The historian in me is impressed by any work of scholarship that can have such a powerful effect on a reader. It was mostly beige, but also featured the reddish color of blood. History at San Francisco State University. Since that time I have been less inclined to share the stories of my suicide and in the last decade or two I have been repeatedly surprised to realize that some of my closest friends do not know that I almost did not live to my nineteenth birthday. Inafter my first year of college, I was murdered.
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From a sense of our homosexuality as a personal and devastating fate, a private, secret shame, we moved with often dizzying speed to the consciousness of ourselves as members of an oppressed social group…. When I was younger I used to talk with friends and acquaintances more regularly about what happened to me during the summer ofwhen I was living at home with my family in the New York suburbs after an emotionally devastating year. There were also the lives and loves I imagined for the storyteller, his comrades, and his audience.
Over time, the stories multiplied.