2.23.17 Editor’s Desk

2.23.17 Editor’s Desk

 

Billy Manes

I had a friend threaten to kill herself this week because she was tired of breathing. I had a collapsing roof that needed to be fixed with haste and all of the nailing and banging and visceral management that comes along with contractors trying to make your life better for thousands of dollars. I watched a famewhore grab a spotlight and run with it, tumbling beneath his own Milo significance, falling somewhere near his pretty little lying face and whatever hair color or sociocultural mythology or, let’s be honest, pedophilia could buy him a headline.

I gazed at the moon; I stared at the ground. And for a few minutes there, I gave up. I mean I really gave up. I won’t even bring up too much of Donald Trump’s scorching of the earth here, because that’s something you all should have expected when you, oh no, hated Hillary for being a woman. My problems get lost in their own translations, and I own my terrors however weak they may be. It’s been a rough patch, to say the least.

I also had an anniversary – a second one – to the love of my life, Tony, with whom I spent hours rolling my eyes at the Harry Potter silliness of Universal Orlando while he watched me gag at the oyster-swallowing absurdity of New Smyrna Beach, subsequently. I fought for the dignity of my friends, I attended a Moroccan birthday party, I worked, I pet my dogs and I lived. Things are harder than they used to be. But things can only get better.

This week’s issue is a tough pill in many ways. There are those among us who want to see that all things are cast in ultraviolet, are beautiful, are decisive and complete. And in numerous ways, they are. We have groups working together in this community – quietly, not seeking attention – that are attempting to make things as right and as good as they should be. We have a presence on the national stage, one that won’t see us fall. We have reasons to enjoy how far Central Florida has come, these little burgs below the Mason-Dixon Line working in unison to honor and help those who deserve and need it. We have each other.

We walk in parades nationwide singing the praises of Florida while attempting to not get smacked in the face by wayward beads (which is generally the best part). We walk the walk and we talk the talk. A new era has come to our region, and we have the support of the world behind us. And even if you give us a questionable executive branch, we have faith and hope that our own infrastructures will lead us out of the much – the swamp, so to speak – and into a better future. We ain’t scared. We never have been.

For this issue, we celebrate the lives that were lost and the many lives that came forward to fill in the hearts, the blanks, that brought us here after the Pulse massacre. We’re digging. We’re thinking. We’re loving.

Thank you to our cover story scribe Alma Hill for her in-depth research and for her voice. We need to hear all the voices and sing all the songs. Alma has a great voice.

We also go a bit batshit crazy with Divine Grace at a low-rent circus, get sappy with Alan Cumming and all the sad songs that say so much, get naked for Nude Nite in Tampa and pull the typical faces we make when at least one of us has fallen down gracelessly. Oh, how we laugh.

There are plenty other surprises wrapped in this parcel, everything to cock your brow from Tampa Bay to Orlando. Give us a beauty queen running for city commission, and we’re all over it! Also, there are sports. Those still happen every now and then, don’t they? Oh, and Jacksonville finally passed its Human Rights Ordinance after years of valiant efforts from Equality Florida and local forces to reckoned with.

Mostly, though, there is you. We’re going through some pretty insane times right now, and to exist as a collective looking out for one another is key, no matter how clichéd. Let’s help each other out. Let’s ignore those who are pulling attention to their faces without the words to back them up. Let’s hug a friend who doesn’t want to be alive (or even just alone) anymore. Let’s be our best.

We hope you enjoy this edition of Watermark, as it was indeed a labor of love. And we’ll see you at all the Prides and whirligigs as the spring commences, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Speak up. You’ve got our ear. Also, please live gloriously. We need you.

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