With genuine interest, he began his orgy and the posthumous story that made the avant-garde clique. And while an autopsy would no longer be possible, the ubiquitous nature of the extraordinary amount of written material left should allow ample opportunity to delve as he spiraled further and further downward into the maniacal and aberrant behavior he had made his forte.
Just where the truth ends and fiction begins is never easy to discern. By separating the mischievous and the risqué from the barbarous and debauched, he hoped to prove just how culpable the hyperbole surrounding a man with a penchant could be as lived vicariously by the anonymous and androgynous minions who passed through his home.
Most of said works, though, would be difficult, at best, to locate. Aware of what a naïve picture they would paint, he was adamant that this information was neither superfluous nor irrelevant.
His main hope, though, was to see the risqué theater where these productions were know to be staged.
This was the type of man he was.
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