Cooper is the spokesman for the bored, sensitive, nearly inarticulate Blank Generation dedicated to drugs, kink and a fragile sense of beauty fashioned out of the detritus of American suburbs. He picks out the rims of caves for his eyeballs and ears. The lantern jaw fastens below them, studded with teeth. He comes to the long shapely bones of Mark's shoulders, toying with them until two blades resembling manta rays swim the surface. He clutches his way to both elbows.
Ribs ride short breaths to the touch.
He grasps Mark's hips and their structure floats up to him. Even the question of whether to write about AIDS or not is strife-torn. Only in that way, they argue, will a gay heritage be passed down to a post-plague generation. This generation is imperiled. Many who were robust a year ago were now dramatically thin or blind or covered with lesions.