By Jeff Walsh
Truth isn't stranger than fiction for Wilson Cruz.
When Cruz portrayed Rickie last year on the acclaimed-albeit-canceled television show "My So-Called Life," truth doubled as fiction as he brought his own painful and sometimes repressed memories of growing up gay to the screen.
The show was lauded by critics for its honesty and willingness to talk about real issues concerning teenagers. And as many television shows spent the holiday season making oh-so-hip references to "It's a Wonderful Life" while showing family togetherness scenes that would make Newt Gingrich feel all warm inside, My So-Called Life told a bitter truth as it followed Rickie, who ran away from home before Christmas because he was having problems with his sexuality.
A new book examines a gay son's suicide, and his mother's new life.
By Jeff Walsh
Bobby Griffith's four-year struggle with being gay and trying to live a Christian life ended on Aug. 27, 1983.
On that day, the twenty-year-old California man backflipped off a freeway overpass in Portland, OR., timing his leap so his body would be struck and killed by an oncoming tractor-trailer.
By Jeff Walsh
To this writer, gay pride always seemed an uneven mix of sex and politics. But that all changed when I went to the 1994 Pride Parade in New York City. I had written against gay pride parades before attending that event, but my viewpoint changed when I saw the school bus come down the street.
It's all kind of surreal now, so I don't know if it was a real school bus. For some reason, I think it was a fake float made to look like a school bus. In any event, the float was sponsored by the Hetrick-Martin Institute, a gay city high school.
As I've slowly become more aware of the possibility that any of the girls I know could be more with me, I've almost wished that my feelings had remained obscure. When the dance teacher comes close to me to show me where my position on the stage will be, I can smell her sweet perfume and am thinking about how attractive she is. I looks at the beautiful asian girls in my class and almost feel sad as I realize how nice they look. So then I started wondering: What's the different between simply admiring a woman's beauty - and feeling jealous - and being... turned on by what one sees? I think I intuitively know the answer to this, but whenever it comes to sexuality issues I second-guess myself.
modernist fragmentation, re-interpreted
I haven't been on for a while, sorry.
On Thursday, my mom found me blacked out in my bathroom. No one comes in my room so I had been there for a while. She couldn't wake me up because I had overdosed on Lituims, and painkillers, not to mention I had been using weed. She took me to the hospital and I had to get my stomach pumped. You don't want that expierence, trust me.
My brother, Jack, he's a year older than me (18) and him and his girlfriend got busted for selling and possesion of coke, and some weed and stuff. They go to court soon.
my poem ~feb. 23, 2003
I can't feel; I can't breathe
My throat shuts off
The pain is numbed by the fact I want to die
My lungs burn as the water comes in
The slits on my wrists bleed
As the water turns a dark red
My eyes are open and stare at nothing
I wait for him, the angel of death
To take me to hell, at least it's better then this.
My letter to Stacy, former friend. She called me a slut on Friday for some stupid shit. I sent it in the mail yesterday.
9 slashs... on my arms...
Yet, I should not have let
your hands hold me close
or your words steal my heart