I don’t know WHY it’s just hitting me today but 1/31 was the 20th anniversary of my gay-bashing. Twenty fuckin’ years. Twenty years, since I walked jauntily around my environs and enjoyed life the way a man should. Twenty years since I eeked out a living as writer, living mostly off of Scott’s money, though I told myself it was off my living as a writer. I used his resources while I despicably went around with another behind his back. Many times, I’ve wondered if I didn’t DESERVE the beating Ian and Glen gave me for the way I treated Scott like a heart-sick ATM.
Arguing for my independence with my trust lords has gotten really old, really fast. See, I’m like a poor man’s Brittany Spears: all my money is in a special needs trust, dispensed as need be by my Trustees: Gil Roth and Peter Johnson. Gil, I’ve been friends with since St. John’s. Peter does this for a living, & cuts me a world of always legal and ethical slack. More tomorrow. Nighty-night.
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