Art Is Not Living. It

Somedays, If Bitterness Were A Whetstone, I Could Be Sharp As Grief.

I Cannot Afford To Believe That Freedom From Intolerance Is The Right Of Only One Particular Group. And I Cannot Afford To Choose Between The Fronts Upon Which I Must Battle These Forces Of Discrimination, Wherever They Appear To Destroy Me. And When They Appear To Destroy Me, It Will Not Be Long Before They Appear To Destroy You.

There Are Many Lesbians And Gay Men Trapped By Their Fear Into Silence And Invisibility, And They Exist In A Dim Valley Of Terror Wearing Nooses Of Conformity.

Anger, Used, Does Not Destroy. Hatred Does.

Sometimes We Are Blessed With Being Able To Choose The Time, And The Arena, And The Manner Of Our Revolution, But More Usually We Must Do Battle Where We Are Standing.