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The basement of the building, where Patti Astor’s Fun Gallery opened in 1981, now houses a psychic. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves dominate every wall in the apartment, except for the kitchen’s his current reading is on a cocktail trolley by the bed. When I picked up Considerations on the Assassination of Gérard Lebovici by Guy Debord, he said he loved Debord’s “alcoholic style” I spotted two copies of Amiri Baraka’s The System of Dante’s Hell. More books are always arriving, in packages addressed to Gary Hoisington, the name given to him when he was born, in 1950, in Derry, New Hampshire. He has had cause to regret the pseudonym he chose on a whim. “Oh, hi,” John Ashbery said when they were introduced. You belong to the category of writers who have also been actors, which includes Mae West and Sam Shepard. I wasn’t trained, and I certainly didn’t have the technique of a professional. Directors would cast me because of the way I was, not what I could pretend to be. Often the wardrobe does half the work anyway. I was more of a special effect-they wanted my personality, or how I looked at the time. When I performed, I had-and this maybe had something to do with how much I drank-a quality of demonic abandon. In Valie Export’s The Practice of Love, you’re screaming in a bathrobe. In Christoph Schlingensief’s Terror 2000, I’m also just screaming, mostly.
The film was based on real events that took place just after the reunification of Germany.