I Often Thought Men Stank Of Rage;

I Can't Change The Past, And I Don't Think I Would. I Don't Expect To Be Understood. I Like What I've Written, The Stories And Two Novels. If I Had To Give Up What I've Written In Order To Be Clear Of This Disease, I Wouldn't Do It.

I Have Aids. I Am Surprised That I Do. I Have Not Been Exposed Since1977, Which Is To Say That My Experience, Myadventures In Homosexuality Took Place Largely In The1960s And '70s, And Back Then I Relied On Time And Abstinence To Indicate My Degree Of Freedom From Infectionand To Protect Others And Myself.

In New York One Lives In The Moment Rather More Than Socrates Advised, So That At A Party Or Alone In Your Room It Will Always Be Difficult To Guess At The Long Term Worth Of Anything.

The Cold Winds Of Insecurity... Hadn't Shredded The Dreamy Chrysalis Of His Childhood. He Was Still Immersed In The Dim, Wet Wonder Of The Folded Wings That Might Open If Someone Loved Him; He Still Hoped, Probably, In A Butterfly's Unthinking Way, For Spring And Warmth. How The Wings Ache, Folded So, Waiting; That Is, They Ache Until They Atrophy.

The Disparity Between What People Said Life Was And What I Knew It To Be Unnerved Me At Times, But I Swore That Nothing Would Ever Make Me Say Life Should Be Anything.