![]() ![]() You know me as Billy Idol, the hell-raising rebel who’s lived life to the full-sometimes fuller than life would allow. Some thirty-three years later, I come to you again, with a story to tell. The heavens blazed my coming to America that first night with shooting stars and a strange halo effect that may well have been the man in the moon laughing at my audacity. Surely this city, with its skyscrapers reaching into the ozone, touching hitherto unknown heights, might welcome yet another stranger in a strange land, one more explorer doing his damndest to act unafraid in the face of his exceedingly uncertain future. ![]() I came to New York in the spring of 1981, my Country Gentleman guitar in one hand, a suitcase in the other, the trunk with my pink Elvis ’50s-style jacket, and the sum of my effects on my back. DANCING WITH MYSELF THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTOBIOGRAPHY ![]()
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