An Aries Knows (this site is more fun when people read and comment)
Today’s coffee cup (it’s blurry; so am I), brought to you by Tom, is from Alonti Cafe and Catering. It was part of a gift bag he received a few years ago while he was working on a Habitat for Humanity home through AIDS Foundation Houston. AFH is the third HIV/AIDS assistance organization with whom Tom has volunteered over the past eleven years. I think he’s a stand-up guy, that Tom. He can’t be doing it for the coffee cups, because we have an abundance.
For several days now, Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” has been a constant refrain playing through my head. In hopes of ridding myself of this earworm–even though it’s a good one–here’s one of my few posts that actually reveals personal information about my past. I’m sure I’ll only leave it up for a day or two before I become horrified and make it private and inaccessible.
One thing about Tom and me having no kids… There’s no captive audience for our longass boring stories. And you are free, too–you can save yourself by not reading:
Recently, at the Houston Galleria, I shot the following photos of a window display.
see photos
I’m sure Timothy James Beck is one of many authors who’ve been contacted by Helping People With AIDS (HPWA) in Arkansas for donation of autographed items for their fundraising auction this fall.
Never, EVER hesitate to contact us for something like this. It is always a pleasure and an honor to assist any HIV/AIDS organization because of the good work they do for our communities.
In February of ’98, fourteen months after John died, his boyfriend James decided to accompany me on a trip to New York City. It was my first trip there, and I would be meeting my on-line friends (and new writing partners) Tim and Timmy face-to-face for the first time. James had lived in New York years before, and his sister was still living there, so he planned to help me navigate through my first couple of days in Manhattan, then spend the rest of his vacation with her.
Before our trip, I decided to do something special for him. I had part of a shirt that had been John’s, made of a crimson, velvet-like fabric, that James had loved and cut up, giving a portion to me. I used a cuff, with its button and buttonhole, to make a tiny bag. I went to Wild Earth (a local metaphysical store) to look for some special stones to put into the bag. I love stones and crystals, and James and I had given each other a few in the past.
When I was shopping at Wild Earth, I ran into James. We exchanged a panicked look and a mutual, “What are YOU doing here?” Clearly, we were on a similar errand. We both sort of got lost from each other and never mentioned it again.
Until we boarded our plane a few days later. Once we were settled in our seats, I reminded James that I’m not a good flyer. His idea of comfort was to say, “If we go down, at least we’ll die together.” Of course I smacked his arm. Then, only minutes from departure, I reached into my purse just as he reached into his bag, both of us saying, “I wanted to give you something before we leave…”
Then we laughed, because he’d made a small bag for me from part of the collar of that same shirt of John’s, and tied it with gold thread I’d used to string together dried rosebuds from John’s memorial service. We traded our little red pouches, and he examined the stones and crystals I’d selected for him, while I smiled like an idiot and thanked him for this.
One of the panels I was most eager to attend at Saints and Sinners was “Is AIDS still part of the plot?” Moderated by Thomas Keith, the panelists were Jameson Currier, Martin Hyatt, Robert Taylor, and Patricia Nell Warren. I was pleased to see a good turnout, and a lot of excellent points were made by those in attendance as well as by the panelists.
I’m still mulling over those discussions. AIDS was the biggest reality of my life from 1990 to 1997, at which point, like many people (most of whom endured a hell of a lot more than I did), I had to back away. Exhaustion, grief, rage, caregiving, activism, despair–all took a toll on those who survived the massive losses of the 1980s and first half of the 1990s. Two major changes required new approaches to the epidemic–the affected population and the appearance of protease inhibitors, and those new approaches needed people with fresh energy and commitment.
I would still donate a voice–I’ve never stopped advocating on behalf of those with HIV/AIDS–and I would still donate money, but it was necessary for me to take some time to grieve for my own personal losses. I knew many people who died, but four of them were among my dearest friends. Although those four had encouraged me never to shut up about the things I’d seen and the things they and their friends and lovers went through, they also wanted what anyone wants for those they love–that I be happy.
When the last of the four was gone, I was left wondering if I’d ever laugh again the same way. Feel joy. Hope. Optimism. If I’d ever know friendships again with that kind of intensity and loyalty and depth.
Of course, I have. Along with those who supported me during the hard times, I met friends who were willing and uniquely able to help lift the baggage I came with. Oh, even more. Friends who were willing to let me open those bags and show what was inside over and over, as often as I needed to, until finally it wasn’t baggage at all. It was part of my history and part of what kept four men I loved from being only names on Quilt panels.
I think it’s vital that people write their AIDS realities into fiction. I often read blogs of people who survived those first fifteen years; they are riveting. And their stories still provoke discussion and arguments. Those are the stories wherein AIDS is often the entire picture.
From the last ten-plus years, we also need stories wherein AIDS is, as Patricia Nell Warren said, “part of the mosaic.” Not the whole story, but part of the story. The storytellers need to come from all of the affected populations and speak to all of the affected populations.
Writers of gay fiction faced a challenge in that readers were tired, so tired, of tragedy and heartbreak. Just as my friends hoped for me, people wanted to laugh again. To feel joy. To read about love that wasn’t doomed and sex that wasn’t fatal.
Although in the six novels I’ve helped write, we’ve lost an important character because of AIDS and referred to the deaths of several others, I, personally, have never been able to fictionalize what happened to me between 1990 and 1997. I think there’s one circumstance in IT HAD TO BE YOU and one line in HE’S THE ONE that came directly out of my experience. Beyond that, the most I have consciously done is make safer sex and HIV/AIDS part of the awareness of the characters I write.
The way that I do honor my friends, the living and the dead, and all the friendships that were written about and so profoundly affected me from that first AIDS fiction, is to write about people who are fiercely loyal to one another. Who are there for each other across many years. Who transform their breakups and their rivalries and their misunderstandings into forgiveness, support, and friendship. Who still believe in love and hopeful endings. Those are the qualities of the friends I knew and lost. They are the qualities of the friends I still have.
If it’s an organic part of what we, or I, write, I hope that HIV/AIDS will always be some part of our novels. I only want to make sure that it’s written authentically.
If I’d gotten nothing else out of Saints and Sinners (and I got more than I ever imagined I would), the thoughts this panel provoked about my writing made it worth it.
On Sunday, 21 May 2006, thousands of communities around the world will come together in solidarity to light candles and remember those who have been affected by HIV/AIDS. Each year, memorials take place in over 4,500 communities in more than 93 countries. The International AIDS Candlelight Memorial has become the largest grassroots AIDS event in the world.
It’s surreal to find myself on the same side as Rick Santorum, but HIV/AIDS knows no political party affiliations, so I called my two senators after getting the following e-mail:
Continue reading “From One.org”
Steve. Died 1992.
Jeff. Died 1995.
What the world lost: Your sharp wit. Your political passion. Your desire for justice. Your strong will. Your anger. Your generosity. Your love of beauty.
John. Died 1996.
What the world lost: Your twinkling eyes. Your mischief. Your humor. Your zest for a good time. Your vulnerability. Your gentleness. Your sweet nature.
Tim. Died 1997.
What the world lost: Your courage. Your compassion for anyone who was hurting. Your boundless love. Your ability to give comfort. Your protectiveness. Your kindness. Your strength.
