I forgive myself.

I forgive that child that didn’t know he just wanted his momma to say she loved him at 10.

I forgive that child for not knowing it wasn’t his fault his daddy–who was drug dealer to the hood–didn’t know how to love his queer child.

I forgive that child that just wanted to watch MASH with his grandma and go to Lubys for that classic Lu’ann platter but decided to play with the boys outside and be the only one having to dodge the ball.

I forgive myself for thinking that loving him more than I love myself would make him stay.

I forgive myself for not going home when I know I should have.

I forgive myself for being too hard up when he just asked me to open.

I forgive myself for not loving me enough on those cold winter nights when my own thoughts told me “I don’t matter,” I forgive myself for thinking drugs felt better than human love, I forgive myself for When I thought I didn’t deserve intimacy, just deserved to be empty.

I forgive myself.

I forgive my future self for the mistakes that I will make to that person that decides to love me.

I forgive my future self for still processing that I am HIV positive but my diagnosis doesn’t define me.

I forgive my future self for not knowing when to just listen and not react.

I forgive my future self for not really telling my friends why I’m crying.

I forgive my future self for not realizing I am magic, and that I am going to make my ancestors proud!

Ryan West @inthegardenofryan
(They/Them)
Gran Varones Fellow
Austin, Texas

So I had been having trouble with adrence and I was like maybe I should start this new page on World AIDS Day as a little campaign to remember to take my meds. And that where the handle @takemymeds came from.

Before, if I forgot to take my meds, I wouldn’t know if I forgot. I would have ot dump out my whole bottle of pills and count them. So the page serves as a reminder for me to take my meds.

That was it’s purpose but then after however long, people would send me messages like, “Oh my god, you reminded me to take my pills. “ Or they will send an image through instagram messenger of them taking their pills. Like from all over the world! I love it so much.

The pictures of me was a way to connect with people with the same experience. I didn’t really announce or “promote” the page. I just used a whole bunch of hashtags. So anyone who found the page found it because they wanted to. They were searching for something.

There is community of folks that are looking for that. So its been great and I have to be tranpsrent as possible ont that page. Some days, I forget to take my meds and if I do that, I have to tell folks that and I say, “This what you can do to take your meds. Put it in a keychain or have a pill box. Or find a way to add it to your routine like brushing your teeth in the morning or at night or whatever.

It also serves as a platform for me to release other forms of art that I have been doing through that instagram page. I would be able to show my followers different art pieces that deal with self-expression. Like decorating my medicine bottles so that they look super fierce and make me want ot take my medication everyday. Or usuing old expired meds and replacing the numbers and letters on them with my initals because I am not the number of the pharmaceutical companies I take every day, I am me.

So I do things that med adherence visually appealing for me and the followers too.

Carlos, He/Him/His

Los Angeles, CA

happy two year anniversary to the @takemymeds instagram page!

interviewed & photographed by: louie a. ortiz-fonseca

Today is World AIDS Day!

I wasn’t around when AIDS was known as GRID (gay related immunodeficiency). I wasn’t around when hospitals were stacked with sick and dying bodies because no one knew what to do. When the president at the time chose to ignore how this epidemic was effecting a particular demographic of this country.

I live in a time where PrEP and PEP make HIV not a big deal. Where random hookups are okay and my sexuality and identity as a gay man can fly freely. Where I am not tending to a dying loved one with lesions all over their body.

We are liable to forget this history because of our privilege. Today is not just a day to promote HIV testing and “remember” the ones who have died. Today is a day to remember that people were here and gone too soon. That people fought even when they were too weak to live. That the gay community was left to die and that people (gay and straight) fought back.

Today we remember those that have passed and we recognize them and the fact that their stories ended before they ever got a chance to start. We remember those who fought for the right to give us a fighting chance. We celebrate that we did not let them put us back in a closet. We appreciate the medical advancements and the lives it has saved. And we work so that we don’t ever have this kind of loss again.

To my generation and the generations to follow, please do not forget. This is a part of our rich and powerful history.

John Yates, New York, NY

Pronouns: He/Him/His

How Afro-Latinx Queer Non-Binary Artist is taking control of their Musical Destiny

The musical landscape has changed drastically since my days of buying cassette tapes and consuming music via BET’s Video Soul. Lawd, I still miss me some Donnie Simpson and Sherry Carter!

We now exist and thankfully so, during a period when artists can create art on their own terms and share it with their fan base and the world on their own terms. This has been the journey of Kareem. The Lancaster, Pennsylvania based Afro-Latinx Queer Non-Binary singer, songwriter, and producer, Kareem, who uses They/Them pronouns, is taking full advantage of how we consume music in 2018 while pushing the envelope of what is represented in music.

I met up with the magical Kareem a few weeks ago to talk about their journey, their healing and their new album, “Silhouette of a Black Queer.”

Louie: So when did you get the inkling that you could sing?

Kareem: I started singing when I was five and actually it was discovered by my aunt. She was a singer as well and I look up to her so much. She is a gospel singer. I grew up in the church and that is where I got my singing chops. One day in church, I was singing and mimicking her, just making fun of her and how she sang. I didn’t know that she was behind me. So I turned around and she was like, “What are you doing?” I thought I was in trouble but she took me to the youth pastor had me sing for him. That’s when I realized I had a gift.

Louie: Did that experience give you confidence?

Kareem: I was always very uncomfortable with it because I didn’t know what it was given to me for. Because I was very uncomfortable in my own skin, I was bullied a lot. I was told that I was ugly. I was told many things about myself. I had a low self-esteem. I was very depressed. I didn’t look at myself as worth anything or with any talent. It wasn’t until I broke up with my ex-boyfriend, who would say some nasty shit to me like “Kill yourself.”, that I really began to search for what I really wanted for myself and music was a way to cope with a lot of the feelings I was dealing with. I channeled all of it into music.

Louie: So your first EP, “Zesty: The EP” was released just a little over a year ago, 13 months to be exact, what was that like for you?

Kareem: I did the whole project on my iPhone 6. I didn’t have the resources so I was just like I am gonna utilize what I have and make something and it turned out to be better than what I expected. With this project, I talked about what it’s like to be an Afro-Boricua, non-binary. I talk about sexual assault. I talk about sexual liberation. I talk about stuff that is very important to me. A lot of the times when I was growing up, I was locked in this fuckin’ box and I had to conform t everybody else’s standard of what they wanted me to be. And I dealt with that in very unhealthy ways. But looking back, I see my growth. I appreciate who I am as a person. It has made me fall in love with my community more and more and has made we want to be more active and be somebody that can reach out and pull somebody out of that space.

Louie: Falling in love with ourselves can help to save our lives sometimes.

Kareem: I look in the mirror and I am very comfortable in my skin now. I will throw on a full lace front and pump out in public! I would have never imagined at 16 that I would be out here with full bundles! It feels great to out and actually be myself. I get looks and I don’t give a fuck. If you have a problem, I am right here! Come say something to me!

Louie: What has been the toughest part of your musical journey?

Kareem: I was in talks with Atlantic Records, that fell through because they tried to have too much control over me as an artist and they were trying to make me do things that were out of my morality and wanted me to stop doing the type of music that I wanted to do. We could not reach a middle a ground so they just x’ed it out and I was devastated because I thought that we could make something work.

Louie: Fun fact, I have a similar experience. Almost got signed to one of the largest Dance Music labels and walked away when they wanted me to be something I wasn’t. I’ll do a twitter thread about it one day. But that was in 1997 and back then, the thought of creating music on a phone seemed like science fiction. That’s why I love artists like yourself. You are manifesting your own destiny and that is fuckin’ inspiring.

Kareem: That makes me feel very good because I never saw myself being like this at all or doing anything like this. Having people rooting for me, I don’t take that for granted at all. It makes me feel good because I wanted to make music that was authentic, that expressed what I have experienced, what Black queer and trans people go through. I know what it’s like growing up and not seeing myself.

Louie: Is that what inspired the title of the album?

Kareem: It’s called “Silhouette of a Black Queer.” Knowing that there’s not enough representation but I also know that my experience may not be exactly like everyone else’s. We may have similarities. Two of the big things we have are, Blackness and we also have our queerness. So that why I call it Silhouette of a Black Queer. I came up with while I was at the club. I took a picture and I was like “what do I wanna caption this?” and it just came to me.

One of my favorite tracks on the album is a song called “Nasty Queer.” It is everything! I love it because I have never been free to able to talk like that. I did wonder, “What are my parents gonna think when they hear this shit?” But I gotta not worry about what people are gonna think and I gotta have fun.

Louie: If I was a recording artist my sound and visual would so be like Janet Jackson. That is because as a kid, she was the epitome of the perfect Popstar. Who was your “Janet” growing up?

Kareem: Beyoncé! But I get a lot of influences from Black women because they are the ones that I listened to when I was going through all my bullshit in high school and they grace me all my courage and they have been the ones to always root for me and I appreciate that so much. Black women have always been at the forefront of my success. My sister and my cousins have helped me to get to this point and I am always going to elevate and support them. Black women!

Louie: Is Beyoncé to you what Mariah is to me?

Kareem: Yes but I also gravitate toward different artists. There’s Phylis Hyman, Aretha Franklin, Patti LaBelle, Gladys Knight, Mariah Carey, Mary J. Blige, Toni Braxton, There are so many artists that I listened to, that I grew up on. Their music has stood the test o time and now I’m trying to pull from their sound – give me some of this, give me some of that and make it my own. And you hear those influences throughout the album.

Louie: I am so excited for you and excited to listen to the album. 

Kareem: I am really happy about this project because it has taken many months and setbacks. I wrote every single song. I produced 80% of the album myself. The backing track of “Sprung” is produced by my 13-year-old Puerto Rican cousin who lives in New York. I remember going to visit him and he was like “let me play you some of my stuff” and I was like, “Oh shit! What the fuck!” I was like in a trance, I was like I need this, hand it over! I love seeing young people doing artistic stuff. Because for me, I suppressed a lot of that stuff because of my issues. If I knew that this could be an outlet earlier on in the game, I know I would have been further along. But I am good and getting to where I need to be. This is a good body of work. it covers a lot of things I advocate for and things that I am going through.

I feel like people are seeing a growth of me from the beginning of my career until now. I am actually very relaxed about releasing this album. I don’t have anything to critique about this. It’s perfect as it is.

“Silhouette of a Black Queer” is available on all music streaming sites. 

Interviewed and Photographed by: Louie A. Ortiz-Fonseca

i came out to my mother when my grandmother died in 2006. and back then I had a cousin that was gay - - that IS gay - -he has not a stopped being gay. (laughs) he was living around here and my mother would always ask me, “why do you hang out with him so much?” eventually, i got upset when she said “it doesn’t bother you?” and I was like, “mom, would it bother you if i was gay?” and she was like “are you gay?” insaid “yeah.” but i was upset so wasn’t that soft. there was some screaming. then after that, we had that long conversation and the crying.

she’s been to the pride parade here. i bring her and i put out a chair for her and she watches the whole show. ya know, the first thing she said when i brought her here to wilton manor - she said, “i never thought they were old gay people.” she always thought that came and were young and “cute” and then when she saw older gay couples walking and holding hands she was like, “aawwww.” it blew her mind.

i still have to teach her. like with my boyfriend, i had to teach her that he is not just my “special friend,” he is my boyfriend. i need you to call him my boyfriend. i explain to her that i remember when you told me once, “don’t introduce me to every single person. just introduce me to the one.” and i explain to her that this is the one right now. you need to get with it.

he went with me to washington, heights for thanksgiving, in a house with like 50 dominicans. (laughs). i prepared my mom. i was like, “mom, i’m gonna take him. and you’re gonna get questions.” he’s the first person that has ever been to my family gatherings. it’s a big thing for me and my family. that know i’m gay but they never seen me with a partner. it was good until one my aunt’s found out that he didn’t speak spanish. ya know, older generations.

josé, he/him/his

wilton manor, florida

interviewed & photographed by: louie a. ortiz-fonseca

whitney houston was a queer icon decades before the term became a marketing ploy. she was one of us before, during and after all of the rumors. confirmation was never required or desired from us - the gay boys who lip synced her songs when left alone in the room. we, the gay boys knew that the world would peck and pick it apart - the connection she had with us. the little gay boys.

i have distinct memories of singing “how will i know” as an 8 year-old for hours as i babysat for aunt janet while she out visiting her then boyfriend in prison. i remember knowing that “didn’t we almost have it all” was a song about loss and regret years before i experienced how polarizing that kind of pain can be. i remember a lot of my life in music and whitney’s voice is ever present.

i bought every album, every single. because that was my hobby. i memorized her every achievement because knowledge about divas was the only education i valued. when other boys talked about which football player scored the most touchdowns, i’d remind them that whitney held the record for the most consecutive #1 songs on the hot 100. SEVEN! and eleven total.

whitney houston was one of the most successful recording artists of all time. she is still regarded as the greatest vocalist of lifetime. all of these are undisputed facts. she was a singer, song writer, actor, producer, pioneer, icon and mother. and she paid the greatest of prices for her success. the queer icon who was simply because she existed, sacrificed everything so that her voice would reach little gay boys dancing in the dark.

whitney houston, the legend who was oh so human, died on february 11, 2012. i still remember where i was and what i was wearing. i remember the feelings of lost and regret. i remember thinking, “didn’t we almost have it all.”

there has been much conversation about whitney’s loves, feelings and all of the things she kept a secret. i have no opinion, really. i am grateful for the soundtrack she provided. and i am filled with gratitude that i got exist on this earth the same time to witness her greatness in real time.

rest well, whitney.

never. ever. forget.

i was recently given a picture of my father. it’s actually a picture of a picture sent to me by his brother. i don’t know father’s date of birth. i don’t know the exact date he died. i know it was sometime in september 1997. i think.

we didn’t have much of a relationship. our only connection was our name, - louis a. ortiz. like my mother, he struggled with addiction. heroine. some visits he would be high af. some visits, not so much. but he struggled and tried not to. but he did.

it was the winter of 1991, when my mother said to me, “your father has aids.” that was it. no discussion. nothing. i remember walking to the record store thinking, “my father has aids. ok. it’s 1991, he can live to at least 1999.”

in late 1996, after being released from prison, again, he tried to reconnect with me. he had a best friend who was a white gay guy. he was hiv poz too. he told me. “your father doesn’t have a lot of time. he wants to make this right with you.”

i was already living on my own, with my brother nicholas, and thought the dude was being dramatic. my father looked fine. AND what was there to “reconnect?” i didn’t even know how to have a father-son relationship. it seemed like hard work. i was tired.

anywho, i went to dinner with them a few times. wasn’t a bad time at all. i just didn’t know how to make space for something that was always inconsistent in my life. eventually, he stopped coming around. the calls stopped. i don’t remember being mad or hurt. but i remember.

in september of 1997, my sister, who looked the most like him and his father, called me and said, “daddy is on his deathbed. he wants to see you.” no discussion. just that. now ya see, why iminds my business and stay away from my family (lol).

tania, a woman i worked with at the time, drove me to the hospital. i remember being nervous. not because of how my father my look but how was i gonna address him? dad? papi? father? pop? all those words tasted bitter on my tongue.

so i walk in and the room packed. a few of his kids from his second wife. they screamed “hey brother!” and i’m all like, “i don’t know you.” i smile awkwardly. because z i am not supposed to smile. but i was also too numb to feel sadness.

i walk closer. he is really, really frail. helpless almost. someone was holding his head up. everyone was crying and watching. “pop, p-wee is here. look. it’s p-wee” this was my cue to speak. “hey p-p-pop. it’s me. p-wee.” he just stares at me. they are all staring at us.

my sister says, “do you know who that is?” pointing at me. i want to know something at her. he responds, “yes, my son.” everyone wails. this is cue to hug him. i do. they cry. can u believe that my sister then says, “he recognized him. this is so beautiful.” i want to hit her.

i don’t remember much after that. i didn’t stay long. i didn’t feel like i belonged. the moment felt more about them than me. i wish i had the courage to ask for privacy. but seriously, half those people there, i didn’t even know their names.

ok, this is getting long(er). he died a few days later. i go to the funeral with my mother who showed up wearing black and declaring that she was the widow. that’s another story. 

it is at his funeral that I discover that we do not share the same name. the plaque on his casket reads “luis a. ortiz.” i tell my mother that his name is misspelled. she replies, “oh no, it’s your name that is misspelled. they added an “o” to your name on the birth certificate. the only thing that connected was gone.

the same people who were at the hospital were there the drama of my being the “prodigal son” returning “home” had dissipated. there was nothing to watch and cry over.

i was finally provided a private moment with my father. 

i said good-bye to luis a. ortiz that night. i also began saying a long goodbye to the hurt & pain i felt. becoming a father helped me to compete that good-bye. so every world aids day, i allow myself to miss him and to completely fall apart. i cry for everything we lost to this epidemic. 

today, i speak his name: luis a. ortiz-fonseca

- louie a. ortiz-fonseca