On the other hand continuing the vein of the previous post, I’m considering the works of two of the finest writers I’ve ever read who were two gay men and that is Tennessee Williams and Truman Capote.  There’s darkness here, but a thread of brilliant light shed by their own perspective.  And both of them celebrated life, and seemed at peace with  the men they were and I think the secret is that there’s isn’t so much darkness as there is intensity and truth, not manufactured bizarre scenarios.  And I wonder if the richness of their work comes from not only having God-given talent but from being at peace with who they were.  There isn’t the freakish element thrown in perhaps because they weren’t leading a double life, one side they wouldn’t own up to? Nor did they hide behind pretension, hell’s bells, they didn’t need it.

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