This was December 24th.

It's almost 2AM and it's almost Christmas. And I am bleeding America onto this paper. Happy Holidays.

Today I bought a pack of cigarettes and smoked most of it in one night. I have no regrets.

My friends are sleeping in New York City dreaming of New York City. I am hopelessly awake in Los Angeles and boy, is it lonely.

To my loved ones in the East, look outside of your window and to the West. Squint your eyes real hard and focus. Now, can you see it? Herds of 2 ton metal boxes blinking in the night?

Can you see it?

A God-loving bum sleeps cold and dirty somewhere on the shoe prints of his brothers and sisters. Oil rigs rest and suck on the open wounds of the Earth. An immigrant, his hands calloused and pricked by thorns, smells of tomatoes and dirt. The Los Angeles river is caked with sludge and it moves lumpily.

Hollywood contemplates suicide with dark circles around his eyes. Melrose sinks into the sheets, comfortable and fat and dreaming of vampires. Venice Beach is strung out and drooling into the sand. Beverly Hills is rotting, putrid with the stench of indulgent swine and complacent corpses. Compton, savagely beaten, bruised and raped by the American way, slumbers with one eye open.

A cop fucks and sleeps with the whorish law, a happy gun underneath his pillow. A real estate agent removes his skin and scrapes it raw against jagged metal. Money tumbles out. A business executive is on his knees, praying at his bedside to snakes slithering out from underneath.

And woe to the failed dreamers and the dreaming failures, their heads resting on pillows made out of their hair.

Los Angeles sleeps alone tonight.