As Yoakam spoke, “Ain’t no glamour in this tinseled land of lost and wasted lives…” Guitars and Cadillacs and birth and death. Photo op: the tourists are shitting on the stars along the Walk of Fame. Anyone can be Kenneth Anger. Just whip out your smartphone and get to it. Slander, exploitation, trolling, and cruelty are easy to deal from the passenger seat. Some passengers hold the opinion that The Stars knew what they’re signing up for when they joined the celebrity circus. But the public eye is a rover. Who knows, you too may wake to its gaze one day. You may wake up to the sound of a spinning cylinder, the weapon cocked, the barrel pressed against your temple. Besides, nobody signs up for a death trip, neither in the industry of Southern California nor elsewhere; we’re on it no matter what we sign, as fate would have it.
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