Waiting For The Sun In L.A. (A Short Story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

Ophelia lived in a downtown L.A. Her dreams place to live in.

Since very young, she wanted to become something. Someone different than her mother and father. All the kids got dreams, and a lot of them wish to become a star, a singer, an actor. Being worshipped, being rich, living in a huge mansion. Then they grow up and reality strikes their little beliefs and put them back into reality.

For some, the dream still holds firmly in their mind. They don’t want to give up, not now, not while they are still young and have time to progress, learn and work for them. It often take an early calling, a long-time practice to become successful.

You also have to make connection, travel to the place where the important peoples lives and hang out.

That’s what Ophelia had planned. She could sing, dance and act. She was an attractive young, white girl, blonde hair and blue eyes. She had success in that little conservative town of her in Minnesota. She discovered at this small town how powerful the power of beauty is, especially on men.

She took advantage of few of them, but this was for a good cause. She would not forget them once at the top of Hollywood.

The young women borrowed money to pay for acting class, acting turned out to be more complicated and subtle that Ophelia first thought. She kept working hard, but never had the feeling of self-satisfaction. From her own perspective, her progress in acting wasn’t satisfying. She still had her look for herself, the thing that will gave her Hollywood on a plate. At least that what’s Ophelia believed. Hollywood was the sanctuary of body-worshipping wasn’t it ?

She took up singing class too. She was decent at it, her hope for fame raised even more. Why not become a pop star ? Their’s singers that aren’t that good but still make a career for themselves because they have the good the look and an attitude.

Continuing on her quest to find her real calling, Ophelia borrowed even more money for dancing lessons. She knew she would not become a dancer, and nobody really considered a dancer a star. It was just to better herself, give herself more tools to succeed.

She had boyfriends. More or less, she used them for money, and they used her for her body.

Once she gathered enough money to go conquer the West. Ophelia drove to Hollywood, ready to own the entertainment industry.

Her beauty gave her access to powerful men. Powerful men that gave her a flat in that downtown L.A. where she’s still living in as you reading this.

After false promises by those men, the young women decided to hunt for fame by herself. Going from casting to casting to never having a call back.

Until her good star intervened.

One day, some men in the street asked her for her contact information. He needed someone like her for his project.

Arriving in the studio of that mysterious artist (or businessman) the aspiring actress had to undress in front of the camera and have sex with him.

And she did. That’s how Hollywood worked right ? Nothing new in having sex in exchange for a part in a movie. Plus, she came out of there with a good amount of cash ! This was probably the start, finally, of her career !

Execpted that this sex session ended up on internet. Without her consent.

And the businessman contacted her again. The returns where insanely positive ! The public wanted more of her. More of her nakedness having sex in front of a camera.

She took the opportunity.

Ophelia became a star, a pornstar.

Her family cut ties with her, she was alone. Alone but making money. Not rich thought.

She was famous. Kind of.

Was she disappointed ? Yes.

Did she felt trapped ? Not really. Porn stars have become regular actresses and singers after finding stardom in the porn industry. She will use pornography as her springboard to stardom, the real one.

But people only saw in her the pornographic actress.

She was in fact trapped.

Ophelia still live, hoping for a miracle that will probably never happen. But she’s got hope and nobody can take this out from her. Not you, not even me.

Jaskiers

Publicité

My Goodbye to Jim Morrison | The Selected Works of Jim Morrison [Cloud Words Article]

Je dédie cet article à ma chère Pandora. Tu sais mon admiration pour toi et je sais ton dédain pour les compliments. Accepte celui-ci, si être « admirée » par ma petite personne est un compliment.

Tous les mots et photos proviennent du livre.

Prologue by Anne

« Money is freedom »

« The Pony Express »

Automatic writing

never happened

« Horse Latitudes »

left school, for dumb reason

was wise

lost notebook

hypnotized or taking sodium pentothal

Been free.

Lizard

Is everybody in ? (Repeated 3 times)

The ceremony is about to begin.

Once I had a little game

I liked to crawl back into my brain

I think you know the game I mean

I mean the game called ‘go insane’

Forget the world, forget the people

Wait !

There’s been a slaughter here.

(siren)

Run, run, run

Let’s run

« I am the Lizard King

I can do anything

(cries of assent)

all labor is a lie;

I want obedience !

I confess

To the poet

Snake-wreaths & pleasures.

She fell.

They killed him.

A shot-gun blast

Air

More of your miracles

More of your magic arms

The elaborate sun implies

Dust, knives, voices.

Call out of the Wilderness

Do you want us that way with the rest ?

Do you adore us ?

Fall down.

Boys are running.

Girls are screaming, falling.

Lizard woman

Venom

A forest.

Now for the valley

Take her home.

A pair of Wings.

Sirens

Saints

The warm aquarium, warm

Doesn’t the ground swallow me

« See Naples & die. »

& death

in the avid summer.

Savage destiny

explore the labyrinth

Sisters of the unicorn, dance

changes

Find her !

Female prophet

Music renews.

‘Salvation’

Bells

Walking to the riot

running

Mercy pack

Nailed to a ghost

Stranger, traveller,

Camel caravans bear

Terrible shouts start

in the mind

Surreptitiously

Leave her !

Cancer city

Summer sadness

Stop the car

The gods of mourning

we march toward the sea

Catalog of Horrors

« You got a cool machine »

from a tired land

island, & is gone.

will be dark

Trench mouth

to the killing.

The artists of Hell

the terrible landscape

the slaughtered wind

I am ghost killer

the death of all joy

potency

you will fry

You are alone

who made you man

Photo-booth killer

Kill hate

Kill photo mother murder tree

The beautiful monster

Menstrual fur

My son will not die in the war

consult the oracle

Mantra mate

the poison

the time-bomb free

The new man, time-soldier

this could be fun

to rule a wasteland

text of the unforgiven

but all will pass

is in love

on Vision

the religion of possession

(Windows work two ways,

mirrors one way.)

Into our chamber.

Read love vocabulary

Does the theatre keep out light, or keep on darkness ?

Modern life is a journey by car.

You cannot touch these phantoms.

Film spectators are quiet vampires.

to rival the real.

She said « Your eyes are always black. »

We all live in the city.

The spectator is a dying animal.

defining our world in its percussions.

Our lives are lived for us.

Door of passage to the other side,

The soul frees itself in stride.

(I touched her tigh

& death smiled)

give us and hour of magic

Artist as moral catalyst

I wish clean death would come

Writing helps you think

Crystallize a trip & memories

the moon became a woman’s face.

France is 1st,

Your image of me

my image of you

The Studio is a dark church

The cigarette burned my fingertips

My eyes took a trip to dig the chick

Lamerica

Black horse hooves galloping sun

– – Time does not exist.

There is no time.

– – Time is a straight plantation

He follows a woman into the firmament

There’s a whole realm I mustn’t tell

Please death be the end

to disarm them smile at our failure

These days are coming to an end

This time come in me like an astronaut

Send snakes in my orbit

« He had to »

Flowers & lights.

The Love Police

The walls screamed poetry disease & sex

They send me books

Times change, damaged

Will warm names & faces come again

Acid had tried to make a mystic out of me

Men holding hands.

Ceremonies, theatre, dances

to reassert tribal needs & memories

As the body is ravaged

the body grow stronger.

The Politics of ecstasy are real

Well, I been down so very damn long

That it look up to me

Well she feels like dying

But she’s only 21

She’s not alone man

She’s not the only one.

We create

the dawn

This is the end

Beautiful friend.

Jaskiers