I love Alexander Shulgin. I've loved him from the first moment I read about him. He is my idol, my hero, my sun, my O2.
Lisa's illustrations have appeared in McSweeney's, The Believer, and LA Weekly. Her first comic book, I Want You, is super-good and was published by Buenaventura Press last year.
Danilo recently finished "Closeness," a documentary examining the plight of an aging subway saxophone player.
Lance Bangs gets down with the Uncontrollable Women Bike club in Dayton, Ohio.
Hey, tomorrow is St. Mark's Eve, a night where it was believed one could see the ghosts of those doomed to die in the coming year eerily glide up the steps and into church doors.
I agree this is late notice, but tonight Maggie Lee and I, Nick Gazin, are going to be talking about our art and giving a pair of little slideshows at Pete's Candy Store starting around 6:30. There are some other guys talking about their business too.
But! There's this one woman from Kentucky who was wise enough to just say she had a big old dick in order to get her stories published. "Here's my story. Yes, I have a penis."
I've never met Carson Mell in person, but judging from the sound of his voice and his fondness for the Southwest, I'm guessing he's a beefed up man's man who knows which plants are poisonous by their smell and how to spear an antelope with the head of a c…
How Russian film descended into Parallel madness.
Jonathan Meese is obsessed with German mythology and calls for the dictatorship of art.
Christiania is Copenhagen's infamous, self-governed squat community described to me as a magical town where cannabis is sold freely in the streets.
VBS Meets Dr.Lakra
I am crushed the fuck out on a 71-year-old man. He's not writing me into his will or anything, but Charles Brewer--Carias is a walking, breathing, moustachioed archetype of manliness.
Contemporary female fashion has reached a nadir unseen since Chinese foot binding and artificial cranial deformation.
In this episode of VICE Meets, Ben travels with David Haye, the Heavyweight Champion of the World, to Senegal on a visit to meet orphans and an old slave fort.
Now over 60 and recently retired, Vernon Treweeke, who's been referred to as Australia's reclusive godfather of psychedelic art, is ready to start the next phase of his career.
Set in east London, this story is for the most part true. Some of the names have been changed to protect the guilty.
As part of a tradition lifted from the Roman Catholic model, members of the devout commune Little Pebble Dohsyuku-kai gather each morning and await secret messages from the Virgin Mary.
At 8 AM on a sunny Tuesday morning I am on my way to a crisis site on East End Avenue at 82nd Street. The call had come in an hour or so earlier. "I presume you're in good physical fitness," Ron Alford had warned me over the phone.
Charles Willeford transcended the crime genre to which he was relegated by most publishers and critics. But if Willeford only wrote pulp, then so did Dostoyevsky and Hemingway.
I found Bukowski's unpublished manuscript about his time as a wrester.
One constant criticism I get about Vice is that the magazine has somehow changed over the years.
One of the main reasons that William T. Vollmann's writing is so expertly detailed and rich is because he is a master of both old-fashioned, shoe-leather research and the deskbound library variety.