Screenwriter's Blues
A writer wakes up, and he is in Los Angeles. He is leaning on a railing on a balcony, large enough for two people and a potted planet, overlooking a swimming pool with clouds in it like the sky. He has a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, although he does not smoke. The smoke from the cigarette is drifting towards the city to mingle with the smog. It is a tenuous, silky, curling thread. The writer remembers tenuous, silky, curling hair. He remembers a girl with hair like smoke. He does not smoke.
The writer doesn't think he wants to be in Los Angeles. The writer doesn't remember going to Los Angeles. The writer remembers night, remembers silver, remembers the stars swirling out of the sky to meet him. The writer remembers his children. He does not smoke. The writer's wallet and his children are in the bedroom, next to his keys, next to her earrings. They were emerald.
The writer knows he is not the type to have affairs with smoke-haired girls. The writer knows he is not the type to smoke on a balcony in Los Angeles before the sun has risen.
Los Angeles is a city for men who hate their wives, it is a city for men who do not wear gray flannel suits but hate them anyway. The writer doesn't hate his wife, even though you're supposed to. The writer doesn't care about grey flannel suits. He thinks that maybe if he hated his wife and grey flannel suits, he wouldn't be a screenwriter, and he wouldn't be in Los Angeles.
The writer is aware that someone else has borrowed him, someone else who does hate wives and grey flannel suits. Someone else is using him to hate things, someone else is using him to love the girl with hair like smoke, someone else is using him to look out across the city of Los Angeles and drink coffee and smoke a cigarette.
The writer puts out his cigarette, and the smoke stops drifting upwards. The sun has stopped rising over the city of Los Angeles.
--taken from a dream Current Music: listening to Los Angeles 
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
spacematchbook's journal
accomplished
excited
blah
tired
anxious