By Jeff Walsh
Many gay teens have crushes on their best friends. Some insist that if they could just manage to tell their friend "I'm gay" at the right moment, things might combust into kissing, sex and an amazing relationship. But the words rarely come, and if they do, it rarely ends up being a mutual feeling -- although we've all heard tales of such teenaged best friends-turned-lovers that make us all feel a slight tinge of envy. But they are truly the exception.
By Jeff Walsh
"The Radical Right Has Blood On Its Hands" screams a yellow flyer emblazoned with a bloody red palm print. "They're killing us," the flyer continues on the flip side, "The Radical Right tells us that we're abnormal and forces us to live our lives locked in the closet of fear and shame."
The flyer is promoting SQUIRM! a coalition of queer youth planning to protest this month at the GOP National Convention in San Diego. The youth will speak out at a special time from the protest area outside the convention. Queer youth "action teams" will also be posted near events around town that will be attended by the GOP delegates.
By Jeff Walsh
A new film documents the era and events that led to riots at the Stonewall bar in New York City in 1969. "Stonewall," the movie based in part on Martin Duberman's book of the same name, tells a powerful story about drag queens who refused to be hassled by police any longer, and fought back. The riots are considered the birth of the modern day gay and lesbian rights movement.
*inspired by the song "Lover's Spit" by Broken Social Scene.
Golden red, your arms were a sinewy fence around
my form as we sat on the fire escape overlooking
a schizophrenic town.
Your lips tickled my cheek and I stroked the back
of your head, twisting
my fingers in your burnt wheat-colored strands.
"Remember when we used to get excited over
the smallest things," I asked.
"Like kissing awkwardly and
stumbling through doorways,
dragging in the scent of fresh
cut grass and angel's sweat?"
"Yeah," you said. "But let's play it out again,
baby, before Philadelphia
Thanks to all who read and left notes for my first journal entry, it's great to know that people here understand and care.
I've decided, with the urging of my brothers, to write a separate journal about how each of us met, which will lead to how we ended up being brothers.
I was three when my mom died, and honestly I don't remember her much. Fortunately we have lots of pictures of her, but otherwise she's just an illusion to me.
This will likely "strike home" for more than just a few Oasies™. The longing to be important in the life of another is well portrayed!
Let me tell you, my step-mother was a nasty piece of work. Greedy, manipulative, conniving and evil. She had given birth, the result of her first trap, to a male reptile two years younger than I. A boy who would live his life just as protected and probably even more swaddled outside of her womb as he was when he was still at the larva stage of his development.
Hey everyone. I'm back again. I've been pretty sick. I will probably get surgery in the next month or so. I hope it'll make me better. I might have to stop dancing for awhile. It's pretty depressing. I'll live though.
In the summer, the weed will ascend through the air, drifting in the comfort of the breezes that puncture the heat.
To avoid wilting, dig through the basic soil and lift the vegetation. Separate the roots and hold the leaves in the heat of the sun. As the acid pours from a cloudless sky, allow the plant to metamorphose and play with imaginary letters in a disillusioned Heaven.
As the music stops, pull the television chord and allow the Earth to choke to death.
The needles and discs of PVC were the harbingers of transcendence.
