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My mother and I moved to New York in 1978 when I was three. Right now I am looking at a picture of her and me taken the day of by my grandfather in front of the Bells of Hell. Our first apartment was above it. She's wearing a red scarf and a hippy-looking peasant skirt with little mirrors sewn into it and I'm wearing a Yankees cap, and we're grinning like idiots. The picture next to it, taken by her, shows my grandparents grimly strollering me at the corner of Broome and LaFayette, or maybe Grand. They were not happy. I have on these moddish amber sunglasses.
One of my earliest memories is of lying asleep in that apartment above the Bells of Hell and hearing my grandmother call to me from the hallway. I woke up and asked my mother about it, but of course my grandmother wasn't there. I also remember eating yogurt in that apartment, being spanked with a wooden spoon there, and my mother's boyfriend's cat, named Gato.
I remember the Magickal Childe, too--my first real job, for a word processing bureau called (for some reason) Flashback, was up the street. I shoplifted Tantra books from there in high school. My first not-so-real job, at the Dinosaur Hill toy shop on east 9th, was across the street from the other major NYC occult shop, Enchantments, which is still there. I don't know what relationship there was between Enchantments and the Magickal Childe.
What I'm saying is, my life is steeped in this magickal lore, I am obviously a reincarnated magus, and you, or Chris Claremont at the very least, should fear me. |
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