crowd in front of the stonewall inn, new york city, ca. 1969; photographer unknown My first semester at City College, that’s when I met Ruben. I’d noticed him right away, in U.S. History class. The way you do when you’re family. Not the first gay I saw in the wild there, but the first I’d … Continue reading queer history & us versus them.
page one. I don’t think I ever told her what led me to her that day — a conversation with Jane, of all things. We’d been on the phone and she’d read me the riot act about my most recent fucked-up, long distance romance — another straight woman, of course, “For fuck’s sake, find someone queer. And one that … Continue reading sand & ache – song for lady j.
I’d seen the news break as I moved from the couch to my bedroom early that Sunday morning. Half here, half there, I don’t remember exactly what I’d read. A shooting. A nightclub. Orlando. Then I drifted off to sleep again, an echo of a long ago Tuesday. I don’t remember exactly what I was … Continue reading empty and heavy.
aidsgate poster, act up, 1987. I walked the short walk that night from our little cottage to Chasen’s Restaurant with Melanie, my partner at the time, her best friend, Pete, and his partner, Jeff —I was twenty-three and on my way to my first protest. Pete was the first person with AIDS that I knew. He’d … Continue reading speaking ill of the dead.
Living life on the fringe is not a new thing for me. Even as a kid, the mothers at school often told me, “You march to your own drumbeat.” And I had a father that let me. Or rather, was relatively absent, wrapped up in work, emotionally unavailable — your typical blue-collar man. Of course, years later … Continue reading that something, that place, & the fear.
zoo house lobby, 2013. The invitation arrived at Zoo House, in a conspicuous, thick, silver envelope, addressed in a hand of fine calligraphy, poking out of the top of my little black mailbox in our run-down lobby in Berkeley, I tucked it under my arm on my way up after class. I dumped my stuff and … Continue reading fear and loathing at a billionaire’s gay wedding.
sand & ache, 9/2015. My ego still bruised, my heart still tender. But I was starting to feel The Pan again, newly emerged from the cold, dark crevasse of recent heartbreak, another Wendy fled. Writing and hustle my remedy, surrounding myself with folx that are able to see me. Half-dressed for the joe-job, in medias res, … Continue reading gaze at me blind.