I read this article in Raw Story today, about Pope Benedict XVI's Easter message:
http://www.365gay.com/...
Just a few snippets of this message of love and compassion and then my response.
The Pope speaks of the sinners:
"Lord, we have lost our sense of sin," he said. "Today a slick campaign of propaganda is spreading an inane apologia of evil, a senseless cult of Satan, a mindless desire for transgression, a dishonest and frivolous freedom, exalting impulsiveness, immorality and selfishness as if they were new heights of sophistication."
Although was his first public comment on same-sex marriage since becoming Pope, Benedict had long history of attacking same-sex unions.
The Pope is consistent:
As Cardinal Ratzinger he was the Vatican's most outspoken opponent of gay marriage.
*
He was the author of the a 2003 Vatican directive to priests around the world calling for a proactive stand to stop governments from legalizing same-sex marriage and for a repeal of those those already on the books that give rights, including adoption, to gay couples.
My response:
HOWL FOR THE FAGGOTS
by Nightprowlkitty
I saw my friends die, I saw them waste away and die as the leader of the free world refused to mention the name of the disease that killed them; thrown out by family, shunned by lovers, they died and were unmourned, that was the beginning and I saw this with my own eyes.
I remember before the beginning, it was back in the 70s, the first boys I saw who could really dance, they drew me from my misfit booklined room, dressed me up and took me out, took me to waterfront downtown Milwaukee dive where all the backward children played, cheap Christmas tree lights and bad booze, hunted by fag haters, I remember Waldo walking up to them on black night street as they followed us, with cheerful smile saying "oh, you want to kill some fags? Do come with me, I know a place where there's TONS of fags for you to kill!" and they backed away, ran away and we laughed, we didn't care if we got killed young, we had nothing to lose.
Oh the characters we played, we young men and women, gay and straight, in Midwest downtown burger joints and rundown hippie streets, we all were stars of glamour and mystery; performing impromptu street theater on Milwaukee streets, we rented a limousine to go to first showing of John Waters' Pink Flamingoes, Waldo got dressed up as Divine, Jeffrey made the rest of us up as Baltimore decadents, film showed at the University of Wisconsin and everyone was fooled, oh the laughs, our kinship with crazed Baltimore misfits, la la.
I remember we scattered to either coast, L.A. or New York, I came East following the lead of Jeffrey, my soulmate, my best friend in the whole world, we were happy in our little enchanted realm, Jeffrey and his lover took me in when I first moved to the City, with whole hearted generosity, swooping me into their world of style and art and dancing and music.
Jeffrey got sick and he died. Blazing courage and an infinity of grace my anguish mixed with awe, rage, the rage as America turned a blind eye to its suffering faggots, I saw the leader of my own country turn a blind eye, set the fashion, yeah, so we helped each other and we didn't ask nothing from nobody and he died, we spread his ashes in San Francisco on a mountain, I almost fell down climbing up to the place and somehow I heard him laughing his signature belly laugh as the ashes blew right into my face, the bastard.
Now the hatred still roars, on television and in the newspapers, on dead of night radio shows where anonymous homophobes spew vile fears and dreads and in shopping malls where matrons gasp at lifestyles and recruiting sex stories, girlfriends looking at discovered faggots and sighing "what a waste!" as though it were a compliment, where teenaged girls and boys slit their wrists in suburban bedrooms, the gentle ones die first, always.
And in the pulpits of Rome the beat goes on, don't it, Benedict, Benedict, you know not what you do.