This was written for a 'dystopia' thread in the new Writing forum. Thought it might be of interest here. It's a nightmare scenerio, to be sure. But, if the fundamentalists are allowed and even encouraged to continue their agenda, it is a nightmare we could see coming to pass here.
The Diary of Dan FrankOutside Ithaca, NY. In the year of our Bush 2007I know. Terrible joke. Black and bleak. How dare a queer compare his plight to innocent Anne. Truth? Never read it. Remember Shelly Winters in the movie. Right? It's been years. Never went for those black and bleak pictures.
But I'm a furious, frustrated, and frightened old fag. We say flip things like that when we're furious, frustrated, and frightened. Should I sing you the score to Jerry Herman's DEAR WORLD or amuse you with my Bette Davis impression?
Sorry. Can't.
Days without a cigarette: 107.
Days without a cocktail: 126.
Sorry. Can't.
A proper Bette Davis impression requires both a cigarette and a cocktail.
Imagine it. There are no gay bars left by now, surely. Nothing in the open. No piano bars where a bearded baritone belts out the Judy Garland songbook. No go-go boys with g-strings stuffed with singles. No gentlemen of a certain age surveying the working boys in the bleary hours.
I watched them remove the gay statues from Sheridan Square on the NewsChannel. Two couples in white plaster. No one could even show up and cry. You'd think that one, one last drag queen with visions of the 1969 Stonewall Rebellion–(which happened just across the street)–would have shown up to toss a symbolic trash can or epitaph... (It's a prayer park now.)
But no. The 'lists' had been instituted. We had been out and proud. We had enlisted, marched, joined, donated and subscribed. And, we had been listed. New names crossed off every day. It's impossible to get a good haircut. Those who could, fled. Those who could not flee, hid. Or, were caught. Send to 'compassion camps' for healing.
I should be in Costa Rica (where everyone thinks I am). But, I hate to travel. Shouldn't I be pleased? Now, I can't travel at all. Legally. Can't even leave these rooms. My sister is too generous. Her husband is kind to a fault but his eyes betray his fears for their children.
My 'gentle' nephew must be coarsened, protected. He will never inherit my collection of show music. That was abandoned with the books and videos and... My entire gay life.
This morning I sat in the dark and tried to recall the original cast recording of HOW NOW DOW JONES straight through. Who can resist a Brenda Vaccaro musical? But I stopped at the suicide song. Oops. Forgot about that one.
For the record, I am not suicidal. For reasons somewhere between cowardice and curiosity, I'm not going that route.
Staying here is not possible. There are rewards, great and small, for those who assist in outing anyone from the 'lists.' Witch hunts for fun and profit! Hunting an endangered species! It's the new Lotto!
Oh, they laughed when I warned them. Mary! What are they going to do? Nuke San Franciso?
Of course, the nuke came to South Florida. By boat. In the frenzy that followed, any opposition to the 'lists' was seen as un-American. After film of the first protests, where it was reported that NG troops were fired on by the 'militants,' organized opposition became a deadly gamble that very few were willing to take.
Soon. My brother-in-law knows why I asked for the maps. Soon I will leave by night and try to find the underground. I hope they appreciate show tunes.