Hollywood is dead and it’ll never be summer. Today is the first day it’s been warm in months. By the time it’s June, it’ll be spring. By the time it’s Fall, it will be winter. Everything I write sounds like AI Lana del Rey lyrics now. I just read a piece about the dying entertainment industry, sputtering out after a feverish high from last year’s victorious writer’s strike. In the cum glaze glow of our union’s deal with the studios, it took a minute before we realized it’s still bad. The piece made me depressed, as pieces tend to do. I know it’s probably all true. The alcoholic narcissist in me thinks all these pieces about this slow burner apocalypse of film and TV is a ploy from writers to psyche other writers out from writing so they can be the only writers left. Mind games. Quit while you’re ahead, the smoke is thick down there. And if you do go down, you’ll only last a minute.
I need this book.
Gorgeous gorgeous writing. Please write a book.
So good Carey 😮💨
This is SO good. I love this one so much.
Typically great prose from the Emily Dickinson Professor in Residence of Making No Money
Definitely need to start therapy too but truly who can afford it?
#relatableAF
Carey😍😭😭😭
wonderful