Monday, November 30, 2009
A lot of really fucking amazing people died of A.I..D.S, the kinds of people who made the world as we know it now. And a lot of awful people died of A.I.D.S too, the kind of people who left nothing but scars behind. A lot of unknown people died of A.I.D.S too, died more quietly even than they lived, silently, and with no written obituary. And a lot of people are still dying of A.I.D.S even though it's now terribly unfashionable, and something of an embarrassing soap opera cliche. For sickness, like the rich, is unwavering in its sense of style and does not bend to the faddishness of fashion, rather it sails on, aloof and vaguely condescending.
There is no cure, only prevention (which is to say education) and the capacity, in these days of wildly imbalanced egotistic (a)political thinking, to discern between your bb fantasies and the right to life. This post is a memorial to the undead of A.I.D.S, not a soap box for my views on freedom of expression in pornography, or a a discussion on the conspiracies that surround the A.I.D.S crisis. As such all I can say to you is, "Don't join the list."