The Stonewall Gang

A seedy, Genovese family-owned saloon at 51-53 Christopher Street, in New York City's Greenwich Village became ground zero for a new chapter in American civil rights. Here, a typically harassing raid by Betty Badge (an almost monthly occurance at the Stonewall Inn by that time) escalated into a small riot that crystalized into what we now know as the American gay rights movement.

(And a special shout-out to Fort Worth, TX, for observing the Stonewall 40th anniversay with, um, a bogus police raid on a gay bar! A luta continua, y'all...)

Meanwhile, here in Nevada, the Nevada Legislature passed and overrode Gov. O to establish full domestic partnership rights for gay couples, joining eight other states in such civil unions & registered partnerships, as well as the <current> six states where same-sex marriage is fully legal.

Much can change in 40 years. Where once America sent men to the moon, we now are beset with tiny irredentist magpies caterwauling over presidential birth certificates. Still, one decidedly less depressing constant, indeed, fabulous constant during these tumultuous decades, has been the siren song of gay letters. Spanning cultures, continents, and centuries, gay writing has survived to flourish right up to the moment you clicked on our address.

We are proud to feature poetry and fiction - inspirational and comical, observant and insurgent - from seasoned coloratura hands, molto famoso autore, and exciting new voices to add to the pink pantheon. DM XXVI Stonewall is fabulous like all come out - and Danse Macabre's new readership & hits champeen.

Just in time to add a touch of the righteously riotous to your late summertime reading... babycakes.

Sincèrement,

Adam Henry Carrière

éditeur,

Danse Macabre

An Online Literary Magazine™

le premier magasin littéraire en ligne au Nevada

It always happened in some cityscape I had cobbled together

from movies, crime shows on TV,

Grainy photos in the New York Daily News we‘d get on Sundays,

Though it wasn’t from there I needed deliverance,

But from small town cruelties,

From “sissy” and “fairy” and “brownnoser.”

Bullied in the street

I would cower there

Or bat ineffectually at my tormentors.

Then he would appear,

Without fanfare,
Simple,
Confident,
Tender --

And man enough to carry that off --
Muscular of course.
He wouldn’t bother to address or disperse my tormentors,
But gather me into his arms
Carry me up the stoop
Into the cool dark of the building
And upstairs to a sunny front room
Where he’d place me on a cot

Pull up a chair
Take my hand
Stay with me
Keep watch over me
Savior, friend.

I sought images of him

In the physique pictorials of the time:
(The word “physique” can still create a ripple of desire.)
Beautiful the only way a man could be beautiful:
Naked.

Failing that, in the briefest of posing straps,

Pointing to what they concealed.
(How had those slim volumes
Found their way to the news dealer’s rack
In our small town?
A mystery,
A blessing in itself.)
I knew enough to be furtive in my purchase
When the old maid clerk tried to catch my eye,
But I was bold too:
To pluck it from the rack
To carry it to the register
To take it home
Concealed beneath my jacket
Down the street and around the corner
Up the steps
Through the front door
To the second floor
To my room
To hook the latch
To hide it under a corner of the rug
Until it was safe to take it from its hiding place
Until there was time to savor it,
To open the pages gingerly,
So as not to crease them,
To keep them pristine,
To pore over them,
To devour them:

You!

Or you!

Here!

Over here!

Here I am!

Look for me!

Find me!

Here!

Over here!

I’m here!

DELIVERANCE

Issue XXVI

Stonewall

Dedicated to E. Lynn Harris (1955-2009)

and those who serve America's defense in silence,

painfully unasked, yet untold

Volume Four, Number Six

Danse Macabre

An Online Literary Magazine™

Adam Henry Carrière / Stonesthrow Publishing LLC.

Danse Macabre XXIX

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