Nobody listens to Casssandras.

In August 1987, I found myself in one of the safest spots on the planet during an event of cosmic importance.

The individual responsible for opening my way to magic was a flamboyant gay biker artist with a dangerous fancy for the Hell’s Angels and a serious interest in the notorious Aleister Crowley. An excerpt from my new book, Touched By The Presence: From Blondie's Bowery and Rock and Roll to Magic and the Occult, out this autumn.

How do we get from one brain to the other?