Emotion Of The Day Today Is This Terrifying Generic Picture Frame Insert That I Found That Looks Like

Benjamin Moravec (French, b. 1977), Untitled, 2006. Oil on canvas, 60 x 80 cm.

STIGMA by Diamanda Galas In 1992, when I wrote “we are all HIV positive” on my hand with a tattoo artist from Brooklyn, I said several things: One was that you may not separate the uninfected from the infected as so many so-called liberal doctors wanted to do, by putting the infected on Plum island outside of New York City. You cannot separate the uninfected from the infected by denying them access to your country. You cannot separate the uninfected from the infected by putting the infected on a separate floor that has red danger contagion signs and giving them crap to eat and instructing Catholic nurses not to administer painkillers to the guilty and allowing Catholic priests to visit them and inform them of their future in Hell if they do not confess that their entire life has been a crime. You cannot separate the infected from the uninfected by saying I do not have AIDS, I have syphillis, but most assuredly nothing to do with HIV, and then allow them to die an early death because they would rather die of the disease than the stigma, as so many did, and do, including my best friend– in 1996–who would be living today if he had not been petrified of the stigma and intentionally saw a doctor whose research was based on the option and the opinion that HIV did not cause AIDS. A second opinion, or better yet,my friend’s own research with other researchers would have been smarter. He knew better, but he told me when we first met in 1989 that he would kill himself if he were diagnosed with HIV. No matter what I said to him he continued to visit the one practitioner who would condone this denial for six years until it was too late, and the following year protease inhibitors hit the market—the year after he died. No, you cannot separate the uninfected from the infected by saying “I do not suffer from this virus: I have been spared.” Because one day, in one city, in one moment, you will learn that you suffer from some virus, some pathogen, something poisonous that will not exit from your body; and you will realize that you do not mourn the dead, you mourn the suffering of the living while they are still alive. No one can escape death, and worse than that, no one can escape the life of anything and everything that smells your blood and lives because of it.

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the serpentine dance, 1890s, loïe fuller (1862-1928)

Byron Newman, The Ultimate Angels, 1984.

The Index-Journal, Greenwood, South Carolina, August 6, 1952

Susan Tyrrell as T.J. in “Willow B: Women in Prison”, a 1980 TV movie that was an attempt at an American version of “Prisoner: Cell Block H”.

I was very excited to find this photo on eBay to add to my collection!

Meiko Kaji (梶芽衣子)

Scanned from an issue of Shukan Pureiboi (週刊プレイボーイ)  that had a month and date of March 26th and said it was No. 9, but I couldn’t find the year listed on it anywhere.

meikokaji.net