Gay Rebel Scum

Posted by Lio Abendan

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In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presentsLio Abendan's 'I Wish You Died Laughing' read by Jenna Hanchey.

Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠

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Posted by Octavia Cade

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Ecofiction is getting an increasing amount of attention lately, perhaps because it’s the most relevant genre out there for life in the Anthropocene today. Everyone either has been or will be affected, to various degrees, by the environmental crises around us. Admittedly, the response from ecofiction writers to those crises tends towards the dystopian—or what some might call, under the circumstances, the realistic—and that trend is certainly emphasised in ECO24: The Year’s Best Speculative Ecofiction, edited by Marissa van Uden. This inaugural volume is hopefully the first of many, and its collected stories are complex and challenging.

They’re also, the vast majority of them, pretty grim. A number of these stories are set in environmental dystopias—as if there is any other kind. Is it possible for any dystopia to exist that doesn’t include ecological devastation of one form or another? There are certainly fictional dystopias that focus on the exploitation and degradation of one or more population groups, but these are nearly always linked to environmental disaster. In Eugen Bacon’s “The Water Runner,” for instance, a drought so severe that it dries up the ocean is said to be the result of “a curse that rose from Mother Africa’s lips in her bereavement for her lost sons and daughters.” This might be a metaphorical explanation, but there’s arguably more than a grain of truth in it: The pathological desire for profit that once supported slavery also supports unsustainable environmental practices, no matter the human or ecological costs.

Dystopias such as these are increasingly hard to read—but are they hard to read because the metaphors are so recognisable, or because we’re aware, as we read, of how increasingly remote it all feels? As E. M. Faulds writes in her story “Love, Scotland,” everyone is haunted by the global litany of disaster: “Stories of strangers dying, disasters that wiped out communities, trauma—helpless to change things but witness to it all. The internet connected them but divorced them, increased empathy but decreased agency until people drowned in it or switched off that part of themselves.” The narrator of Matthew Freeman’s story “Birdseed” agrees: “I won’t bore you with how it all came apart. We have had enough exhausted chronicles of the dissolution.”

There’s only so much empathy that can be felt before it does become exhausting, and we harden ourselves so easily. One of the best stories in this collection, for me, was “Bodies” by Cat McMahan, about cloned workers at a factory for cloned chickens. The images of human and chicken reflect each other until they almost meld, with both exploited terribly for gain—the chickens because they can be reared without care for any animal welfare standards, and the humans because they too can be harvested if their body parts benefit non-cloned humans—and yet my shock, while reading, was reserved primarily for the chickens, the birds engineered to exist without a voice box and with minimal appetite, so they “couldn’t wail or want.”

I don’t even like chickens that much. Well. Half the time I don’t like humans that much, either, but surely this is a grim reminder of how easy it is to turn off empathy, or to limit its expression. It’s not as if I haven’t read stories about the harvesting of cloned humans before. Possibly I was more shocked by those earlier narratives. Honestly, I just don’t remember. I don’t recall ever reading about suffering cloned chickens before, though, so maybe it’s just novelty in narrative that grabs my attention these days.

That should be a horrifying admission, a horrifying paragraph to write, but I no longer feel that either.

Broadly speaking, that sense of numbness, of inconsistent and dysfunctional response, is something I’ve focused a lot on in my own ecological fiction: the changing emotional response to living in a world of explicit environmental degradation. The idea that some of the many potential responses have a greater validity than others is, I admit, something I struggle with. The opening story of ECO24, “In the Field” by Shelly Jones, cuts to the quick in that respect. An artificial intelligence working for an elderly academic, isolated in a former agricultural landscape now rendered sterile and uninhabitable from fallout, considers the inability of their employer to come to terms with what has been lost: “I nod, unsure what to say; what will be of comfort when the soil is toxic, the air polluted, and the prospect of that changing soon is unlikely. Eventually the teams will clean up the fallout, eventually the soil will absorb the radiation, but the professor will not be here when the land heals.”

My reaction to this, I confess, is unsympathetic. Why should she be there? I’m not talking in terms of age, either, or of mental competence; the professor is clearly in the early stages of dementia. But the painful truth is that the fallout described in the story, the pollution and toxicity, didn’t happen by accident. It’s a result of choices, and the professor made hers. And yes, it’s often said—and it’s true—that corporations and governments bear more responsibility for pollution and other environmental disasters than individuals, but it’s also true that those corporations and governments are able to do what they do because of the world that individuals allow to exist. If we will keep voting in politicians who gut environmental protections, then what the hell can we reasonably expect?

At some point, the choice not to haul out the guillotines is on us all.

Fiction, of course, is spectacularly good at creating worlds where the guillotines stayed in their sheds and rusted. The world that the professor inhabited—that she still inhabits, in her memories—is gone. That the AI narrating the story at least considers what might comfort her is indicative of a certain amount of generosity on its part. Then again, that AI has lost very little: The remediation of the land that is occurring within the story is one performed by machines—who, unlike the professor, may well be around when that remediation is complete. The generosity, then, costs the narrator nothing.

As readers, can we say the same? How much sympathy are we expected to give? How much do we think that we, ourselves, deserve?

That’s the question, isn’t it. Increasingly, it might be the most salient question that ecofiction can possibly explore: How much do we deserve this? What comfort do we have a right to expect, and who is going to be there to give it to us?

A quick aside: I read slush for Reckoning, which focuses on environmental justice. You would not believe the number of stories we receive in which aliens, animals, divinities, superheroes, or other nonhuman entities turn up to fix our environmental messes and generally improve the world for our benefit. These stories are hard sells, because they refuse to engage with the notion of responsibility, both personal and collective.

No one is coming to save us. We have to do it ourselves … and if we choose not to, what then? It’s the AI in the (fallout) fields, cleaning up and trying, inexplicably, to comfort. It’s the alien field workers in F. E. Choe’s “Swarm X1048,” documenting the human destruction of species and ecosystem and a single beloved dog, not able to save any of them because their ethnological practices require observation only, and even if they didn’t: how is it possible to mount a rescue on a planetary scale when the planet’s own population can’t collectively be bothered? (Notably, all the Swarm’s inclination towards comfort is reserved for the dog. It’s not guilty of anything.)

If this seems a little hard, a little too black and white, then I’d agree. We know from the real world that some people, some populations, are more responsible, and bear more guilt, than others. Responsibility may be shared, but it’s certainly not shared evenly.

Neither are consequences. In Bacon’s “The Water Runner,” for example, money to escape the waterless dystopian setting is earned through the reproductive exploitation of women such as the protagonist Zawadi. In Osahon Ize-Iyamu’s story “We the People Excluding I,” a series of well-meaning human sacrifices offer themselves up in a futile attempt to try and stave off active predation of their communities by the powerful Fox Man. The environmental reclamation workers in Steph Kwiatkowski’s “Batter and Pearl” are stuck in poverty traps that such work is effectively designed to keep them in. Furthermore, “The Plasticity of Being” by Renan Bernardo explores a world where an enzyme-bacteria system is developed so that people can eat plastic. By “people,” of course, I mean the poor, who now find it much easier to feed themselves by sifting through piles of garbage. This is implicitly accepted as a good thing by the wealthier and less vulnerable classes: “Feeding people would become a decentralized process without lots of points of failure. Costs would plummet. It would all become excruciatingly cheaper than producing any kind of food,” although readers will all realise that food will still be eaten, of course, by the people who have never been in any danger of scavenging from trash.

That so many of the ECO24 stories share this clarity of unequal responsibility and consequence is, in many ways, an indication of what is to come. These stories are not outliers, nor are they telling us anything new: They are solidly representative of the current state of knowledge in environmental justice. We know now that some populations are more responsible than others. We know now that some populations will suffer more than others.

The question, then, is—as individuals, and as communities—what are we to do about it? What ethical responses are open to us?

There are, admittedly, a number of stories in ECO24 that grapple with the idea of responsibility and atonement and the possibility (or impossibility) of comfort. “A Seder in Siberia” by Louis Evans, for example, shows a family discovering that their exile to a lifetime of climate remediation work wasn’t due to their refugee status, but to their father’s crimes against humanity (he refused to give water to people who died of thirst in a holding cell). This piece of family history is only discovered after the father, himself mentally compromised due to illness, sends his oldest son to try and negotiate a return. “I want to go home,” he says, as if his actions hadn’t materially contributed to the loss of that home, both for himself and for others. The father’s silence, over the years—neither his children nor his grandchildren are aware of his past actions—and his refusal to actively engage with those actions, is not exactly indicative of remorse. One might argue that remorse doesn’t have to be publicly expressed in order to exist, but if you let dozens of people die of thirst (and the story implies that those unfortunates were refugees themselves), then there’s that question of comfort again, and of sympathy.

And, inevitably, of forgiveness.

I have trouble with forgiveness.

*

There’s a story in here I almost didn’t mention. “Parasite’s Grief” by Katharine Tyndall is about two nonhuman species, one of which acts as a parasite on the other. Without that parasitism, the Hyella would “live larger, longer, more peacefully”—and yet the Hyella have agency and intelligence, and many of them choose the shorter, smaller, less peaceful life that comes with parasitism. There’s a long, unpleasant history of linking exploited human minorities with exploited nonhuman bodies, and I side-eye the comparison, especially when that element of voluntary choice is added to the mix. No one volunteers for slavery, for instance. Yet there’s an element of genius here in that “Parasite’s Grief” is placed, in this anthology, directly before Kelsea Yu’s “Skittering Within,” in which an infant vaccinated with the blood of suffering horseshoe crabs—they’re only animals, might as well bleed them as well as boil them alive—goes through a bodily change of her own as she ages, turning part-horseshoe crab as well. Hai’s infant exposure is not voluntary on her part, of course, but her choices as she grows, as she turns toward the nonhuman instead of the human, speak to a chosen loyalty to the exploited crabs, to their plundered bodies.

“Skittering Within” has one of the happier endings in the book, as Hai’s turn to the sea is presented as an unalloyed positive. There’s an uncomfortable question here, though, of how much exploitation is internalised, how much it is chosen—particularly, as I said, when contrasted with “Parasite’s Grief.” The genuine loss that the Teloschi parasite feels at the death of their Hyella is referred to as a natural part of life … but they still parasitise them. It’s an inescapable part of the Teloschi life cycle, and necessity is excusal. But what is necessity, and how much of our own exploitation (of others, and of ourselves) do we excuse?

It’s a choice to bleed horseshoe crabs, to offer up your body as Zawadi does, to eat plastic. To keep the guillotine in the shed.

*

Refusing forgiveness for that choice is often cruel. People do the best they can to survive in the situations in which they find themselves, and all too frequently those circumstances are not of their making. The more exploited you are, the fewer choices you have, the easier it is to sink into identification with the nonhuman—because there’s wonder in that, there is, and a focus on that wonder, that sense of communion, can drown out other options.

It’s an uncomfortable mix, complicity and forgiveness. When Hai is coming down the stairs, shrieking in pain because her mother is boiling a crab, for a moment I think she’s going to brain the woman for her indifference to the suffering of her meal and her child. Part of me wants her to. Part of me wants to do it myself. I read stories like this and I think, What’s stopping me? I like the ending to Yu’s story. I like the transformation, the escape. But escape isn’t freedom. Not for everyone, anyway. Not from everything. Increasingly, I wonder if it’s nothing more than the breath before the blade comes down.

Part of me wants that blade. Part of me wants other people to use it so I don’t have to. Part of me, clearly, is attracted to the possibility of dystopia, if only because some things will be easier to excuse.

Ecofiction does not have to be dystopian, but dystopian it mostly seems to be: a way for writers to work out the lingering, unsettling horror at the ecology around them. There’s no shortage of real-life environmental horror stories out there, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better. Dystopia sells, whether it’s on the bookshelves or on the news, but if science fiction has a history of broadcasting warnings as well as imagination, then there are stories here that offer, amidst the horror, comparatively brighter exemplars. The welcoming of refugees in Faulds’s "Love, Scotland" is one example of this, and it’s notable for being one of the few realistic examples. More frequently, successful resistance is essentially magical, as it is in Guillermo G. Mendoza’s “One with the Ground,” in which a girl with an amulet restores clear-felled forest every night.

The magical resistance stories are touching, they are. I’ve read a lot of ecofiction lately where resistance has magical overtones, as if we find it difficult to picture without the marvellous. The girl who becomes a crab, the girl who becomes forest ground. There’s beauty in the imagery. There’s hope in it, even. But it’s inspiration, not application.

I’m not knocking inspiration. We need that sense of possibility, just as we need the warning sirens of the genre. I do feel, however, that, in this anthology at least, the warning signs are the most prevalent. I certainly understand that—it’s art reflecting reality—but if this anthology is representative of the best of ecofiction, what does that tendency say about our ecological visions of the future? It says that they tend almost inevitably to the dystopian. And without the guillotines I’m no longer sure that’s enough.

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Posted by P.C. Verrone

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Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #377—April 14, 1989

SECTION VII: OBITUARIES

Roger Jefferson (March 13, 1955—April 8, 1989)

Roger “Rod” Jefferson died on April 8 at home, surrounded by his many dear friends. Rod was a fierce advocate for gay rights and served as the head of the Gay and Lesbian Liberation Coalition for seven years. Even after his diagnosis, Rod continued to host salons and dinner parties filled with joy and laughter. We can only imagine all Rod might have done if only he’d had more time. A celebration of his life will be held April 22. Until we dance again, Roddy.

—Your friends

Larry Stenson

Our beloved Larry departed us on April 10, 1989 at the age of 29. He is survived by his lifemate Derek and his mother Joan. He was well known for his dashing looks and mischievous sense of humor. Larry was the cover model for Ganymede’s Men in August of 1982, and many readers will no doubt recall his thumb hooked underneath that cherry-red Speedo. It is Larry’s ultimate pleasure to know that he will remain immortal in the fantasies of many. Love ya, babe!

—Derek

Fernando Lopez / Tia Crystal

Fernando was called up to the Spirit in the Sky on April 11, 1989. He was an artist of the highest caliber most known for his performances as Tia Crystal. His love of music was legendary. He lit up the room the moment he entered. He never lost hope that he would be well again, and explored every avenue of traditional, Indio, and New Age medicine. In the end, he asked to spread this message: “My greatest pride is that I never was closed-minded. I lived to love and loved to live.” Muchos besos, amor!

—Quique & the girls

Eartha Kitty (1977—1989)

Eartha Kitty Robertson passed on April 11, 1989. She was adopted as a kitten by her father Casey Robertson. Despite being the “runt of the litter,” Eartha was playful and energetic. She adored a warm bowl of milk and chasing spots of sunlight across the floor. She brought her daddy 12 years of happiness, and he would have welcomed a thousand more. She is survived by her human daddy Casey and feline sister Kitty Pride.

—Casey Robertson

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #378—April 30, 1989

SECTION II: LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

No Cats in the Crypt

Dear Gany,

I have been a longtime reader, and I am such a fan of everything your publication does for the community. I have always considered you a thoughtful publication for gay news and culture. However, in your last issue, I was insulted and appalled by your obituary column. Isn’t it bad enough that we need such a column to list the passing of lovers, friends, and gay brothers and sisters, most of whom are dying because of this goddamn AIDS crisis? The world is distressing enough without having to be subjected to an obit on somebody’s cat. Did you not think about how publishing this would detract from the solemnity and dignity of the three humans listed? I mean, my God. This is the first time that Gany has shown such bad taste in all the years I’ve been reading. Shame on the editors, and shame on Casey Robertson for even thinking of sending that obit in!

P.S. Please feel free to publish this letter if you have the balls.

—Sam, San Francisco CA

Put the Cat Back in the Bag

Dear Gany,

I usually mind my own business when it comes to this magazine. I love to read the tea in the culture section and flip through the (hot hot hot) models. Two weeks ago was the first time I sent anything into Gany, when I wrote an obituary for my dear sis Fernando (aka the legendary Tia Crystal). When I saw that you run obituaries for free, I was actually moved. That is a fine community service. But imagine my shock when I saw my tribute to Fernando’s life above a CAT’S. Make no mistake, Fernando was a fighter, but he had a painful death. As his condition worsened, I watched him turn to everything from electroshock to Santería to injecting his own urine into his arm to stay with us. Please don't make the mistake of believing the death of someone's pet compares to the death of a human being who laughed, loved, sang, and danced. I hope you take a good, long look at yourselves in the mirror tonight. Just pray that Fernando isn’t there haunting your ass!

—Quique, Houston TX

We would like to address both these letters in reference to our Issue #377 Obituary section. For the record, let us state emphatically that we take our obituary section very seriously. We pray that someday soon there will be no need for it. When we began running obituaries back in 1983, we received harsh feedback from many readers who felt the whole idea was in bad taste. Now, years later, the section has become an unfortunately thriving part of our publication. Recently, when one of our readers came to us with a pet obit, we were moved and wished to accommodate their bereavement. Several of our readers have pointed out that since most gay and lesbian people never parent children, our pets are like children to us. We do not regret running the obit for Eartha Kitty, however we do regret not creating a separate section. From now on, all pet tributes will be placed in a new, paid category: OUR FURRY FRIENDS. Thanks for your comments, advice, and readership. —Editor

SECTION III: IN OTHER NEWS

AIDS Researchers Warn Against Home Remedies

Following a conference on April 8, members of the AIDS Research and Education Symposium (ARES) warned those diagnosed with the syndrome to avoid misinformation that may lead to the use of harmful home remedies. Head of ARES Steven Hu said, “I have come across patients who believe ingesting industrial solvents like Virodene will help, or who opt for oxygen therapy instead of medicine. We know people are desperate, but the most important thing you can do is listen to your doctor and not lose hope.”

SECTION IV: AT THE MOVIES

Pet Sematary Gives Tepid Scares

The latest movie from the mind of scaremaster Stephen King offers mild thrills but ultimately falls short. Director Mary Lambert, whose current claim to fame is Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” music video, struggles to land the pacing of a real horror flick. Unfortunately, the best actor in the film is Church, the resurrected cat. If you’re looking for some real frights, I suggest checking out Gany’s News Section.

—Rob “The Movie Guy” Rossi

SECTION VII: OBITUARIES

Boppy James (November 3, 1950—April 8, 1989)

The sky cracked open when Boppy took flight

To welcome him up on a cool spring night.

The joy that he brought to us shined like the moon.

It’s a pity they called him to Heaven so soon.

Love, Wheeler

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #379—May 12, 1989

SECTION II: LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Bitching About Obits

Dear Gany,

I am writing in regard to the two letters in your previous issue. I thought their comments sucked. My lover and I have three dogs that we love and treat as our children. Pets bring so much joy into a person’s life for such a brief lot of time. These readers seemed to think that a pet obituary detracted from the other obits, but I think it actually made me appreciate them more. This AIDS thing can feel like it has taken over our entire world, and it’s important for us to see that there is something else, including deaths that aren’t touched by sickness or gay-bashing or suicide. For the first time in a while, I felt a little more normal. I am glad that Gany will have a section just for pet tributes.

—Sarah, Austin TX

Go Gag on a Hairball

Dear Gany,

A pets-only obit section? Is that really necessary? I vehemently agree with the two readers who expressed their concerns in your previous issue. Frankly, I think they went a little too soft. I am appalled at your refusal to issue an apology and redact the obit for that cat! Arguing that pets are gay people’s children does an incredible disservice to the Gay and Lesbian Parents Association that you advertise in this very magazine. BE REAL. Our gay brothers and sisters are dying every day from a horrific and debilitating disease. Why the hell do you think this is okay?

—Arnold, Denver CO

We hear and appreciate your candid feedback. We would like to note that we have never “redacted” an obituary and would never do so except on the request of the sender. —Editor

Animal Lover on the Warpath

Dear Gany,

I can’t believe the two ridiculous letters you had in the April 30 issue. Some people are so heartless it turns my stomach! The people who wrote those letters obviously have no idea how much a devoted pet can mean to someone, especially a gay person who lives alone. My gorgeous, lovable cat Winston is the best friend I have. When I was kicked out of my family’s home, taking in Winston brought me back to the land of the living. I raised him with my lover until he passed two years ago, and now Winston is all I have to remember him. My cat’s death will mean more to me than anyone else in my life. So, go ahead and create a column to appease these callous queers. Most of the people I have known who ended up in your obits were just dogs or alley cats, anyway!

—Clyde, New Orleans LA

As stated in our previous issue, Ganymede’s Men will accept paid pet obituaries which will be placed in a newly created section called OUR FURRY FRIENDS. —Editor

SECTION III: IN OTHER NEWS

Kansas Church Protests Homosexuality

The Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas made national news with its virulent protests of homosexuality. Founder Fred Phelps told a Topeka paper, “America is doomed for its acceptance of homosexuality. God sent AIDS to destroy the homosexual just as he destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. Any person who wishes to take part in Eternal Life must renounce his faggot ways.” Gay and lesbian activists have lobbied local representatives to speak out against Phelps and his church to little success.

SECTION VIIb: OUR FURRY FRIENDS

Rocky the Chocolate Lab (1980—1989)

Rocky was a 9-year-old chocolate Labrador retriever who tragically passed after being bitten by a rattlesnake. He was a loyal and loveable dog. He was happiest when he was swimming in a lake or chasing ducks at the park. We miss you, boy.

—Eddie & Jake

Chiquita

Chiquita was a spunky parakeet who died at the ripe old age of thirty-two (I think). I inherited her from my lifemate Pancho, who passed eight years ago from pneumonia. Chiqui and I kept each other company through dark times with many conversations. She loved cracking open pecans and watching Dynasty, during which she would often call the women, “¡Hijas de la gran puta!” I know she and Pancho are cussing out those whores together now.

—Jorge

Mister Fluffernutter (January 1, 1981—May 9, 1989)

Mister Fluffernutter III Esq. was a purebred Persian longhair who departed at the age of eight due to an unfortunate run-in with a garage door. He was well-loved and deeply cherished throughout his life by his two mommies. He loved tuna and belly rubs. He disliked men with beards. A celebration of life will be held on May 15, 1989.

—Caroline and Susan

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #380—May 27, 1989

SECTION VII: OBITUARIES

On the request of the sender, the Editor is submitting a correction to Issue #377 for “Eartha Kitty.” This obituary has been redacted, as Eartha Kitty is no longer deceased.

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #381—June 8, 1989

SECTION II: LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Questions Regarding Obit Correction

Dear Readers,

We have received many calls and letters regarding a correction submitted to our previous issue [Issue #380]. We have reached out to Mr. Robertson, who requested the correction, and have printed his written statement in full below. —Editor

Dear Gany Readers,

Over the past couple months, I have mourned the death of my beloved Eartha Kitty. I loved her as a full member of my family, which is why I felt it was appropriate to submit an obit to Gany. I never intended for this to create so much drama in the magazine, let alone create an entire new section. Honestly, my grief was such that I have been unable to keep up with the back and forth over the past few issues.

I do not know if it is possible for anyone to conceive of the absolute shock I felt when, a few weeks ago, I came home to find Eartha Kitty eating up the bowl I had put out for her sister, Kitty Pride. For those who might ask: No, this was not just a cat that looked like my Eartha. Eartha was born with one back leg shorter than the other three. This did not affect her mobility drastically, but it did give her a slight limp throughout her life. The cat that was eating Kitty Pride’s food had this limp.

And, yes, I am sure that Eartha was dead. Her decline was slow, painful, and costly. By the end, she had to be hand-fed until she finally “went away,” and I discovered her body beneath the TV stand. I had her cremated and placed inside a wonderful jeweled box. When this new cat appeared in my home, I went to open the box and found it totally empty.

I am at a total loss for an explanation. She is my Eartha—only, I would say, maybe seven years younger. She doesn’t possess the slowness or gray hairs that she did in her later years. When I brought Eartha to the vet, he was convinced that this is a different but coincidentally similar animal. When I told him about Eartha’s ashes, he suggested that I might have thrown them out in a fit of grief-induced delirium. What a horrible thought … but fine, maybe. I really don’t think so.

If anybody knows someone I can reach out to regarding this, I have given Gany my contact information. If not … Well, I hope that you all can someday feel as unreasonably blessed as I do.

—Casey Robertson, Los Angeles CA

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #382—June 25, 1989

SECTION II: LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Zombie Cats

Dear Gany,

You have got to be pulling my leg. Cats are rising from the dead now? If this is a joke, it’s a sorry one. I am beside myself thinking that this was published next to columns about serious subjects like AIDS research and ACT UP protests. I cannot imagine what possessed you to share a letter from someone who is either a raving lunatic or a shameless attention whore. Rest assured, you have lost one loyal reader at least!

—George, Phoenix AZ

The Cat Came Back

Dear Gany,

I was extremely concerned by Mr. Robertson’s statement regarding the resurrection of Eartha Kitty. If he is to be believed, there are darker implications than I think Mr. Robertson is prepared to face. After the ascension of my dear friend the legendary Tia Crystal, I, too, was contacted by dark energies that promised delicious and perverse salves to my mourning. I fear that Mr. Robertson has unknowingly opened himself to such demons. I urge him to consult a priest, medium, imam, or curandero depending on his spiritual inclinations. I am happy to make a referral if Gany would connect us.

—Quique, Houston TX

8 More Lives

Dear Gany,

I was surprised and delighted to read about the return of Eartha Kitty from beyond the grave. I’m sure many people doubt Mr. Robertson’s account, but if you own a cat, you know they have ways of getting around anything. Maybe death is no exception. I can only imagine how elated I would feel if my wonderful Winston appeared in my kitchen after I thought he had left for good. Things have been so hard. The Reagan years were hell, and Bush is hardly an improvement. Even if we were able to cure this AIDS problem, there would still be a hole in the ozone and massacres in China and war in the Middle East. The system is a slaughterhouse. So, good for you, Eartha Kitty. You beat the system. I just hope you left the door open for some other furry friends to follow.

—Clyde, New Orleans LA

SECTION VII: OBITUARIES

Derek Pierce

Derek’s sudden death on June 20 left all who knew him in a state of shock. He will be laid to rest with his dearest Larry, who passed earlier this year. Derek was a passionate photographer whose work was featured in Playgirl, New York Magazine, as well as Ganymede’s Men. Despite how it ended, he will be remembered for his delicious humor and fearlessness. We love you, D. We only wish we’d had more time.

—Your pals

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #383—July 8, 1989

SECTION VIIb: OUR FURRY FRIENDS

On the request of the sender, the Editor is submitting a correction to Issue #379 for “Rocky the Chocolate Lab.” This obituary has been redacted, as Rocky is no longer deceased.

On the request of the sender, the Editor is submitting a correction to Issue #379 for “Chiquita.” This obituary has been redacted, as Chiquita is no longer deceased.

On the request of the sender, the Editor is submitting a correction to Issue #379 for “Mister Fluffernutter.” This obituary has been redacted, as Mr. Fluffernutter III Esq. is no longer deceased.

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #384—July 22, 1989

SECTION II: LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Has Anyone Talked to a Scientist?

Dear Gany,

The past few weeks have flipped my world upside down. Dead pets are returning like Night of the Living Dead! I woke up two days ago and found my childhood Doberman Smokey laying his head on my pillow the way he would when I was ten. My girlfriend screamed so loud, it shook the house! Smokey’s been gone for at least thirty years, but now he’s got puppy energy. This seems big, yet I haven’t seen anything about it on the news. Is it possible this has something to do with radiation? I heard of some freaky stuff coming out of Chernobyl, but nothing like this. Why is nobody talking about this?

—Florence, Santa Fe NM

Lazarus Lizards

Dear Gany,

Is anybody thinking about the larger implications of these pet resurrections? I am as happy as anyone else that my three iguanas are back in my life, but are they immortal? If they die again, will they come back a second time? My beagle seems to want nothing to do with them, so should I never plan on owning another pet? Do I have to plan to will them to somebody when I die? Death is the natural way of things, and this just feels wrong.

—Vito, Boca Raton FL

The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Eulogy

Dear Gany,

I have noticed that it’s only the pets of my gay and lesbian friends that are coming back. My nephew lost his pet hamster a few months ago, and that thing is still in a shoebox in my sister’s backyard. But my gay friends across the country have been welcoming back pets of every size and species. It is clear that we love differently than our heterosexual peers—an unnatural love, some have made us believe. Is it possible that our specific breed of love is capable of unimaginable feats?

—Raj, San Jose CA

Ask the Animals, and They Will Teach You

Dear Gany,

I’m sure I am not the only one who has undergone a great deal of spiritual searching over these past weeks. In my letter published in a previous issue, I warned that the return of Miss Eartha Kitty might be the result of a malevolent spirit. However, I have reassessed my stance given the breadth of these miracles. I believe that this is a great re-harmonizing. Our gay communities have been so plagued by death, I am certain that this is the Universe balancing the scales, even if it is a bit drastic. After all the suffering these past years, why not return to us those innocent creatures we love?

—Quique, Houston TX

SECTION III: IN OTHER NEWS

Desecrated Grave in LA Possible Hate Crime

On the morning of October 21, the Los Angeles Police Department responded to a call from Evergreen Cemetery in East Los Angeles. A security guard had discovered that the grave of Roger Jefferson had been dug up, and his remains removed. LAPD has yet to release any identifying information regarding the perpetrators or theories on the whereabouts of the deceased’s remains, though they have said they are potentially considering this a hate crime given Mr. Jefferson’s public work in gay rights activism. They are welcoming any information that anyone might have about the incident.

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #385—August 5, 1989

SECTION VII: OBITUARIES

On the request of the sender, the Editor is submitting a correction to Issue #377 for “Roger Jefferson.” This obituary has been redacted, as Mr. Jefferson is no longer deceased.

Editor’s Note: Due to clerical oversight, Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issues #386—#388 were not archived.

Ganymede’s Men Magazine Issue #389—September 30, 1989

SECTION I: TOP STORIES

Gay Resurrections Stump Officials

Members of the medical establishment continue to be flummoxed by the resurrections of deceased people and animals. Though reluctant to make definitive claims, a spokesperson from the Center for Disease Control admitted that, from preliminary surveys, the resurrected individuals appear to be “majority homosexuals.” As people return from the dead, government officials continue to urge them to register with their local municipality so that records can be up to date.

SECTION II: LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Too Many Tin Hat Tammies

Dear Gany,

I am sick and tired of reading paranoid letters about how these resurrections are some big government conspiracy. Why the hell would Bush want a bunch of queers back? It just doesn’t make sense, and you’re making the rest of us look like loonies! There are legitimate questions around the reintegration of the resurrected into the workforce and overpopulation. Let’s not pollute the conversation with inane theories.

—DeWayne, Corvallis OR

Resurrection Support Group

Dear Gany,

I’m just writing to let your readers know that the Gay and Lesbian Center in San Francisco is starting a national support group for recently resurrected individuals to aid in their re-acclimation to living. You can contact the Center for more information!

—Sam, San Francisco CA

Two Lovers Returned from the Dead

Dear Gany,

Harry and I dated for five years before he tragically drowned in 1981. Three years later, I met Armando, who passed last year. Both are back and expect me to be theirs. Harry is my first love, but I’ve been sharing my life with Armando up until just a year ago. Has anybody else found themselves in a similar predicament? How’s a girl to choose?

—Liam, Austin TX

Newly Resurrected Seeking Old Flame

Dear Gany,

I came back a few weeks ago and I’ve been looking for my lover of eight years, Alonzo. We met in Nevada but I’m afraid he might have moved. Would it be possible to create another section for reconnecting the newly resurrected with their loved ones? Maybe “Resurrection Reconnection”?

—Cole, Reno NV

If other readers would have interest in such a section, please reach out to us! —Editor

Pump the Breaks

Dear Gany,

My lover of thirteen years returned 2 weeks ago, looking exactly as he did the day we met. Before his health declined, we loved taking strolls along the beach and perusing art galleries. Since his return, he’s been insistent on mile-long jogs and is planning a tour of Europe. He has also introduced MUCH more variety in the bedroom than ever before. He doesn’t seem to appreciate that he has the body of a much younger man, and I do NOT. I’ve also noticed that he is way spacier than before. Sometimes, I swear he sees things that aren’t there. It’s totally unnerving! Of course, I am incredibly grateful to have him back, but I just ask everyone to have some grace for the partners of the resurrected.

—Miles, San Diego CA

Bite Your Tongues, Curious Cats

Dear Gany,

I am shocked to hear people being so judgmental of the resurrected. If YOU died and returned from the Afterlife, wouldn’t you come back a bit different? A bit haunted? They have connected to the Spirits, amores! No need to be shady about it. I am also disappointed to hear so many people hounding their friends to tell them about the Afterlife. Some things are just not to be known! If you were recently resurrected, I suggest you tell those curious cats what my friend the legendary Tia Crystal says: “Baby, I’m back. Now, love me while I’m here!”

—Quique, Houston TX

What’s Next?

Dear Gany,

I keep hearing people asking the same unanswerable questions about these resurrections. But the fact is they HAPPENED. The country’s eyes are on us, and the population of resurrected is only growing. So, why aren’t we using this momentum as an opportunity to organize?

—Clyde, New Orleans LA

Rise Up for the Living

Dear Gany,

Longtime reader, first time writing in. I know folks have a lot of questions for us resurrected. Believe me, we’ve got questions too! I may not have many answers, but I’ll tell you what I do have: energy! I feel like a wound-up tinker toy 24/7! After connecting with others in my situation, that seems to be a common thread between all of us. We’re back, we’re grateful, and we just want to DO something! Why not put all this pent-up energy towards lobbying for more AIDS research and pushing for protections for our community? Let’s mobilize!

—Rod, Los Angeles CA

SECTION IV: AT THE MOVIES

Out of the Grave but Still in the Closet

A certain Hollywood actor who passed on three decades ago in an auto accident seems to be walking the streets again. Still, he continues to deny deny deny cavorting with the fae folk. Is he an exception to the rule, or doth he protest too much?

—Rob “The Movie Guy” Rossi

SECTION VII: OBITUARIES

Carl Michaelsson (February 5, 1955—September 1, 1989)

Carl was laid to rest surrounded by his loved ones. He was a glittering light in all our lives. His laughter was infectious, and he kept his sense of humor to the very end. To echo his own final words: We’ll be seeing you again very soon!

—Your Dearest Friends

Editor: Austin Dewar

First Reader: Austin Dewar

Copy Editors: Copy Editing Department

Accessibility: Accessibility Editors

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