Sublime

He is an amazing man and artist, and his films My Dinner with Andre and Vanya on 42nd Street were HUGE inspirations to me (watch them!). For a few weeks he once gathered a group of lost actor souls in a loft in the Garment District, and we would do these strange body exercises called plastiques.

The P.P.O.’s counselor, who appeared to be in, at most, his mid- or late 30s, and wore spectacles, had a large forehead which was domed in such a way as to suggest deep thoughtfulness, an appearance which was, it increasingly emerged, misleading.

Wallace wasn’t clear on what he wanted, unless it was to be left alone—except when he didn’t.

His nonfiction persona was, as Wallace told an interviewer, “a little stupider and shmuckier than I am.”

“Wallace does not, in fact, tell the story. Instead he inhabits for extended moments the airspace around his characters.”

Mr. Rey Diaz, you are a Wallfacer with the makings of a god. It is my honor to become your Wallbreaker.” The Wallbreaker stood up and offered Rey Diaz a genial bow. Rey Diaz did not look at him. He took a puff of his cigar and blew out the smoke as he continued to examine it. “Fine. Then I’ll ask the question that Tyler asked.” The Wallbreaker aske