It was the beginning of the end in 1990, the beginning of the end of the Cold War, the beginning of the end of a century, and the beginning of the end of countless young lives, a new decade ushered in by AIDS. And amidst all of this, a generation of queer Xers was coming of age.
“I just. I just want to feel fucking free. Free of all of this weight. Free without responsibility, guilt. Consequence. Free like I felt before my Mother died. Or that I imagine I did if I could remember it all. Free like I feel in my flying dreams. I wish I could stay young forever and never grow up. Hopefully I never will. Or I’ll Die. One of those tragic, young deaths still read about and fretted over decades later. The genius claimed too soon and that. I don’t fucking know where I’m going with all of this. Bound to die, no matter what, but still feeling the need to hightail it out of here as soon as I can in all of the ways that I can. Tiananmen Square happened on my birthday last June and The Berlin Wall fell last November. It feels like the world’s gone off the fucking rails, sometimes. I mean, it has. Having sex these days is a risk of your life and I haven’t even done it yet. The whole thing’s just really confusing. All Apologies.”
This is my current work in progress, the story I’ve lived and the story I’m writing. Just one. Among many. Read the first chapter here.
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