"When I am with him, smoking or talking quietly ahead, or whatever it may be, I see, beyond my own happiness and intimacy, occasional glimpses of the happiness of 1000s of others whose names I shall never hear, and know that there is a great unrecorded history."
E. M. Forster (ed. M. Lago and P. N. Furbank), Selected Letters of E. M. Forster I: 1879–1920 (London 1983), 269
"Who threw the first brick at Stonewall?” has become a rallying cry, a cliche and a queer inside joke on the internet — never mind the fact that it’s not clear whether bricks were ever thrown during the riots at all. Find all of our pride coverage at nytimes.com/pride Subscribe: http://bit.ly/U8Ys7n
The team behind Where Love Is Illegal believes that stories have the ability to connect people, transform opinions, open minds, and change policies. Led by photographer Robin Hammond and his non-profit organization Witness Change, Where Love Is Illegal documents and captures personal testimonies of survival from the LGBTQI+ community around the world.
A exibição de “Diamantino”, de Gabriel Abrantes e Daniel Schmidt, hoje no cinema São Jorge, marca a abertura da 22.ª edição do festival Queer Lisboa, “uma das mais comprometidas socialmente, politicamente e culturalmente” de sempre.
O VIH/SIDA no cinema, as migrações e a moda estão entre os temas em destaque nesta edição, que decorre até 22 de setembro e que, segundo a organização, é “porventura uma das mais comprometidas socialmente, politicamente, mas também culturalmente, da sua história”.
One day this kid will get larger. One day this kid will come to know something that causes a sensation equivalent to the separation of the earth from its axis. One day this kid will reach a point where he senses a division that isn’t mathematical. One day this kid will feel something stir in his heart and throat and mouth. One day this kid will find something in his mind and body and soul that makes him hungry. One day this kid will do something that causes men who wear the uniforms of priests and rabbis, men who inhabit certain stone buildings, to call for his death. One day politicians will enact legislation against this kid. One day families will give false information to their children and each child will pass that information down generationally to their families and that information will be designed to make existence intolerable for this kid. One day this kid will begin to experience all this activity in his environment and that activity and information will compell [sic] him to commit suicide or submit to danger in hopes of being murdered or submit to silence and invisibility. Or one day this kid will talk. When he begins to talk, men who develop a fear of this kid will attempt to silence him with strangling, fists, prison, suffocation, rape, intimidation, drugging, ropes, guns, laws, menace, roving gangs, bottles, knives, religion, decapitation, and immolation by fire. Doctors will pronounce this kid curable as if his brain were a virus. This kid will lose his constitutional rights against the government’s invasion of his privacy. This kid will be faced with electro-shock, drugs, and conditioning therapies in laboratories tended by psychologists and research scientists. He will be subject to loss of home, civil rights, jobs, and all conceivable freedoms. All this will begin to happen in one or two years when he discovers he desires to place his naked body on the naked body of another boy.
Photographer Ryan James Caruthers loves a man in heels. In his minimalist images (you can usually count the colors on one hand), he captures the softness of queer masculinity. "My aesthetic is very much about subtlety," he says. "Even if the work isn't directly discussing queerness, these ideas always end up presenting themselves as hints." He began experimenting with analog photography at 14, taking self-portraits in the woods near his childhood home and posting the images on Flickr. "I admired the ability to interact with people who were similar to me even if it was purely on a visual level." One of his standout images is of a young, fresh-faced male model flexing his muscles like a WWE wrestler while wearing a crushed velvet dress. Masculinity and femininity is not an either/or decision, the photo appears to suggest; they exist within each other. And in a world where queer males are frequently forced to choose between top or bottom, femme or masc, that's a poignant statement. ryanjamescaruthers.com
and it was political. I made coffee and the coffee was political. I took a shower and the water was. I walked down the street in short shorts and a Bob Mizer tank top and they were political, the walking and the shorts and the beefcake silkscreen of the man posing in a G-string. I forgot my sunglasses and later, on the train, that was political, when I studied every handsome man in the car. Who I thought was handsome was political. I went to work at the university and everything was very obviously political, the department and the institution. All the cigarettes I smoked between classes were political, where I threw them when I was through. I was blond and it was political. So was the difference between “blond” and “blonde.” I had long hair and it was political. I shaved my head and it was. That I didn’t know how to grieve when another person was killed in America was political, and it was political when America killed another person, who they were and what color and gender and who I am in relation. I couldn’t think about it for too long without feeling a helplessness like childhood. I was a child and it was political, being a boy who was bad at it. I couldn’t catch and so the ball became political. My mother read to me almost every night and the conditions that enabled her to do so were political. That my father’s money was new was political, that it was proving something. Someone called me faggot and it was political. I called myself a faggot and it was political. How difficult my life felt relative to how difficult it was was political. I thought I could become a writer and it was political that I could imagine it. I thought I was not a political poet and still my imagination was political. It had been, this whole time I was asleep.
The first trailer for the eight-part gay rights miniseries When We Rise has dropped and it seems to be apropos for these politically turbulent times we are currently living in.
The miniseries was written by Milk screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, executive produced by Gus Van Sant (who directed the two-hour premiere episode) and has a star-studded cast including Guy Pearce, David Hyde Pierce, Mary-Louise Parker, Charlie Carver, Whoopi Goldberg and Rosie O’Donnell.
The series “tells the tale of a family of individuals that helped pioneer one of the last legs of the LGBT movement of the 20th century” starting with the 1969 Stonewall Riots.
“It’s been the honor of my life to research and craft these stories of family, diversity and equality over the past three years,” Black said in a statement. “To have collaborators of this caliber sign on to help bring these stories to life is a tremendous vote of confidence, and I hope a testament to the relevancy and necessity of our continued march toward justice for all.”
Based on a stranger-than-fiction true story, King Cobra is a deliciously dark, twisted plunge into the behind-the-scenes world of the pornography industry. It’s 2006, YouTube is in its infancy, and internet porn is still behind a paywall. Taking the stage name Brent Corrigan, a fresh-faced, wannabe adult video performer (Garrett Clayton) is molded into a star by Stephen (Christian Slater), a closeted gay porn mogul who runs the skin flick empire Cobra Video from his seemingly ordinary suburban home. But as Brent’s rise and demands for more money put him at odds with his boss, he also attracts the attention of a rival producer (James Franco) and his unstable lover (Keegan Allen) who will stop at nothing to squash Cobra Video and steal its number one star. Co-starring Alicia Silverstone and Molly Ringwald, King Cobra is part delirious, tabloid-shocker satire, part American tragedy.