I grew up closeted, within a generation that spoke of "faggots" and "queers," and a culture that used axe-handles to impose sanctions.
I sat on the sidelines during the Summer of Love, and saw my friends drop out, drug out, and destroy a dream because the society we lived in didn't care. And over all hung the spectre of the dread disease, seen by some as God's response to queers.
I watched as our sons and daughters turned inward, worshipped the Me, and fed their egos on black boxes and earbuds, until all sense of community seems to be lost.
I've stayed hidden, a coward, seeing every opportunity slip away, until finally I am forcing myself to speak out; hoping that at least I can tell a tale or sing a song or two, and perhaps inspire someone to dream of liberty and justice.