Onstage, I’ve been hit by a grapefruit, beer cans, eggs, spit, money, cigarette butts, mandies, quaaludes, joints, bras, panties, and a fist.
“I can only protrude my wormlike tendrils of apology, craving forbearance on the grounds that a writer must write about what he knows, and since I know nothing about any subject it scarcely matters where I dabble.”
William T. Vollmann
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