Alex Pardee: To clarify the “incident” at my Seattle signing. (A bit bloody so avoid if you’re squeamish)
As with every other person that stood in line, I put my right hand out and said “It’s nice to meet you, thanks for coming out, what’s your name?” Lurch said nothing, but shook my hand limply while his grin, though now weakened, was still twisted across his face like a hand-drawn roadmap. I let go of his hand, and in true street-mime form, he produced a dirty, 3-inch razor blade from his left hand and showed it to me as the lights from the gallery caught the one spot on it that wasn’t filthy. It sparkled for an instant, mimicking every cheesy Photoshop lens flare. I glanced to my left once again and still, Warhol was standing with the same anticipation as I was.
“Ok, I’m game,” I thought to myself, “you and this Warhol dude are going to show me a trick or something like some lame Criss Angel shit. Ok, cool.”
Unbeknownst to me, however, there was no trick. The exact words escape me because of what followed instantly after, but he said something along these lines in a mixture of both excited yet calming tones:
“I’ve been waiting to show you something amazing”.