I've paid so many pleasurable visits to Richard Foreman's world that the number of people I know who've never been there always surprises me. People who've visited once, disliked it, and never went back, in contrast, I understand, and probably Foreman does, too. His world is in ours, is identical to ours, but is also an entirely foreign place, with its own rules and customs. Not understanding what goes on there is perfectly natural, since you don't know the language. Repeat visitors can learn to follow the conversation a little; after decades, I myself can fathom only a few fragments of it. But unlike those who've vowed never to go back, I find the peculiar place enjoyable. I've come to recognize its people, who tend to run to familiar types, and have gotten fond of their extremely odd behavior. I'd feel deprived if I thought I could... More >>>
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The End of the Lower East Side's Last Great Rehearsal Space (2)
Stoya, Pop Star of Porn (3)
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