The
Film-Maker Cannot Hear:
Recordings of Mark D. Cohen
December 22, 1982; 8 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Roger's away, strumming at his guitar again. Every once and a while he'll stop, look out the window, and just remain motionless.
I worry about him. It's been a month since April's death. This is the first time he's left his room. I guess I could see that as a significant change...I just wish I could get him back on his AZT.
The AZT he wouldn't have to take if April hadn't gone out and fucked "The Man" for smack.
As I look at Roger now, I find that I cannot come to terms with his HIV.
With HIV, Roger is closer and closer to Death each day.
I cannot accept that.
I just...can't.
I think back to the day we met. Everything was perfect from then on out.
I can't loose him.
I would have no reason to live.
He's looking my way now, putting down the guitar.
He's watching me write as I peer over the journl.
What does he want? I can no longer tell. His eyes remain emotionless, his body still.
Why is he looking at me like that?
As I go to tend to whatever it is he needs, he stands and walks away, going into his room and letting the door shut quietly behind him.
So much for that.