Archive | City Matters

Rebecca Collerton, 3/10/65-4/27/18

I loved Rebecca Collerton. She was gruff but she had to be, what with that huge heart she was toting around and our retrogressive world and her utter inability to suffer fools. She always snuck a cookie into my bag—a nudge, which she and Caroline Fidanza let me name—and she helped me launch my Ruby Intuition practice. It wasn’t just that she and Saltie co-owners Elizabeth Schula and Caroline had me read for everybody who was anybody on their little brown bench on New Years Day, 2010. It was that she hand-lettered my signs and made a special potion to take the edge off the readings by relabeling a Powers Whiskey bottle “Psychic Powers Whiskey” and then kept quietly quietly refilling my glass when I wasn’t looking. I knew if I had Bex’s seal of approval then I couldn’t totally be full of shit and I went from there, her good wind all I needed on my back. And she let me read for her and took what I saw to heart enough to let it be good wind on her back. Continue Reading →

peonies and pennies and twice is not a curse

Once when I had been making love for hours with a man I loved who loved me, he went to kiss my arm and kissed his own instead.

This was a man I’d seen on a subway and then on a sidewalk and then on a subway, a man who had finally strode up to me with a grin and worried, kind eyes and said, “I fear I’d be terribly remiss if I did not say hello” and it was ok, the way he phrased it, because he was British and it didn’t feel like we were in the present so much as a noir of a neverexistent 1930s–

–a present that seemed like a future of a past infinitely purer and prettier than anything dreamed by this present–

and so we began circling each other, going for walks in the parks, meeting for chaste diner breakfasts, falling in step with birds, early spring air, the stoops of 90s brownstone brooklyn jamaican patties kids biking barbeque smoke smog pollen, until one day he bent down and his mouth met mine

and we fell into each other like it was where we were supposed to be all along. Continue Reading →

Eternally on the Bus

At 88, he was old enough. Certainly he had lived a bold enough life for a whole army of men in white suits. But upon hearing the news of Tom Wolfe’s death today I still find myself welling up on the streets of a city he loved and documented so brilliantly. Through him we found all the letters besides the 5 Ws and all the colors in “just the facts, ma’am.” O sharp shooter (o sharp suiter), o master of the vanities, without you I never would have found my stranger-than-fiction mission. You lit up Ameriker and the republic of NYC with just the psychedelic bonfire we needed. This girl in brown lipstick beams you eternal love and gratitude.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy