Thirteen years ago Brian died of a heroin overdose. "Maybe you ought to get a 13 tattooed on you." Shannon said as I paced the kitchen. Thirteen is a magic number. The moon has thirteen lunar cycles, it also travels thirteen degrees across the sky every day. As human beings we have thirteen major joints, it's a fibonacci number, there are 13 archimedean solids. Thirteen is also the number of the Death card in tarot, the card of rebirth, old cycles dying while giving birth to the spirit. We both knew this was going to be a transitional year. But it's been a good year, full of new experiences, and a wisdom I have never known before. This year I came into my own.
And with that just a few days ago another cycle ended. It was the day of Cynthia Von Buhler's Dr. Sketchy's. I was running late and planned on wearing a fancy dress. Five minutes before Liz and I were about to leave I changed my mind, furiously changing into my gypsy skirt and ripped up Beatles shirt, grabbing the pistol necklace off the bureau and cut bangs. We headed to Bowery Poetry Club, leopard print coats and all. The Sketchy's was wonderful and all my favorite people were in attendance. We had plans to go to the afterparty in Cynthia's hotel room.
As it turned out that Hotel happened to be the Chelsea Hotel, a hotel I have been obsessed with for years. Now the odd thing is Brian and I had a Sid and Nancy type relationship. We almost died to the Soundtrack as well. The reason I've been obsessed with the hotel was because so many of our favorite people had lived there, not to mention we wanted to live there. We'd settle for a squat if needed. So we went to the hotel and into the room, room 103.
Now we couldn't stay that long at Cynthia's party as there was a Hubert Sumlin show we had plans to see but we drank some champagne, took some photos on the staircase and headed over to Iridium. Now I love me some Howlin' Wolf music and Hubert originally played with Muddy Waters so I was in my glory. Later that evening the Sex Pistols took over the jukebox as we drank in a LES bar.
The next morning Cynthia and I talked about the significance of room 103. Originally Nancy was killed in room 100 which they have since removed and added to another room. They don't say which room but Cynthia and I entertained that it could be 103 as it was the room right next to 100 at the time. Later Liz and I discussed how weird it was that I changed my mind so drastically and wore that pistol necklace, how I had been talking about the car ride that almost took my life, and how sometimes strange things happen to bring you to new places in your life.
So this the thirteenth year is finally the year I don't feel sadness. There's a sense of calm and being grounded tonight, like everything will be ok. Maybe the ghost of Nancy Spungen is asking us all to move on. Brian would be proud.