Postcards from the Edge or: New York State of Mind
A powerful story of initiation and breaking open the head and what it’s like to be dogged by Gods and spirits.
(The picture above was taken at the White House Hotel. I knew the resident who owned this picture: his entire cubicle was wallpapered with pictures of the Madonna).
I came to New York because I had nowhere else to go.
Growing up in Montrose, Pennsylvania the Village Voice was culture, wit, sophistication — everything Montrose was, wasn’t. The Voice arrived at Corky’s Deli and Magazine Stand each week, sitting beside Sports Illustrated and Custom Vans like a shining beacon of something better. From the time I was 13 the Voice was my ticket to dreams of art I would never see, concerts I would never hear, friends I would never have.
Now it is late summer 1994: I am twenty-nine years old and awakening fitfully on a discarded sofa in upper Tribeca. The Voice is free in Manhattan now: so is the New York Press. I crumpled up half a dozen copies…
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