can do it onscreen or off screen. I despised those “friends” of mine.

I have to say, there was only one person that I actually felt for. It was a girl who seemed unfazed by the city. It was a girl who still believed in the same and fortune which could be achieved in the so called city of dreams. She was extremely beautiful. Her blonde hairs fell over her shoulders in straight, disciplined rows. She had an amazing figure, which could drive a man to insanity. Her face was heart shaped and comely, and her eyes captured the rich blueness of the ocean. Even though she partook in all aspects of the LA culture, I remember no dullness about her. She had an extremely quick mind and she enjoyed the finer things in life, literature, film, and nature. She had no desire of becoming an actor. She had dreams of becoming a writer, she wants to write for Rolling Stone one day. At birth, her mother had given her the name of Jane, however she went by Scarlet, which she got from a Bukowski poem.

I met Scarlet on my way home from the nearest burger joint. I saw her while recovering from yet another night of heavy drinking and writing. While struggling with entering my code into the locked gate of my apartment, she grabbed my food for me so I could type better. I muttered a quick thanks before typing my code, upon turning around my mind went numb. I had been with many exotic woman during my short stay in the city, but none of them had me starstruck in the way that she did. Not only did her beauty entice me, but her voice sent me into shock. To this day I still feel disgust when I look back to the first words I said to her:

“I have extra food, do you want to come eat with me.” Not only are they are insult to my profession in english, they are also the most cliche first words. They would fit perfectly into one of the high school movies which I hate to love. I still believe that she knew of the platitude situation I had put her in, as she laughed and gracefully accepted. She came to my room and we ate and then slept together.

Our romance lasted up until December. By this time, I felt nothing but hate for the city in which I resided. Scarlet spent our last month together attempting to get me back into the nightlife of our city. I kept refusing her, and suggesting instead that we head up north and camp somewhere. She would always say no and I’d end up going alone. During that time I spent a lot of time away from her. Most of my time I spent in Northern California and Oregon. I fell in love with those areas, and made a quick decision to move up to a small quiet town in Oregon which I had stayed a night in due to my car breaking down. I did not have to give any thought to the decision as I felt an immense sort of loathing for my current residency and I had enough money to live wherever I felt. For the first time since leaving for the west coast, I felt hopeful of the future. I had planned to ask Scarlet to move north with me. I knew she would say no, but I am a person who sends a large amount of time playing out fictional situations, hence the reason I hold a profession in the field of English. When I finally raised enough courage to ask her to leave for the north for me, I found her sitting in my apartment watching some romantic comedy with a leads which I can not recall. The main character had just sought out the girl which he had wronged very badly. He was in the middle of confessing his love for the female main.

“Hey, Scarlet, can we talk for a second?”

“Come sit down with me.”

I took the seat next to her and she rested her head on my shoulder.

“So, I have a question for you, so, I’m planning on moving up north, and so, do you want to move up with me?”

“Brandon.. That.. that’s a big decision. Where are you moving to?”

“A small town in Oregon, I found a house, and yeah, I already bought it.”

“And so you want me to come? Brandon.. My work is here. I mean, I can’t just abandon it.”

“That's the beauty of writing, I can help you get in touch with the editors at Rolling Stone.”

“And what am I supposed to write about out in the middle of nowhere? I write about this city, it’s my home and a lot of my inspiration.”

“So this is it then? You’re going to just stay here forever, trying to chase something that’s never going to happen? Jesus Christ, I thought you were smarter than the rest of them. It’s all an illusion, can’t you see? Nothing good ever happens here. People from all around the world come here to try to become some sort of famous, and almost all of them fail. It’s just plastic, nothing here is real. Just look and see.”

“God Brandon, I always knew you were a bit darker, but this is low for you. I don’t care if it’s an illusion, maybe I can see through it, but maybe I want to believe in it. Just, just go alright? Maybe I’ll want to see you again, but I just can’t talk to you right now. Goodbye Brandon.”

It’s been some time since I left Scarlett and that city. Now I live very quietly. I haven’t really put myself out there all too much. I mean, I’ve been on a few dates with local girls, but those never went anyone. I still live alone, but it’s a comfortable type of alone. I am no longer lonely or depressed, and for I know truly feel clean.

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems

Reviews

[wordman]

i can understand your thinking,i`m sure hollywood or should i say some of their more colorful residents has been a downfall for many young talented people