Josie geller once said, quite beautifully, “someone once told me to write what I know, and this is what I know”: life is hard. I’m messing up all the time and I hate it. I’m still the boy who will never be on the magazine. It’s apparently not my scene. I do walk down the roads that made me and I feel like some shitty song that’s supposed to make me feel something but I feel nothing.

If you’re into canal street by sombre I would listen to that while I read this.

My time was so weird it started out a disaster but a manageable one. I got to Los Angeles, somehow and I still felt good but it was quickly

Overshadowed by what the city had become post-Covid. A sad, scared, hollow reflection of what it once was.

This honestly shocked me. I don’t need to lie, while in la I went to the famous log cabin adjacent aa meeting by accident and met Kel. A beautiful example of service who bought me Guaq daddy. She cares but I suspect she’s also high.

All of a sudden I’m in Los angles

So Here I am in Los Angeles and I find myself at an old oasis. The 1 Hollywood hotel. It’s not just a hotel it’s a gathering place of now apparently creatives finishing their latest episodes.

The sadness of being replaced

So here I am sure surrounded by these bitches from bel air and shit and I’m so high I hated it. Honestly the only thing I learned was to check the weather because apparently I brought the wet air.

As the shards guy rip gets removed off Anzac then I feel a slight lift of my perpetual and eventually very real panic, I start to get hungry. Unfortunately it’s Los Angeles and food doesn’t exist so…

So then I came across what

I had meant to come to La for. To pay homage to my saint river phoenix. His mirderous family can go fuck themselves.

What Was a beautiful exploration became a religious experience.