The year was 1982. AIDS was still in its infancy. Jim and I were living in New York City in the artist's loft near City Hall. It was the year of our big breakup after nine long monogamous years together. Jim had just given me my first diary for Christmas. I remember that seemed odd. Jim must have known I'd need it. In February I went to Venice solo. Jim left me on the night I returned, for a disco twinkie half his age. That was the beginning of my journey. For four months I went wild, making up for lost time. It was rough, ups and downs, mostly miserable, but beautiful when I gave up control. I bought my black leather motorcycle jacket, but I never owned a motorcycle. Abbey was my salvation. He and my therapist Terrence. I discovered my real family, my community, with new inner growth and maturation. By year's end my diary was full and I was on a new journey founded on love. I had arrived safely.
Upon Arrival: A Fictionalized Memoir in Diary Form
The year was 1982. AIDS was still in its infancy. Jim and I were living in New York City in the artist's loft near City Hall. It was the year of our big breakup after nine long monogamous years together. Jim had just given me my first diary for Christmas. I remember that seemed odd. Jim must have known I'd need it. In February I went to Venice solo. Jim left me on the night I returned, for a disco twinkie half his age. That was the beginning of my journey. For four months I went wild, making up for lost time. It was rough, ups and downs, mostly miserable, but beautiful when I gave up control. I bought my black leather motorcycle jacket, but I never owned a motorcycle. Abbey was my salvation. He and my therapist Terrence. I discovered my real family, my community, with new inner growth and maturation. By year's end my diary was full and I was on a new journey founded on love. I had arrived safely.