Lament for John...

John Michael Wright May 12th, 1967 – March 21st, 1999 On March 21st, 1999, the best friend that I have ever known in my life passed away after a very short but devastating battle with AIDS. John was the most loving, beautiful, funny, fun, and caring individual that I have ever been blessed to call my friend. Here is a picture of John that I took in Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta shortly after John learned that he was HIV+. John and I went to this place on a very cold and dark day in winter. We set out to take pictures of John in various poses amidst the tombstones…seeking to explore metaphors of AIDS with the camera. In this series of black and white prints, John stretched out on top of tombstones with family names such as "HOPE" and "YOUNG" – resulting in some photographs that were haunting, heartbreaking, profound, and beautiful…but the particular picture presented here was my absolute favorite. His posture is mimicking that of the angel on whose lap he is seated…and it seems as if the two bodies are flowing into each other or as if John just emerged from the statue of the angel fully precious and beautiful.
Here is John shortly before the Atlanta Gay Pride Parade, during happier days. He had tried to paint pink triangles on Fido with pink hair spray, but it didn’t show against her black fur. We got the idea that by putting flour on her, the pink would show more prominently. As you can see, Fido looked as if she had caught a horrible skin disease or had been viciously maimed. We couldn’t stop laughing until we had washed her thoroughly. In this picture, you can see the warmth and the joy in his incredible smile.
This is John posing in Fort Lauderdale. He always seemed to tan better than I did, dammit.
This is a picture of me and John one month before he died. In early December, John called me and left a message on my answering machine telling me to contact him immediately. When I got in touch with him, he was having pronounced difficulty speaking…slurring some words, making long breaks between others…and then he told me that he thought that he was having a problem with his brain. I told him that I would contact one of my doctor friends and that I would get back to him shortly. I had to hasten to find an excuse to get off the phone because I could sense the beginning of death in his shaky voice...and uncontrollable rage and sadness started to overwhelm me.
After sobbing for nearly thirty minutes, I called my very dear and caring friend Dr. Joey Barr and described John’s symptoms to him. Joey informed me that it was imperative that John go immediately to the hospital. I called John back, told him what Joey had suggested, and he then informed his parents about his difficulties (he told me about his condition before he shared his fears with them…a precious testament to our intimacy). John was eventually diagnosed with Progressive Multifocal Leukoencephalopathy, the same HIV-related disease that is explored in tragic detail in the movie "It’s My Party." I went immediately to join him upon learning of the seriousness of his condition, seeking to honor the promise that I had made to him in 1992 when he was diagnosed with HIV. I vowed at that sad and terrifying time that I would support him, care for him, and keep him happy until he died. Unfortunately, his overbearing mother (in whose home he was staying during his illness) chose to control nearly every aspect of his death. She forcefully limited the number of my visits to two, refused to honor my frantic pleas to return to assist with his care. Ultimately, I was not allowed to love and care for him in the final painful stages of his life as I had sworn to him that I would. As the disease progressed and the lesions began to carve their wicked furrows on his brain, his language faculties became more and more compromised and he lost the ability to walk. His suffering and pain were excruciating, requiring the assistance of hospice and a constant morphine drip. John died in his sleep between 5 and 6 a.m. in the morning on March 21st, 1999. Sometime between 5 and 6 a.m. in the morning on March 21st, 1999, I was sleeping soundly in my bed. I awakened out of the blue and immediately had the terrifying feeling that my entire body was being electrocuted. I jumped straight up, stood up on my mattress, and proceeded to fall headfirst over the foot of my bed. At 10 a.m. that morning, John’s father called to tell me that he had died. I have never been given to superstition in any form, but I am certain that on that morning, John came to me to pull one last practical joke on me as he left this world to show me how much he loved me. I am certain that he got a tremendous chuckle from seeing me topple so unceremoniously out of my bed. Thank you for saying goodbye, ugly. John Michael Wright was born on May 12th, 1967. He grew up in a suburb of Atlanta called Dunwoody, attended Dunwoody High School, and then attended Washington and Lee College and the University of Georgia. After college, John worked for Outwrite bookstore in Atlanta for several years and was active in the gay and lesbian community both as an activist and an artist, participating in numerous demonstrations and designing the logo for the 1994 Atlanta Gay Pride Parade. He then enrolled in the Portfolio Center in Atlanta, GA to study advertising copywriting and won many awards for his creative projects. After finishing his studies at the portfolio center, John worked for the J. Walter Thompson agency for two years before accepting another position and moving to Hilton Head, SC, where he lived until his death. John could outdance every single person in Atlanta. People imitated his clothing and tried to copy his tattoos. He read voraciously, especially loved Armistead Maupin, and was a scholar of contemporary gay male literature. He played video and computer games constantly. He frequently wrote poetry with me in Atlanta’s Cafe Mythology or on the sands of South Beach. John had a knack for concocting beautiful prose and began a novel (which is in my possession) the year before he died. He was a shameless practical joker and delighted in seeing me caught in some embarrassing situation of his design. John was addicted to alternative music and amassed a collection of several thousand weird and beautiful CDs. He loved Morrisey and saw that artist's tragic music as a reflection of his loneliness. He would kill me for not remembering his other favorites, but he liked Betty Boo, the Pet Shop Boys, ClockDVA, Enigma, Dead Can Dance…and scads of other groups that I cannot recall. He loved animals and gave me Fido when he could no longer keep her. John was in A.A. for a number of years and discovered strength, love, and companionship through that organization. He died without having found that for which he had yearned so intensely thoughout his life: someone with whom he could share his abundant love romantically...yet he was loved and respected ardently by all individuals whose lives he touched. John was my soulmate, my partner, my best friend, my hero, my confidant, my teacher, my inspiration. How your spell lingers, magic boy. I love you…

My Marine...

Never could the most skilled of miners

nor the most cunning of the dwarves

have dug deep enough into the bowels of the earth

to find that most improbable spring

the true waters of true man,

the tears of a Marine.

Yet

before a lone star

at a place of ursine sorcery

a renegade eagle

flying high above the globe

stole potent arrows from the gods

and with true aim fired

and anchored your heart to mine.

The blessed dart pierced the stalwart soil

strengthened by the fletching of my blood

and found that hallowed liquid trove.

The flood, scarlet and gold,

pure, honest, and mighty,

rinsed my battered soul

and I reached into a void

and found your gentle hand.

There, within the calloused creases

where fortunetellers had written our fate

an ancient predestined hymn

etched with love below your fingers,

my heart built a nest of the hardest diamonds

and robbed the sky of all its stars

to write

with their astral ink

to carve

with their stellar weight

my vow

your vow

always faithful, Semper Fi.

Drown

Your whale song calls me, guileful siren.

I follow, for you bless me with your hurricanes.

Your tiny starfish swaddle my body

and I navigate towards you through your liquid hymns.

You conjure the whitest of pearls for me to light my path.

Your sea monsters weave tunics for those who drowned in honor of our love.

I lift this coral chalice and drink as you command,

swallowing the broth you have brewed from

the impossible tears of the plankton,

the squid’s mournful ink,

the blood of dead sailors.

I arrive, and begin to dig for you,

yet I discover

as I carve canyons and abysses in my frantic search

that you have left a only a phantom in your stead on this holy island.

Its laughter incinerates my fragile skin.

And now, from a killing distance,

from an unreachable point in your impenetrable, poisonous sea,

you watch and cruelly order your tides home.

In this, your inexorable desert,

your eyes parch me,

as slow as Chinese water.

Your glance desiccates my blood,

leaving four withered chambers

pumping red sawdust.

Arid Medusa,

In your loveless drought

I dry and turn to sand.