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dancing with the devil
by Michele SchottelkorbPrologue
(sometime in the late fifties)
he emerges from in utero screaming for his bloody life
into his mothers arms a quick let down from his comfy abode
but thats how things are in Hollywood
enter a realm, an area
where the rich push gluttony and the poor lustfully embrace glass crack pipes with blistered lips
and then theres the center divider
where she dwells
where he escapes
she sits in dark musty corners draped in black velvet and fishnet bruises
bathrooms caked in white lines and red lipstick incense filled cigarette smoke circles the dance floor
as writhing death-like waifs glide effortlessly in sync with Siouxsie or KMFDM, pick your poison, freak
step outside for a clove and get hit on for a buck-a-rose from some homeless man who smells of day old breath and cheap booze
retreat quickly back into your sanctuary, little gothic girl while, on the other side of town
he sits with a needle in his arm a smile on his emotionless face
directly across from a model he will never touch, only speak to in silence his mistress is not human
(the more you do, the less it hurts) a great job and house awaits him miles away
along with a nasty woman who burnt all his clothes and steals his child for drugs
so he pushes the needle in deeper praying for death and hoping to hell the insurance money pays off
she makes love in the back of a black car only, theres no after play, or call the next day
its always the same kiss me now, leave me later
ill be fine twirling to the latest LA band just make sure my cut is enough
i need my drugs, i dont need you porcelain skin cracks of mental anguish
walk down these streets enter the sex shop, if you dare
have you seen the back room? (8mm has nothing on them)
where the snuff films mingle with hardcore bondage and vanilla play toys for the weak
step inside my alley ill give you a blow for some blow
(tit for tat and all that) shell wait outside a crowded arena, in the pouring acid rain
white make-up splashes into onyx eyeliner and a perverted security guard feels up her corset
(later, shell kick him with her steel toe boots, she swears she will) all this for a lousy Sisters of Mercy show where the lead singer smokes on stage
while her cigs are sitting soaked in a trash can outside from confiscation and hell play cowboys and indians,
bang bang, your dead
knife play is an art form
only this is without honor,
cause were all the bad man here
ever been to MacArthur Park?
under the bridge, little girl, is where the boogey man plays
four months pregnant she searched for him
stepping over vagrants of no name praying to some fake god that she wasnt knifed in the crotch
as she called his name where are you, my love?
he sits a hundred miles away, shoving syringes down the wreckage of his past (think itll clog the pipes?)
Hollywood, where she went to the Frolic Room, at seventeen,
before LA Confidential made it a yuppie haven, and drank to oblivion with the regulars
Hollywood, where he can charm the fuzz with his rugged good looks
while doing dope in the drivers seat of a hummer
Hollywood,
where her best friend ODd in her arms from the latest designer drug GHB as her family threw her a going away rave
Hollywood, where he realized enough was enough
cast down his trench coat and searched for love
Hollywood,
where they both had coffee one fateful day and somehow managed to save both their sorry souls from inevitable destruction
yeah, Hollywood no other place on earth like it
want to dance with the devil?
Epilogue
(sometime in the near future)
they returned
demons packed in shiny bags like unwanted kittens
and stood over the LA river dropping the baggage that plagued their hearts
that raped their beings that threatened to destroy the life they fought so hard to regain
they drowned those devils and walked down Hollywood Blvd again
this time in the daylight
this time clean and alive
"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."
- Verbal Kent - The Usual Suspects03/03/2005 Author's Note: does anyone know if the homeless men selling roses outside of clubs are still there?... just curious... 4th poem i've written in the graves/schottelkorb series of "creativity"... the pick was "hollywood"... this one was rough... really rough...
Posted on 03/03/2005
Copyright © 2024 Michele Schottelkorb
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 03/03/05 at 10:43 PM ...michele, it was rough to read too without seeing a face of someone, somewhere, at sometime... you do full-metal jacket on this one and a grainy (but so true to life/death) picture it is...of us humans BEING!!! really a good and touching piece...peace,chaz |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 03/03/05 at 11:55 PM Well this one makes me feel comparatively clean, in an unhealthy kind of way :) Bizarre, the contrast - something to say, in graphic detail... |
| Posted by Sarah Graves on 03/04/05 at 01:01 AM Wow, a very bold portrait of Hollywood.. with very dark overtones throughout, of reality and of rebirth. The images that this piece has really left me speechless, they are difficult to embrace yet they are so clear.
I did like the Usual Suspects quote at the end, it really tied the whole idea together. And I did enjoy the goth band references :).. especially Siouxsie. Really great job, and thank you for putting in the effort.. I didn't realize that my topic would be rough.. but I'm glad I could bring a challenge to the table for both of us. |
| Posted by Karl Waldbauer on 03/04/05 at 06:41 AM Is it fair to say you've seen through the glitz and tinsel to view the nasty underbelly of our fair tourist trap? I've not seen the homeless rose man (God knows he has thousands of homeless brothers here), but I have seen the rose selling gypsy lady in West Hollywood. Michele, this is such a vivid picture you paint...no, it's a grainy black and white photograph. |
| Posted by Dana E Brossard on 03/05/05 at 02:30 PM I like it a lot. I think it's rather well done, thank you for sharing with us once more =) |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/07/05 at 02:46 PM LOL! Pretty dark stuff...think I'll quit my job, go home and cut my wrists now. Creative series, imagination put to good use, I imagine based on observations in L.A. county. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/07/05 at 02:46 PM LOL! Pretty dark stuff...think I'll quit my job, go home and cut my wrists now. Creative series, imagination put to good use, I imagine based on observations in L.A. county. |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 03/07/05 at 09:14 PM Very well done Mich. It is such a shame that so
many people dance with the devil and throw their
lives away...Charlie |
| Posted by JD Clay on 03/13/05 at 07:39 PM This is an exquisite postulation on the love/hate relationship while balancing on sanities shoulders. Great use of metaphor here, Michele.
pe4ce... |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 03/22/05 at 03:36 AM There is so much I love about this verse. The images are raw, painful, beautiful... a mix of life death and everything in-between. The scenes have a strobe light effect --a series of bright vivid snapshots that culminate into a tragic story with a silver lining at the end. This verse describes an injury to the world soul --an injury that heals just in time to get ripped open again. Wow. Great read.... |
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