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On The Eve Of My Departure

Forgive the Mess

Marsha, Randy and Sylvia were all long time gay activists and Stonewall veterans. Marsha was a mutual friend of Randy and Sylvia, considered the "Saint of Christopher Street" by many. Randy and Sylvia, despite similar goals and mutual friends, maintained a lifelong rivalry. After Marsha's mysterious death in 1992, they decided to reconcile their differences for Marsha. 

MARSHA: (Mr. Wicker)
RANDY: I was always with her.
MARSHA: (Mr. Wicker)
SYLVIA: For all she was giving she always forgave.
RANDY: (She gave me life)

SYLVIA: Yeah she made her noise, especially when she hustled boys on.
42nd Street, She took me in, made me complete.
MARSHA: (42nd Street, I took her in)

MARSHA: (Sylvia, We were the change)
SYLVIA: We started a movement, we were the change.

RANDY: I was there too, you know.
SYLVIA: Fighting me.
RANDY: Making change.
SYLVIA: Making rules.
RANDY: Building tools

SYLVIA: Says the tool.
RANDY: I’m sorry Sylvia.
SYLVIA: Me too.

SYLVIA: But what can you do? If she liked you, I’ll like you too.

RANDY: We lived in two worlds
SYLVIA: On the street.
RANDY: In the rooms.

MARSHA: Can’t do much to change her, but please don’t be a stranger.
SYLVIA/RANDY: (Two different worlds)


RANDY: But, Sylvia… Why were you so loud?
SYLVIA: I’m gay and proud.
RANDY: And annoying.
SYLVIA: Angry.
RANDY: Ploying.
SYLVIA: I’m enjoying this.
RANDY: Like old times.

RANDY/SYLVIA: We lived in two worlds, and the world was changing. We made all that mess, For the best. For eachother.

MARSHA: (Mr. Wicker)
RANDY: She’d call through the door after dates and then tell it all.

MARSHA: (Sylvia)
SYLVIA: I hear it still, flowers in her hair.
RANDY/SYLVIA: Her last ten dollars went to lillies and daisies.

SYLVIA: She still did that when she was living with you?
RANDY: Are you kidding? There were petals all over the floor.

RANDY/SYLVIA: We lived in two worlds, but she changed everyone’s.

My Friend Marsha

Living in bars and behind them.
Walking in strangers cars.
Living under the stars,
Without a place to go.
Where no one knows.

Boys in blue with a gun
Something against fun
We were beat, hurt and depraved.
To hell with well behaved

Street queens cramped in hotels.
Drugged up, with bodies to sell.

Living in bars and behind them
Walking in strangers cars
dying under the stars
in a chosen home.

Home is where the heart is
allowed to fall apart
connected from the start
and now it's gone.

Living in bars and behind them 
Given no other choice
But at least I had my voice
and I paid for that

So let me ask

Where where the "boys"?
The moderate armchair liberators?
Where was the cause?
Did they pause for the freaks?
The same the pricks,
who were crying when we threw bricks.

Living in Bars

The Worst of You

Father's Day

These are the colors
In the shades that I fell for you
And the brush of your gifted touch

The glow of the snow
The crackle of our shoes
The hues of your laughter 
And your blues.

A towering city
Over our dirty room
Bundled against a creamy moon

Am I blind
To throw behind
My other senses
I spend time
Behind my old
Defenses 

These are the colors
In the shades that I fell for you
And the brush of your gifted touch
 
 the earth in your iris
The strength of your virus
Taken  for granted when I took you.

Break the branches
Grow the chances

These are the colors
In the shades that I fell for you
And the brush of your gifted touch
 
The mellow of sunrise 
The yellow of your sighs 
The shine of the drop in the morning dew    

Put me on you palette
And canvas

Portfolio

A.A.