In the mid to late '90s I was a writer for a local entertainment magazine. I wrote about bands, conducted interviews, wrote a series of "how-to" make it in the industry. Then things became serious. The song by REM, "Everybody Hurts" turned into the title for my feature on suicide. "For One More Day" wasn't a song at all. It was the wish of a man I met who was dying of AIDS. Jonathan didn't practise safe sex; only later to find out his partner had lied to him about his disease. When we spoke he was angry, not bitter. He blamed himself for not being more careful. He had a drastic sense of humor. Nothing could put out his 'flame'. He was pleased with the article. He didn't want others feeling sorry for him. He wanted to inform. We talked for months after the article was published. He didn't want to see me because, according to him, he had become ugly. After a while the calls stopped and the number I had was disconnected. I like to think he moved back to Seattle to be with friends; his family all but disowned him. We both hoped that the article would inform others. He hoped for just one more day.
Monday, December 1, 2008
BLOGGERS UNITE FOR WORLD AIDS DAY, 2008
In the mid to late '90s I was a writer for a local entertainment magazine. I wrote about bands, conducted interviews, wrote a series of "how-to" make it in the industry. Then things became serious. The song by REM, "Everybody Hurts" turned into the title for my feature on suicide. "For One More Day" wasn't a song at all. It was the wish of a man I met who was dying of AIDS. Jonathan didn't practise safe sex; only later to find out his partner had lied to him about his disease. When we spoke he was angry, not bitter. He blamed himself for not being more careful. He had a drastic sense of humor. Nothing could put out his 'flame'. He was pleased with the article. He didn't want others feeling sorry for him. He wanted to inform. We talked for months after the article was published. He didn't want to see me because, according to him, he had become ugly. After a while the calls stopped and the number I had was disconnected. I like to think he moved back to Seattle to be with friends; his family all but disowned him. We both hoped that the article would inform others. He hoped for just one more day.
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