Author: ennepolaris

boykeats:

On November 4, 1918, Wilfred Owen (b. March 18, 1893) was killed in action. Owen wrote some of the best poetry on World War I, with imagery that unflinchingly detailed the terrors of trenches and gas warfare. Imbued with confidence from mentor Siegfried Sassoon, much of his poetry also refuses to shy away from his feelings as a gay man. A mere five of his poems were published during his lifetime. When Owen died one week before the Armistice, he was only 25 years old.

thingslynsbrothersays:

humansofnewyork:

“It was a tsunami. In April of ’82 there was an article in the New York Times about a new gay cancer, and everyone thought ‘oh well.’ I was in my twenties. I wasn’t worried about a thing. But then every week you started to hear about somebody becoming ill. My boss was one of the first. He was a famous florist. He went into the hospital on Thanksgiving and was dead by Easter. I lost most of my friends. A lot of the first men to die were privileged. They were closeted, corporate white men. During the day they were bankers but at night they’d hit the leather clubs and bars. But they learned their privilege didn’t matter after they got sick. They were just ‘gay.’ We had to fight for AIDS to be recognized by the government. We joined together with people of color, and junkies, and prostitutes. It was a beautiful thing, really. Our feminist lesbian sisters taught us how to protest because they’d been doing it for decades. They showed us how to organize meetings, and bring people together, and force the government to the table—things we’d never had to think about as white men.”

“We joined together with people of color, and junkies, and prostitutes. It was a beautiful thing, really. Our feminist lesbian sisters taught us how to protest because they’d been doing it for decades. They showed us how to organize meetings, and bring people together, and force the government to the table—things we’d never had to think about as white men.”

Let that resonate