(I just wrote this over at rpg.net. Someone was asking about an occult background for Los Angeles. So, on the spur of the moment, I wrote this…)
If you walk down Hollywood Boulevard, you will see the names of the dead, written in the streets (as the Kinks song says). So many famous people die in Los Angeles, and none of them can leave, because they are trapped here. Their names are carved in the very stone of the city.
Just last week, I was at Johnny Depp’s club, the Viper Room. The place River Phoenix died. He stumbled out the back door (I walked through it), fell down on the sidewalk (I stood where he fell), and his heart stopped (I stooped and touched the stones).
It was a warm night. The stones were cold.
It is a land where no one ever ages. Everyone is young and immortal. And weeping behind smiles.
This city is a god. A hungry god that makes bargains no-one should make with their eyes dazzled and half-closed. Souls are a dime a dozen. It isn’t looking for souls. Those with their names in the street made bargains with this city, sacrificed their names, families, and faces. The city took their sacrifices and gave them what they wanted.
It is a hungry city. A hungry god. One of the newest ones, young, and looking for those who will give unto it.
Welcome to Los Angeles. I love it here. And I’m never gonna leave.