Exits to freeways twisted like knots on fingers. Jewels cleaving skin between breasts.
Your Cadillac breathes four hundred horses over blue lines. You are going to Reseda to make love to a model from Ohio whose real name you don't know.
You spin like the cadillac was overturning down a cliff on television. And the radio is on and the radioman is speaking and the radioman says women were a curse. So men built Paramount studios. And men built Columbia studios. And men built Los Angeles.
It is 5 am and you are listening to Los Angeles.
And the radioman says it is a beautiful night out there! And the radioman says Rock and Roll lives! And the radioman says it is a beautiful night out there in Los Angeles. You live in Los Angeles and you are going to Reseda; we are all in some way or another going to Reseda someday to die. And the radioman laughs because the radioman fucks a model too.
Gone savage for teenagers with automatic weapons and boundless love. Gone savage for teenagers who are aesthetically pleasing, in other words, fly. Los Angeles beckons the teenagers to come to her on buses; Los Angeles loves love.
It is 5 am and you are listening to Los Angeles.
I am going to Los Angeles to build a screenplay about lovers who murder each other. I am going to Los Angeles to see my own name on a screen, five feet long and luminous. As the radioman says it is 5AM and the sun has charred the other side of the world and come back to us and painted the smoke over our heads an imperial violet.
It is 5 am and you are listening to Los Angeles.
You are listening... You are listening... You are listening... You are listening...