PRINT January 1994


I COULDN’T FIGURE OUT how to edit Mark’s work down to just a few pages. Even at this point it seems so vast & ongoing. So in order to tell this story I decided to show you some of the pictures he took of me while we were boyfriends in. Boston, “Brilliant move, darling.” I can hear him snarl. “A story about me, featuring only pictures of you, taken ten years ago.” Not that I think. I look so great. We were both strung out, skinny little fags hoping to make it big between getting drunk, shoplifting at Goodwill and listening to Connie Francis records. Actually the money was always Mark. Even in, my mind. I started reading Prick Up Your Ears at one point and had to put it down in panic because I was identifying so strongly w/ the boyfriend’s story. The muse, the fuse, standing in the shadows of Love. I was a wreck and Mark seemed like he’d be the next Warhol if we could just get to New York.

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