AIDS Day Poem in Berlin

 

This writer carrying a photo of Keith Cylar at the Cylar memorial march and CD in Washington DC, 2004, recalling watching Parting Glances in 1986. 

This blogger with Tim after Worlds AIDS Day 2017.

ACTing up for Chechnya. 

 World AIDS Day in Berlin

Awake at 6. 

Greet the teenager. 

Welcome to December, they say. 

Oh yea, World AIDS Day. 

Last year we met for Candlelight vigil, poems and stories at memorial.

But I’m in Berlin. 

No plans like usual in New York, direct action with friends all over the city. 

Some films tonight, downtown. 

Out of the darkness

This year, it's into my memories.

Candlelight memories here, candles memories for Krystallnacht November pograms, 1938.

So many horrors.

So many spirits.

The avalanche of memories that linger and crawl through my mind as fall turns to winter.

I think about the first whispers and parting glances with Steve Buscemi, going away parties and changing lives in the 1980’s.

AIDS would be part of the storyline.

Fred moved in the previous fall and departed in ‘91, my first AIDS casualty. 

Each December, there would be candlelight vigils, for everyone at 1594 Market Street in San Francisco, mixed with memories of Harvey and Moscone.

By 1996, the world changed. 

Meds followed so did AIDS deaths, quieter, more remote, further on the periphery.

It's not over till it's over for everyone, Housing Works reminded us.  

Out of the darkness, speakers read the name after name in the cold, gone, their names reverberating across the buildings of Downtown 1997.

I marched with Keith and Charles and Housing Works after the Battle of Seattle in 1999. 

ACT UP romeo, Stephen G, treatment and pleasure activist for the ages, my SexPanic buddy would depart a few months later, too many mixed up meds for too many years to save him.

And the beat went on.

Year after year, losses becoming more and more complicated, more and more mixed into mosaic of neglect, one part poverty, two parts, race, puritanical zeal raging. 

Harm reduction, fuck safe, shoot clean, we counterred reminding the world Mary Magedeline, a sex worker, was the one who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears, finding him after he rose again. 

“Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in.”

One client after another, between this life and that, falling out of hotel windows, shot in the back on election day, on park benches, cold shivering, perishing, some of hepatitis, or aids, drugs, syringes can’t save everyone. 

Overdose after overdose.

Keith and I drank vodka cranberries after Sylvia Rivera died, up all night at the Rawhide.

He came home from a conference, went to bed, and never woke up.

Charles found his body in his East Village apartment in 2004. 

First we mourned, then we acted up, all of us getting arrested for Keith that spring, 

Keith Cylar keep up the struggle, we chanted outside the Capital, carrying his photos.

Chatting with Michael Kink and Charles all day long after we were arrested.

One CD after another, UN gas, 24 hours with Charles, arrest after arrest. 

Tim was usually there providing legal support. 

Elizabeth Owens and Laverne Holley were there with the VOCAL Crew, reminding us of the holy drug users, the homeless, the people still on the street, still striving. 

Felix punched by a cop, Occupying Wall Street, radical faerie lost in the streets, in the wind.

“Thank you for coming to work,” said Elizabeth Owens, hugging my kids.

“This is not a joke to me,” Owens screamed at ACT UP anniversary demo, standing with Andy Velez.  “I have hepatitis C, and they say my illness is not critical enough to get the medication to save my life...This is a day I want to live...I don't give a damn how long it takes. I'm gonna stand right here to make sure Pfizer and every other corporation lowers its medication [prices] now.... this is not about passing anybody by. If you can’t get treatment for everybody, I don’t want this.”

Tim was usually at every demo, 

May 2017, we ran into each other at the Free The Chechen 100 Emergency Action,  Kate and Eric and Jay there, always there. 

And every demo after that, trips downtown, uptown, to DC and back, bust after bust for healthcare, Tim wearing his Elizabeth Taylor hat, hugs and smiles at each action, greetings for the ages, in an increasingly cold city. 

Fighting about kids in cages in Texas, screaming for queers locked up Chechnya.

Tim and Mel at action after action, with Rev Billy, World AIDS Day, Rise and Resist at Grand Central Station, acting up through time. 

Hours after hour chatting in the car, zipping to and from DC, into jail and out. 

Are you going to DC?

Yes, i’ll save you a spot on the bus, he told me.

Tim called it a bromance. 

I called it friendship. 

Mel chuckled at it all, smiling, coming over for soup and movies on New Yeas in 2020.

And then Tim tripped on the subway stairs.

Mel took him to the hospital.
But his break wouldn’t heal.  

 Tim got sicker., held together by bandaids, said Kate.  

Each month worse. 

Something was wrong. 

COVID and ALS.

I visited a lot. 

Each week. 

I’m like a captive here, he told me at his house. 

Still reading poems, when I visited. 

I’m like a captive here, he told me at his house. 

I think Tim's last really good day was a year ago, on World AIDS Day, when Tim and Mel went out and saw everyone they knew, ate some food, and went to the candlelight ceremony.  I just missed them there. But we talked later.

He always smiled when I dropped by. 

Unable to speak. 

And then he was no more. 

And now they are all no more, Fred, Steven, Keith, Laverne, Felix, Elizabeth, Tim and Mel, my ever expanding, contracting New York tribe, waking me in Berlin, in my dreams and stories, in the sky, where we will all be stars, light candlelight, filling the night. 

RIP Irene, RIP friends. 

Mel and Tim, bottom, Steven, Keith,  RIP

Felix RIP. 

Laverne Holley, RIP

RIP Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth Owers RIP, 

Tim, Zack and I, World AIDS Day 2017. 

Tim posted a note after World AIDS Day 2021:

"Yesterday was special. I was taken down the stair by two lovely men from Senior Ride, an hour late for my seven hours in my Greenwich Village neighborhood. We were going to buy new pants, after I tore the back of my kaiki’s climbing up my in-home hospital bed, we walked up 7th Avenue.in my backpack was a marker, hoping to see Benjamin Heim Shepard to sign new book about SFCA marketplace. It was World AIDS Day. As we walked up 7th Avenue. Mary, my AIDE, my devotional care giver Spouse Melvyn, and my wheelchair carrying me. First, my desire for a Subway half size turkey Sandwich. Mary got one too. Melvyn does not eat lunch. We went back to the AIDS Memorial to eat. We sat in the Sun. We saw a lone man, working on his world AIDS Day poster.we walked to actual white metal art. We saw Doug of housing works setting up candles for the later event. We rolled around the park. At the AIDS Memorial we saw Ed Barrón.we talked, bringing up Matt Ebert and his niceness. Matt had invited Ed to their home. A staircase, that was climbing up and fell down. Matt took Ed to ER and home, stayed for a week helping Ed out. Ed was preparing to speak the AIDS Memorial avtivities at 5pm. A selfie with Ed, Melvyn and me. Ed talked of his visi ACTUPNY and how we met initially. He said ACTUPNY was where Ed turned when he seroconverted. Ed said that was where he met me and we became friends. We left in search of kaiki’s. Foot Looker was hip hop. I saw on on 14th Street, buildings I knew in past lives, were for sale. We walked halfway to 5th Avenue. I gave up on pants search. I said I wanted to pick my new ALS medication at Duane Reade. We entered, six foot apart waiting line. The store clerk said the prescription was at 18th and 7th Avenue, Duane Reade. The three amigos trekked up 7th Avenue. That pharmacist clerk said the medication was at 29th and 7 Avenue. I said in my halting voice, 14th and 7th my pharmacy. The lady said my pharmacy could have transferred the prescription in the first place. I said the clerk only told to go to her pharmacy. She said the medication could be available on Thursday. We left for my Special Dinner at 5pm, with family. I said walking down, I would like to visit the AIDS Memorial again. the crowd was forming now. All I could think of was loosing my paramours, to AIDS, Dean, Tony, Buddy, Donald, my lover Stephen, Paul, and Michael. Then I saw Valerie and Jennifer Johnson Avril, I bursted out crying. Everyone looked for tissues, Valerie came to the rescue. Jason Rosenberg hugged me. Tim Murphy hugged me.I balled. Jennifer said do you want to go home to rest, I said I have to go to a special dinner. We left. I had blanket all day. My feet were ice cold. Walking and Rolling to the restaurant Morandi on Waverly Place and 7th Avenue. Melvyn said we were eating outside. Just then we saw Michael Kerr and Joan McAllister. Michael had cornered all the outdoor gheaters. Mary rearrangedk blanket. Joan had a blanket too! I had a Roy Rodgers drink, coke, with cherrys. Marion arrived and she liked the Shirley Temple drink.Adults were drinking white wine and red wine. Michael Kerr announced it is Timothy’s 21st Birthday.I was elated. We ordered I stuck with Minestrone alla Genovese soup and Focaccia Margherita. Others ordered Insalata Verde, Insalata d'indivia, risotto topped with Osso Buco, scallops stuffed in big pasta shells, with cream sauce and a artichoke plate toasted plate. Then they brought out a Classic NOVASERRA

GRECO DI TUFO wine for my first drink at Sweet 21. I told everyone it was my last birthday. Everyone said no,it should be every month. Another said every quarter. Then someone said every Spring and Summer months. I like Birthdays, especially mine. Then Cinderella’s attaché said, it’s 7 occlock, it’s 7 occlock, we have an important date with our carriage.so Melvyn left for the 2 senior ride men. Melvyn tapped on window of driver, asking if they were here to pick Timothy, they no. As Melvyn walked away, they hollowed we are just kidding.Meanwhile, the staff brought me a lighted candle tiramisu dessert. The staff (6 or more) and dinner guests, all sang Happy Birthday. Party crasher Melvyn returned saying we had to go. Grabbing my wheelchair, my feet were not on the wheelchair. Mary quickly put cold feet back on the wheelchair. Marion carried left over bags. I lost my GRYT new hat and mouthpiece case. At home, everyone entered, while I did the transfer to stair-chair.

During the come up, the apartment had to be cleared for my arrival of guests. Then a lot of fuss getting me in the bed. My legs were cold up my thighs. Melvyn was tired, so he went to bed. Mary went home, Marion helped get ready for bed. Cinderella slept well."