A singer-songwriter, I’ll call her “K,”
flew out of Los Angeles to Loch Ness
to spend some time writing material
for an album about Los Angeles.
Her producer stayed in town. When someone
asked him where K went, he said, “She’s over
in England trying to write some new crap.”
A would-be novelist who plays guitar,
I’ll call him “M,” exchanged e-mails with K.
K asked, “Are you sure the Loch Ness monster
never has been rumored to eat someone?”
M said, “If it would make you feel better,
if I were the monster I would eat you.”
K said, “If the monster doesn’t eat me
I’ll have to go back to Los Angeles.”
M said, “Catch the monster and take it home
with you. You know, for the publicity.”
K said, “Are you kidding? Los Angeles
would eat that thing alive. Monster sushi.”
Come to Los Angeles and die
Everyone’s pretty here
It’s the world you see on TV
Come to Los Angeles and die
You won’t get in the way
No one will even notice you
Come to Los Angeles and die
There’s no admission fee
To this thrill ride by the ocean
Come to Los Angeles and die
Feel the love, share the joy
Leaving here is a dream come true
Come to Los Angeles and die
Come to Los Angeles
Come to Los Angeles and die
An unreleased song from
an unreleased album, both
of which may someday be called,
“Come To Los Angeles And Die”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Anal Sex And Death In Los Angeles
Los Angeles, Nonetheless, Is
Dead Monkeys. Swimming Pools. Movie Stars.
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