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Oh shit. Everything has abruptly gone dark, I am feeling strange and cannot see anything. The beach, I am going to the beach, I packed a frosty beer for after my run, something is wrong. Oh shit, I…
[ . . . ] In the early autumn of 1918 we entered a new circle of Bolshevik hell, the period of mass Red Terror. The murder of Uritskii and…
Before I left Chicago, the art critic Harold Rosenberg said to me, “Going to Jerusalem? And wondering whether people will talk freely? You’ve got to be kidding, they’ll talk your head off.” He spoke…