In his own words, Landers shows readers the world through his eyes, all misspellings intact. Through fame and misfortune, God and art, life and death, Landers leaves no anger unenjoyed, no sacred ground untrod, and no standing rule unbroken. Raw, eloquent and compulsively readable, (sic) is a daring and original book.
This book kind of sucks. I want to read about fucking and art stardom, not Catholicism. On the bright side, I now know that there is at least one artist who is more narcissistic than I am.
i don't know if i should crit this like art or read it like a diary. no matter, i have no doubt the guy edited this thing like crazy so we would all think he was a perfectly tormented, virile, razor-sharp instincts kind of guy.