I want to die, just not any time soon.
Two days after reading in the morning paper that Allen Ginsberg was dying of cancer, I read that he had died. In high school, alone and afraid, I’d heard there were men who loved other men, but I’d never heard anyone admit to it. Ginsberg was the first. Not only did he love other men, but he was Jewish as well. So I felt hopeful, knowing I wasn’t the only one. Later, when he became interested in Buddhism, I found that equally wonderful. (I’ve always felt like a Buddhist trapped inside a Jewish body.) But when I read his writings, I was surprised to find that I didn’t like them. And when, many years later, I had the chance to spend time with him on several occasions, I found Ginsberg the man as difficult as his words. But Ginsberg the idea, Ginsberg the symbol has always remained important to me, so I was deeply saddened by his death.
