From that moment alone, I might easily have been doomed to a life of seedy clubs, hookers, and a grim, spiraling sexual addiction.
Billions of electrical impulses exploded across the synapses of my brain.
Learned that space was cloyingly organic, infected and infectious, rapacious—and that to experience space was to experience not the infinite void but rather the claustrophobic horror of being caged with a sexual predator.
Her breasts are revealed when the crass collector, played by John Lone, performs the obeisance of shaving her armpits, then again when she tub-wrestles with the painter, played by Keith Carradine.
Real life, of course, supplied for Tate the ghoulish addendum, And Then Charles Manson's Followers Will Bludgeon You.
My chance to murder de Gaulle has passed which is sad, really—unlike others, I learned from Edward Fox's mistakes.