Karen Ocamb

ACT UP/LA Warrior Pete Jimenez Remembered

Filed By Karen Ocamb | May 29, 2012 3:30 PM | comments

Filed in: Gay Icons and History, Living
Tags: ACT UP/LA, HIV/AIDS activism, memorial, Pete Jimenez

It is appropriate that the life and activism of ACT UP/LA's Pete Jimenez be commemorated during Memorial Day weekend, the time set aside for the nation to remember and thank soldiers who fought for democracy and freedom in wars overseas. The war Pete and his fellow ACT UP warriors fought was here at home, against the US government, against the godless cruelty of the Religious Right, homophobia and the willful neglect of people with AIDS. Pete-memorial-Jeff-Schuerholtz.jpg

ACT UP/LA's Jeff Schuerholz stands with photo of his partner Pete Jimenez at commemoration of Pete's life at the Great Hall on May 26, 2012 (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

Pete died of AIDS-related complications on Friday, April 13. He was 48. On Saturday, May 26, Pete was remembered as a brave warrior who was often arrested when confronting decision-makers who played politics with the lives of people with HIV/AIDS. Often at the expense of their own health, Pete and his fellow warriors ripped away that cloak of presumed institutional invincibility and forced America to confront its own inhumanity.

There is no Arlington Cemetery where these brave soldiers are buried in honor, where family and friends can visit and find some solace. But there are places filled with memories and ghosts, where the warriors plotted and planned - and VOTED - on actions that they knew could be dangerous if the media blinked and police let loose on the queers. Such a place was the Great Hall in Plummer Park in West Hollywood, the site of ACT UP/LA's regular meetings, the site of the commemoration of the life and activism of Pete Jimenez and the love between Pete and his partner of 21 years, Jeff Schuerholtz.

Keiko Lane, who wrote a moving tribute right after Pete's death, remembered:Pete-memorial-Kate-Sorensen-with-Robin-.jpg

Kate Sorensen (rt) with Robin Podoksky (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

How long has it been since we've all been in this room together? This year is the 25th anniversary of ACT UP. I hate why we're here. But it seems in some way right that we're here. That we're here for Pete, because of Pete, because of who he was.

Kate Sorensen, from ACT UP/LA and ACT UP/Philadelphia, lead the relaxed and moving tribute. She reminded the packed Great Hall how those who saw Pete's "in your face" activism "may not hear the deep love behind it."

David Lawrence lead a Queer Warrior Invocation that enabled people to call out the names of "all the great warriors in this room that have made a difference." The names were many, accompanied by tears and sounds of acknowledgement. Sister X, Wayne, Cory, Roxy, Richard, Renee, Connie, Wade, Mark, Ferd, David, Steven, Susan - even Rock Hudson and Harry Hay. And Pete Jimenez: "Pete, feel the love that we have for you."

Then came a video tribute - with photos and a video of Pete telling the story of how pissed off he was at Bill Clinton for wishing Ronald Reagan a happy birthday - so he sent Clinton a fax saying "Fuck You!...you asshole."Pete-memorial-pete-video-.jpg

Pete Jimenez on video telling about sending a fax to Bill Clinton (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

In a snippet from a local news story, Pete was interviewed explaining why he and other ACT UP members were handing out condoms at Hoover High School. He calmly said they wanted to let the Religious Right know they couldn't dictate moral values.

And then there were the shots of the actions:

People with AIDS under attack! What do we do? Act UP! Fight Back!

Keiko Lane was a teenage member of ACT UP/LA and Queer Nation (see her complete remarks below):Pete-memorial-Pink-gun-Reagan-lib.jpg

Pete Jiminez with his pink water pistol protesting at the Reagan Library. JT Anderson in the foreground (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

I don't believe that it was always easy for Pete to stay alive, I know it wasn't. But I also know that he never lost that double-sidedness of kindness and ferocity. The determination to love. To love his community. His chosen family. To love Jeff.

Pete is - is - was. I've been having tense problems - past tense - present tense - thinking about him and writing about him. Because he WAS a daily presence, pain in the ass instigator and loving companion through revolution after revolution. And he IS, still, one of the luminous icons of our collective rage and our commitment to taking care of each other.

Helene Schpak spoke next, recalling her first meeting of ACT UP/LA when there were only 20 people in the room - but "all these personalities!" Pete, she said, "was so much there, so much warmth - with thoughtful, beautiful, targeted rage." He was so sweet "who became a totally different person in the middle of an action." Everyone, she recalled, "was so brave." But Pete became so focused, he was "a human projectile flying into the heart of the cause."

J.T. Anderson spoke plainly about death and remembered Pete in the context of other warriors (see his complete remarks below): Pete-Pete-Stop-GOP-Death-Squads.jpg

Pete Jimenez at ACT UP protest in Century City (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

I do not fear death. I do not dread death. Because, like Pete, before taking the hand of death, when I reflect on my life, I will have no regrets. Pete knew, in those last moments, that he had done his best to comfort those with AIDS and to end AIDS. He had done his best to fight discrimination and comfort those who are hated. But, that's not the point. His work was not finished. He was taken too soon.

Performance artist and writer Diviana Ingravallo spoke after another video tribute:

I remember clearly the first time I saw him, it was Backstage at a Diamanda Galas concert. He exuded a dangerous don't-fuck -with-me charisma, his stature, the black cape, the silver rings, fierce tattoos, his cane that looked like a sword, made me think of a goth punk rock super hero. I knew then that he was a warrior in the same war I had been fighting in N.Y. and S.F. Let's face it: History has never seen a more fabulous and fierce army. What I didn't know was that our paths were to cross again and he was going to become my confidante, a true friend I shared my deep seeded emotions with, my joy, my adventures, travels, my self loathing, my struggles, with him I wasn't afraid to share my darkness, my fear, and even the shreds of my madness. Pete's huge heart, his way of being absolutely non judgmental made me feel safe and loved. Pete-memorial-Keiko-at-podium.jpg

Keiko Lane sharing memories of Pete Jimenez (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

Mary Lucey cracked everyone up with stories about how she and Pete were ardent pot smokers and how Pete appreciated her "green thumb." She recalled the tent-city hunger-strike protest at Santa Monica and Vista when the feds shut down the Cannabis Resource Center, OKed under state law (Prop 215). Mary said she and Pete shared a tent for 10-14 days, from which one could often see smoke billowing out. And while they both expected to lose weight on the hunger strike - Mary confessed that they actually gain a few pounds each.

Sometime after Mary and her longtime partner Nancy MacNeil moved to a rural area in the Central Coast and Mary wanted to run for city council but was concerned about all the possible attacks on her as an HIV positive lesbian convict who like smoking pot. Pete said, "Girlfriend, our skin is thick enough, given all that we've lived through." Mary said she was elected in a landslide and her community knows them as the lesbian couple that "doesn't look like Ellen."

Mary also talked how she was frightened because she was still on parole but nonetheless helped lead the ACT UP and Women Alive actions outside the women's prison in Fontera and then again in Sacramento to advocate for Judy Cagle as the first prisoner to win compassionate release. She said when Pete joined her in Sacramento, "he made me feel safe."Pete-Helen-at-Clinic-defense-.jpg

ACT UP/LA and Women Alive activist Helene Schpak at Clinic Defense action in the early 1990s (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

Jeff was particularly pleased to present a surprise video tribute to Pete from performance artist Diamanda Galas. And then he shared - telling how he first met Pete when Pete was a client of Project Angel Food. Then suddenly he wasn't on the list. It turned out Pete was in a national action in Washington DC where had been jailed with spinal meningitis. When asked if there was anything he needed, Pete said: "Get me more stickers."

When Jeff walked into a meeting of ACT UP/LA in the Great Hall, "our eyes met...I am one of the luckiest people because I found true love."

Jeff also told of how Pete was in a Beverly Hills doctor's office one day for an appointment when he spotted former President George H. W. Bush in the other room. Pete called Jeff for advice on what to do. "This is your chance," Jeff said...which was apparently all Pete needed to hear. He headed into the other room with his cane raised and "went off on him" - yelling "Shame! Shame! Shame! My friends are dying...." The Secret Service were stunned and hustled Bush into the elevator. But just as the doors were closing, Pete used his cane to push the button and re-open the elevator doors - enabling Pete to continue berating the former president. This time the Secret Service pushed him back until Bush escaped. On Pete's second visit to the doctor, it was revealed the Secret Service came back to take Pete's medical records for a background investigation.Pete-memorial-JT-sign1.jpg

JT Anderson holding Stop The Lies About AIDS sign at ACT UP/LA protest of President George HW Bush in Century City (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

"I will always miss him," Jeff said.

A number of people shared their memories of Pete, too, before joining in a reunion outdoors.

Here are the complete remarks from Keiko Lane:

How long has it been since we've all been in this room together? This year is the 25th anniversary of ACT UP. I hate why we're here. But it seems, in some way right that we're here. That we're here for Pete, because of Pete, because of who he was.

I was probably 20 years old the last time I was in this room. That was almost 20 years ago.

But when we were all here before, Sister X would have been sitting back there. Robert would have been over there. Steven somewhere on that side. Wayne, if he was here, would have been pacing in the courtyard, chain smoking. And when a motion was on the floor for a vote, Pete would be hollering at Wayne, "Hey girl, get in here" and making the vote wait. Pete-memorial-Diviana-Ingravallo.jpg

Performance artist and writer Diviana Ingravallo (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

Pete was full of contradictions. One hand, he was one of the fiercest, most fearless activists I've ever known. And he was also loving, patient with his friends - not to be confused with complacency with anyone's homophobia or AIDSphobia or sexism - but willing to educate, to sit in endless process and conversation, and available whenever anyone who he felt responsible to needed him.

When I wrote about Pete the weekend he died, everyone had a story to tell about the first time they met him, or fighting with him about political strategy, or taking care of him or being taken care of by him. And, of course, everyone has a story about being arrested with him - intentionally or not - or being in jail with him, or the endless times we'd bail him out of jail. Almost every one of us in the room, probably has one of those stories, and we want to hear all of them today. There will be time.

A few weeks after Pete died, I went to hear Cornel West give a lecture in Oakland. He said something that I've heard him say a few times over the past few years, and which has always stood out, but hit me differently, so hard. I saw Pete so clearly, and had a sort of ridiculous A-Ha moment, sitting in the absurdly ornate theater in downtown Oakland, crying. Dr West was talking about why we fight for justice in all of the ways and all of the places that we do, and what he said about it was:Pete-memorial-Nancy-MacNeil-and-Mary-Lucey.jpg

Nancy MacNeil and Mary Lucey (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

Justice is what Love looks like in Public.

And finally Pete made sense to me. I mean, he'd always made sense in that crazy, kind, brilliant, Pete way - and I've always loved him, from the moment we met I'd loved him - but I mean I got something about his philosophy and strategy. About the way he moved through the world.

One of my first memories of Pete, really of most of this community, was at a Friday Night Fundie action. Remember those? For those of you who don't, on Friday nights, Calvary Chapel in Orange County would send members of its congregation into West Hollywood to harass queers going in and out of bars and clubs and A Different Light books, threatening us. So Queer Nation started showing up, harassing them, surrounding them, counter-educating about queer liberation. I had just joined Queer Nation when I went to my first Friday night Queers Bash Back action.Pete-Memorial-Mary-Lucey-and-Judy.jpg

Mary Lucey and Judy Cagle and APLA executive director Lenny Bloom discussing need for HIV treatment in prisons (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

I was 16, and totally out of my element. Wanting this crazy queer chosen family to become my element. And Pete taught me about bashing back. About being smarter and more creative, and having each others backs. About the relentless refusal to assimilate. About being more committed and more invested in being alive. And, sometimes, about being stronger and faster. As I got braver, being in this community, Pete would nudge me farther into the spotlight, because he believed that young people should have a voice, should be mentored in developing one. And that everyone else needed to listen.

And, when someone would come after me, one of the fundies on a Friday night, or a cop, often a cop - Pete was one of a few of the ACT UP folks - along with Jeff - who would, without thinking twice, throw their body between my teenage self, and any source of danger.Pete-Mary-and-Judy-prison-.jpg

Judy Cagle and Mary Lucey (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

The real danger, the real damage though, as injured as we all were by the police over and over, the damage to our psyches, was the devastation of loss in the community.

Every week, it seemed, and sometimes more than once a week, we were shuttling back and forth between hospitals and hospice, funeral marches and bonfires. Then, especially after Robert, Sister X, then Wayne, then Cory, died. Pete always thought he would be next. And didn't know why he wasn't. For some of us the constant threat of loss was as devastating to our ability to live, us as the losses themselves.

Pete stayed alive for twenty years longer than he should have. Well, on one hand longer than he should have. On the other hand, were it not for fear, ignorance and government neglect he might still be in this room with us. Sister X might still be over there. Steven over there. Robert. Wayne, chain smoking in the courtyard.Pete-memorial-Jeff-and-Pete-poster.jpg

I don't believe that it was always easy for Pete to stay alive, I know it wasn't. But I also know that he never lost that double-sided-ness of kindness and ferocity. The determination to love. To love his community. His chosen family. To love Jeff.

Pete is - is - was. I've been having tense problems, past tense - present tense - thinking about him and writing about him. Because he WAS a daily presence, pain in the ass instigator and loving companion through revolution after revolution. And, he IS, still one of the luminous icons of our collective rage and our commitment to taking care of each other.

Justice is what Love looks like in public.- the balance between Queers Bash Back and taking care of each other.Pete-memorial-Pat-Judy-Pete-in-Saco.jpg

Patt Riese, Judy Sisneros, Pete Jimenez protesting AB 101 veto in Sacramento (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

When he died, he had over 2000 followers on twitter and had sent out 28,000 tweets. The post-modern version of the days he would spend calling and calling the white house, and faxing senators for hours, jamming their systems.

I was lucky. I found him, or he found me. I was mentored by him when I needed him. Taught. To mourn the dead, to avenge the dead, to fight for the living. To love relentlessly.

Do you remember Jim Pickett - James Carroll Pickett? He wrote a play called "Queen of Angels" - and by the way, if Jim were still here he'd be out in the courtyard with Wayne, chain smoking. In his play, the main character, a writer, says "I will not forget. I will be the rememberer."Pete-memorial-Judy-SIsneros-.jpg

Judy Sisneros (rt) outside Great Hall (Photo by Karen Ocamb)</left>

This has been our task for 15, 20, 25 years. To remember. But memory is static and we are not and we long for our dead to join us, to be able to ask them what to do. We want them with us still. For weeks I've wanted to ask Pete what to say today, what he would want. I think he would have loved today. I think I would have made him happier if we ended the day by taking a building and having to bail at least one person out of jail. There's a poem which I've turned to often, and which I've been especially thinking of as we neared this memorial, about how we invoke them, call them to us, so I'll end with this poem. This is for all of us, the still living. and especially for you, Jeff. The poem is by Dorianne Laux, and its called "Trying to Raise the Dead."Patt-Riese-Keiko-Lane-and-Brian-in-Great-Hall-in-WeHo-Photo-by-Karen-Ocamb-.jpg

Patt Riese, Keiko Lane and Brian inside The Great Hall in WeHo (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

"Look at me. I'm standing on a deck

in the middle of Oregon. There are

people inside the house. It's not my

house. you don't know them.

They're drinking and singing

and playing guitars. You love

this song. Remember? "Ophelia."

Boards on the windows, mail

by the door. I'm whispering

so they won't think I'm crazy.

They don't know me that well.
Where are you now? I feel stupid.

I'm talking to trees, to leaves

swarming on the black air, stars

blinking in and out of heart-

shaped shadows, to the moon, half-

lit and barren, stuck like an ax

between the branches. What are you

now? Air? Mist? Dust? Light?

What? Give me something. I have

to know where to send my voice.

A direction. An object. My love, it needs

a place to rest. Say anything. I'm listening.

I'm ready to believe. Even lies, I don't care.

Say, burning bush. Say, stone. They've

stopped singing now and I really should go.

So tell me, quickly, it's April. I'm

on Spring Street. That's my gray car

in the driveway. They're laughing

and dancing. Someone's bound

to show up soon. I'm waving.

Give me a sign if you can see me.

I'm the only one here on my knees.

(from "Smoke" Boa Editions, 2000)

Pete-memorial-JT-and-Walt-Seinfit.jpg

JT Anderson and Dr. Walt Senterfitt (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

Here are J.T. Anderson's remarks:

I am humbled to be in this historic room among the brightest, most creative, most dedicated people I have ever known. This Great Hall is packed. I see you and I feel the presence, the energy of all those who are no longer with us......Chris Brownlie, Jim Feldman, Joe McKordle, Lori Avila, Larry Day, Mark Kostoupoulos, Ricky Turner, Roxie Ventola, Corey Roberts, Sister X, Greg Carlisle, Jerry Mills, Steven Corbin, Robert Garcia, Tony Balcena, Jim Jensen, Wayne Karr, Joel Three, Connie Norman, Wade Richards, Stephanie Boggs, Doug Harrison.......so many others.....and Pete Jimenez.Pete-memorial-pete-brother.jpg

Pete's brother Nelson Bussiere also spoke (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

Death has taken Pete. Death will take us all. When death calls, we go. Death grants us a release from pain and discrimination. The living, left behind to mourn, are the ones still in anguish. There are those who did not and will not go easily with death, because of deserved regrets before their last breaths. Those who would not even say the word AIDS, much less do anything about it during their time of power; those who preach hate and discrimination from their pulpits and in the media, those who shun their children, family members, friends, and strangers with AIDS. They remember and suffer before their unsuitable peace.

I do not fear death. I do not dread death. Because, like Pete, before taking the hand of death, when I reflect on my life, I will have no regrets. Pete knew, in those last moments, that he had done his best to comfort those with AIDS and to end AIDS. He had done his best to fight discrimination and comfort those who are hated. But, that's not the point. His work was not finished. He was taken too soon.Pete-Quinten-10.jpg

10 year old Quinten MacNeil also spoke (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

I want to be angry today, but it's difficult. I've studied the speeches and writings of Vitto Russo, Robert Vazquez-Pacheco and Larry Kramer to try to connect to their anger.

If Vitto Russo were here he would say, "If Pete died from anything, he died from homohobia. If Pete died from anything, he died from racism. If Pete died from anything, it was from indifference and red tape, because these are the things preventing an end to this crisis. If Pete died from anything, he died from Ronald Reagan, Jesses Helms, George Bush and all those in power who did nothing. If Pete died from anything, he died from the sensationalism of the media which are interested in people with AIDS as a human interest story--only as long as they are willing to be helpless victims. Pete was not a helpless victim. If Pete died from anything he died from the fact that not enough rich, white, heterosexual men have gotten AIDS for anybody to give a shit."Pete-memorial-Jeff-and-Wendell.jpg

Jeff Schuerholz and Wendell Jones (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

But that's Vitto, not me.

If Robert Vazquez-Pacheco were here he would say, "Gay white men organized in ACT UP, and let me preface this by saying that I will be forever grateful for them, because if they hadn't done anything, we'd all be dead. But they organized because they knew that the system that they grew up with wasn't working for them. It suddenly had betrayed them and didn't actually care about their lives. Gay white men believed the system could be repaired, tweaked for it to work better. Whereas women and people of color said, "The system has never worked for us. The system needs to be scrapped and we need to come up with something new. This situation demands more because we do not have access to the same system that you do.'."Pete-memorial-Peter-Cashman-.jpg

ACT UP/LA's Peter Cashman (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

But that's Robert, not me.

If Larry Kramer were here I'm sure he would want to give us some advice and say, "I know many people look to me for answers. You want answers? We're living in pig shit and it's up to each one of us to figure out how to get out of it. You want it to be simple. It isn't simple. Yes, it is. Grow up! No one likes to be told to grow up. It's insulting. But these are always the answers. Behave like an adult. Behave responsibly. Fight for your rights. Take care of yourself and each other. Be proud of yourself. Be proud you are gay. It takes discipline to be an adult. It takes courage to live. Are you living? I don't know why so many find all this so complicated. But then I' m 69 years old and have less patience for the many problems I had myself when young. It is one of the privileges of getting old."

But that's Larry, not me.

I'm just me, remembering Pete like the last time I saw him. He greeted me with a big smile and a warm hug. No anger. No politics. Just old friends.

I wish we were all infected.

Infected with the ability to remember those who have died and to ACT UP.

Infected with the courage to FIGHT BACK

Infected with the determination to STOP AIDS

Here are Diviana Ingravallo's complete remarks:

When I was asked to speak here, I immediately said yes but when I sat down to write I couldn't find the language. Just a week before Pete's, my friend Alexis Rivera had succumbed to her battle with AIDS, I was grieving yet staying strong. When Judy called me with the news of Pete's death, I went into shock, crushed, began weeping, my friends were caressing me and all I could feel was a violent ripping of my heart. With every goodbye my heart hardens a bit more, it closes off, to write about his death was to open my heart and let it speak, was to get out of denial and to accept that, yes, it's true, Pete too is gone.Pete-Memorial-Wayne-Karr.jpg

Wayne Karr (Photo by Karen Ocamb)

I remember clearly the first time I saw him, it was Backstage at a Diamanda Galas concert. He exuded a dangerous don't-fuck -with-me charisma, his stature, the black cape, the silver rings, fierce tattoos, his cane that looked like a sword, made me think of a goth punk rock super hero. I knew then that he was a warrior in the same war I had been fighting in N.Y. and S.F. Let's face it: History has never seen a more fabulous and fierce army. What I didn't know was that our paths were to cross again and he was going to become my confidante, a true friend I shared my deep seeded emotions with, my joy, my adventures, travels, my self loathing, my struggles, with him I wasn't afraid to share my darkness, my fear, and even the shreds of my madness. Pete's huge heart, his way of being absolutely non judgmental made me feel safe and loved.

I moved to L.A. in the 90's. By then Act Up and Queer Nation had already dismantled as a movement. For some of the survivors Homogenization and integration, had taken its place. But not for Pete. He never left the trenches and never put away his weapons even when, at times, the fight must have felt like a one-man crusade. Entering his alcove in Hollywood was like being back in the battlefield. It was not nostalgia. As a true warrior, Pete understood that not only the fight was far from being over but more and more battles needed to be fought. With the sharpness of his mind Pete never stopped getting informed, speaking out, doing his political work from his bedroom and even taking to the streets whenever he could physically endure it. What motivated Pete was his passion, his anger towards any form of injustice and his ability to spot it at its roots.

We all know what a fierce warrior Pete was. Since his death I've been learning even more of his unapologetic, creative, daring revolutionary life. What I'm crying about today is his compassion, empathy, his deep understanding of PAIN that his friends, family or anyone that crossed his path was experiencing and his willingness to help, to put his life on the line for them. All of that came from his heart.

Few years ago I went through big medical problems. Plagued by Chronic pain I too had extracted myself from any form of social life. Physical Pain transforms you, it makes you raw, takes away all niceties, it can take you close to madness. Pete was there for me, guiding me with advice, helping me understand how to live, survive and how to remain gracious.

When I finally went in the hospital for my spinal surgery. Aside from my few caretaking friends I can't say that all my friends came to visit and I wasn't expecting it either. But Pete... Pete came to visit. Knowing how hard it was for him to physically leave the house, to do those activities so easy to able-bodied people, I was very surprised. He arrived, dressed to the tilt, wearing his activist t -shirt, his cane covered in bright political stickers:

"Of course I'm here. How could I not visit you", he said with the warmest smile. He was PRESENT, SUPPORTIVE and helpful throughout my healing process and beyond. The notion of anything but that complete involvement had never crossed his mind.

Pete understood pain and suffering unfortunately they had become so intrinsic to who he was. But I can only count a few occasions in which he reached out sharing how bad he had been feeling. He didn't want to be a burden and maintained a strong spirit of independence

I had visited him a week before his death, I was sharing with him how hard Alexis' last few days had been, the pain she went through.

"Why didn't you let me know? I would've been there. I could've helped". And I know he would have. That's who Pete was.

That day he told me of his plan. Before getting too sick he would've thrown a big goodbye party for his friends. Today I'm pissed that he wasn't even granted that.

I always wonder. Where have our faboulous fallen warriors gone? Is there a place in some stratosphere where they reunite? Who knows.

What I do know is that they continue to live in my heart, actions, every friend has enriched me and to those I've lost I've made a promise to go on, to keep fighting. Pete's legacy is now my inspiration, my weapon. As a survivor, I don't live just for myself but for the fallen ones, they give me strength and when life gets so painful, so dark that all I crave is absolute infinite silence, when I lose the enthusiasm to go on, I see that faboulus army dancing, lifting my spirit, reminding me of our dreams, of all the work that still needs to be done and ultimately giving me the courage and the strength to go on. Goodbye Pete!


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