By Michael Kearns To be honest with you, I’m not sure why I was asked to speak at this memorial, other than the fact that I have a reputation for giving good eulogy — a skill I sadly developed in the Eighties and Nineties when AIDS was robbing of us…

by Michael Kearns Reeling from shots of hubris — while in my callow twenties, studying acting in Chicago — I remember cracking a joke about the film, I Never Sang For My Father: “Not only did I never sing for my father, I didn’t even hum for the fucker.” …

A Lesson For Writers, Artists & Your Neighbor Madge As a teacher in his autumnal years, I attempt to seek out truths that will help guide my students, providing ways to clear their paths toward a rich life, personally and professionally. There are the routine rants about writer’s block (a…

From the American Academy to the Palace to the Stonewall Inn by Michael Kearns I was a seventeen-year old, living at the McBurney YMCA on 23rd St, attending a summer session at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Oh, it was dramatic alright; if you yawned during class, you were…

by Michael Kearns Visiting my hometown of St. Louis, the weather is downright manic-depressive, fluctuating from bitter cold to lapses of joyous sunshine. Perhaps these contradictory conditions speak to the extremes of my state of mind; wholeheartedly thankful to be spending time with my high school bestie, reinforcing our 55-year…

FORGED IN A MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON VISITING ROOM — by Michael Kearns I thought I graduated magna cum laude in Death as the Eighties concluded, having lost dozens of friends, lovers, collaborators, mentors, and allies. …

by Michael Kearns “Old age ain’t no place for sissies,” Miss Bette Davis proclaimed, reportedly in the late Sixties; post Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? in which she played a decrepit childstar with a mean streak. If one is attempting to maintain a career, remain relevant, and at least resemble your youthful self while navigating the vicissitudes of the entertainment industry, you need interior armor, a team of supporters, and good moisturizer.

By Michael Kearns Like our sisters of all stripes, sex defined millions of gay men in the late Sixties as we lovingly gave each other flowers, a hit of marijuana, and our bodies. Gay liberation and feminism afforded many of us an opportunity to ignite a part of our identity…

E.M. Forster said “only connect” eons before Google and Grindr and Eharmony and Wiki and Tindr — oh my. Consider the connections, consciously or not, that we make when seeking information, or sex, or fun facts. Sometimes you get more than you were searching for. This revealing connection was not, I swear — and swore to my therapist — conscious or intentional. It was Easter-time and I hopped down the rabbit hole seeking a spiritual experience. Or at least an uplift.