Hollywood, by Simon Russell


A blank piece of paper was all that you'd need,
Your inspiration no more, a social spiller of seed.
They wanted your words and so related to them
But are no longer lodged, like an old lump of phlegm
What sort of flavour will you lick today?
Create someone new then send them away
Well-oiled gears with a mind of their own,
More about money than the honesty shown.
Conceptual ideas of brilliance sell,
Excessive pressure puts a poo in the well.
Why be upset at the best thing you've done,
If it's made millions happy then everyone's won.
So much is put on the rise to the top,
When it arrives you don't want to stop.
The next thing you know you'll go under the knife,
It's all about image you've no other life.
What kind of view from the top of the heap?
Everything sorted by all of your sheep.
Then it suddenly ends and the star is no more,
Such a beautiful talent now over for sure.
Where you sit in a room in the order of things,
Dictates who you are and the power it brings.
If the room in the know, don't want to know,
You might as well leave with your money in tow.
And move to a place, can be who you are,
Live a real life, don't see things from afar.
Understand criticisms and why they are said,
With no hidden meanings, just openness instead.
Reality too much for the mortal in some,
Want to strive really high and be whence you've come.
That being the case, I wish them all the best,
Only remember what's beating inside your chest.


Simon Russell

Art, The Arts & Creatives