When I was a kid I wanted to be an actor. A child actor. The kind that turn into degenerate drug addicts. The ones that get chewed up and spit out by the dark undercurrents of the planet called Hollywood.
Fame itself is a drug. The lust for power and influence acting like a narcotic. Being an odd and lonely, Mid-Western kid – I dreamed away about being famous. As an escape. As a sign of acceptance. As a way to be loved. As a way to get high. Forever.
Today, looking around at the carnage of lives snorted away inside image factories, I no longer envy the famous. The self-made prisons of celebrity. Living in the shadow of false perfections and happy endings. The price seems too high because the money never lasts long enough. And because the abuse and degradation lasts longer.
Those dreams planted in my mind as a youth will aways be with me though. I'm reminded of them daily whether from a drug store magazine rack or from the phone in the palm of my hand. Pretty skeletons high on coke, call to me. Howling at the moon from a balcony out in the dark hills of Hollywood. The place where nightmares come true.
ICON / IDOL / STAR / FAME
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