Note: I will wholeheartedly admit that, while I may not have been the biggest fan of David Foster Wallace, his indelible talent cannot be denied. This fabulous in-depth piece, reprinted with permission, explores the sad and tragic genius of the troubled scribe.
Read what follows with a stern caveat emptor in mind, for it has been written by an unabashed David Foster Wallace fanboy, one of those forlorn, bespectacled young men covertly handed a copy of Infinite Jest in his formative years, and who subsequently recited passages from the novel the way early Christians, hiding in dim catacombs,…
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Where does the time go? Seven years ago I jumped into this thing called the Blogosphere with a crude little blog which, admittedly, I kne...
Welcome to Bukowski's Basement and the blog of Anthony Venutolo. It's primarily a showcase for nuggets that can range from anywhere from Skid Row to the Savoy in the form of poems, flash fiction, noir or pop culture musings.
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