“I hope it’s not a masochistic impulse within me, but I will always stay until the end to see how a creative thought completes itself.”
You’re telling me: / chicanery, the moorhen, / the long triple happy fluid, / the orange response. / By golly that tastes good.
So they invite you to Nueva York, all expenses paid, to participate in an event for Stonewall, twenty years after the police brawl starring the gay girls who, in 1964, took over a bar in the Village.
It’s been two years since Taylor Mead left us to take his role as the Jester Fool Poet of the Great Bohemia in the Sky, but he is still a very living presence on the Lower East Side.
Brooklyn-based Shelley Marlow, a first-time novelist, has created a memorable protagonist in Philomena/Phillip, a late-bloomer if ever there was one, a performance artist and researcher in 2001 New York.
Lyle Ashton Harris’s work explores intersections between the personal and the political, examining the impact of ethnicity, gender, and desire on the contemporary social and cultural dynamic.
There are numerous pleasures in encountering Herstory Inventory, a project initiated and organized by the artist Ulrike Müller, not least of which include a collection of 100 drawings by artists whom I love and admire.
Things to remember better: Ferd Eggan entered my life in San Francisco in 1969, the year I dropped out of Berkeley.
On New Year’s Eve 1980, I watched the new-wave band Human Sexual Response perform at the now defunct Boston Phoenix. I was 14 and my sister and her classmates from the Massachusetts College of Art snuck me past security.
“The tragedy of imperialism is that its dehumanizing machinery disrupts the cultures of the colonized. That’s why after imperial powers conquer a nation it sometimes takes centuries for the conquered to create cohesive civilizations again and to regain their identity.”
B.C. Edwards reviews Max Schaefer’s Children of the Sun which is absolutely not a book about gay British neo-Nazis
“The more I learned about him the more addicted I became, the more I wanted to meet absolutely anybody who had met him.”
“The first level of risk is very private; most of the time I feel I’m writing against a silence, against a taboo, against what has not been written; and if it has been written, there’s no reason for me to write it.”
“I was writing 16-hour days. The real difficulty was writing the fractured language. My tendency is to make everything beautiful.”
In the early hours of December 7, 1990, in his Hell’s Kitchen apartment in New York, the exiled Cuban writer Reinaldo Arenas committed suicide.
Your skin is your uniform. A beacon and a membrane. Something to hold it all together.
Excerpts from Ada Gay Griffin and Michelle Parkerson’s film A Litany for Survival, on the great American poet, Audre Lorde. Tributes and insights from the poet herself, friends and family on what it means to live in the heart.