I have always found these collage pictures to be fascinating, but this one comes with a twist. This photo collage of Rick Santorum is made entirely of gay pornographic images. The enlargement of this image is NSFW, so be forwarned. The pictures are still quite small if you click on the full image. I find it quite funny considering Santorum’s homophobic and religiously conservative political agenda.
Category Archives: Photography
“The Love that Dares to Speak its Name” is a controversial poem by James Kirkup. In fact, some might find the poem to be quite offensive, but after reading it and researching about it, I found it fascinating, even if it is blasphemous. Maybe intellectual curiosity sometimes kills the cat, but I decided to write about it anyway. It is written from the viewpoint of a Roman centurion who is graphically described having sex with Jesus after his crucifixion, and also claims that Jesus had had sex with numerous disciples, guards, and even Pontius Pilate. If the poem was not about Jesus Christ and the centurion, Longinus, I would truly consider the poem beautiful and erotic in an odd necrophilia sort of way that is also quite disturbing. Maybe it is either way, or maybe I have been reading too much Edgar Allen Poe in the high school English class that I am currently teaching.
The poem was at the centre of the Whitehouse v. Lemon trial for blasphemous libel, where the editor of Gay News—which first published in the poem in 1976—was convicted and given a suspended prison sentence. In later years, Britain’s Royal Crown Prosecution Service attempted to charge the Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement with a similar charge of blasphemous libel after a complaint by religious conservatives over a hypertext link on their web site to text of “The Love that Dares to Speak its Name” by James Kirkup.
The Love That Dares To Speak Its Name
By James Kirkup
As they took him from the cross
I, the centurion, took him in my arms-
the tough lean body
of a man no longer young,
but well hung.
He was still warm.
While they prepared the tomb
I kept guard over him.
His mother and the Magdalen
had gone to fetch clean linen
to shroud his nakedness.
I was alone with him.
For the last time
I kissed his mouth. My tongue
found his, bitter with death.
I licked his wound-
the blood was harsh
For the last time
I laid my lips around the tip
of that great cock, the instrument
of our salvation, our eternal joy.
The shaft, still throbbed, anointed
with death’s final ejaculation
I knew he’d had it off with other men-
with Herod’s guards, with Pontius Pilate,
With John the Baptist, with Paul of Tarsus
with foxy Judas, a great kisser, with
the rest of the Twelve, together and apart.
He loved all men, body, soul and spirit. – even me.
So now I took off my uniform, and, naked,
lay together with him in his desolation,
caressing every shadow of his cooling flesh,
hugging him and trying to warm him back to life.
Slowly the fire in his thighs went out,
while I grew hotter with unearthly love.
It was the only way I knew to speak our love’s proud name,
to tell him of my long devotion, my desire, my dread-
something we had never talked about. My spear, wet with blood,
his dear, broken body all open wounds,
and in each wound his side, his back,
his mouth – I came and came and came
as if each coming was my last.
And then the miracle possessed us.
I felt him enter into me, and fiercely spend
his spirit’s finbal seed within my hole, my soul,
pulse upon pulse, unto the ends of the earth-
he crucified me with him into kingdom come.
-This is the passionate and blissful crucifixion
same-sex lovers suffer, patiently and gladly.
They inflict these loving injuries of joy and grace
one upon the other, till they dies of lust and pain
within the horny paradise of one another’s limbs,
with one voice cry to heaven in a last divine release.
Then lie long together, peacefully entwined, with hope
of resurrection, as we did, on that green hill far away.
But before we rose again, they came and took him from me.
They knew not what we had done, but felt
no shame or anger. Rather they were glad for us,
and blessed us, as would he, who loved all men.
And after three long, lonely days, like years,
in which I roamed the gardens of my grief
seeking for him, my one friend who had gone from me,
he rose from sleep, at dawn, and showed himself to me before
all others. And took me to him with
the love that now forever dares to speak its name.
The satyrs were woodland spirits, often depicted in arts with head and upper body of man, horns and pointy ears, and goat legs. They were also depicted with large erect phallus (penis).
They were often seen accompanying Dionysus, the god of wine and ecstasy. They were shown in drunken revelry and orgy, dancing with Dionysus’ female followers, the maenads.
Pan, the god of shepherd was a satyr, so was probably Silenus or Seilenus. Silenus was one of the loyal followers of Dionysus, who brought up the wine god.
Satyrs were usually represented as being very hairy and having the tails and ears of a horse and often the horns and legs of a goat. An important part of Dionysus’ entourage, they were lustful, fertile creatures, always merrily drinking and dancing.
In Greek mythology, satyrs (in Greek, Σάτυροι — Sátyroi) are a troop of male companions of Pan and Dionysus— “satyresses” were a late invention of poets— that roamed the woods and mountains. In mythology they are often associated with male sex drive and vase-painters often portrayed them with uncontrollable erections.
The Fauns and Satyrs were he-creatures, like men, with the hind-legs of goats, short horns on their foreheads, and long pointed ears. But there was a difference between the Fauns and Satyrs. The Fauns were handsome, gentle, innocent, and rather foolish. The Satyrs were hideous, clumsy, hairy monsters, with flat faces, little eyes, and huge mouths, great gluttons, often drunk, and sometimes mischievous: most of them were dull and stupid, but many of them had plenty of sense and knowledge. The Fauns and Satyrs lived among the woods and hills like the Dryads and Oreads.
The king of all these Nymphs, Fauns, and Satyrs was a god named Pan, who was himself a very hideous satyr. He had nothing to do with the gods of Olympus, but lived on the earth, chiefly in a part of Greece called Arcādia. “Pan” is the Greek for “all”—you remember the same word in the name of “Pan-dora.” He was called “Pan” because he was the god of “all” nature—all the hills and mountains, all the woods and forests, all the fields, rivers, and streams.
Anonymous poem: A Faun meets a Taormina shepherd
In the most remote areas of Taormina’s wilderness,
Young shepherds met fauns and satyrs, Pan and Dionysos,
Hidding behind a rock, vanishing in a flash, a flash of light.
Most of the time they were mere illusions, a reflection of the sun,
A mirage in Taormina’s wilderness, at the peak of the hot wave,
Or just a noise of a rock falling down from a cliff…
But Pasqualino met a faun, a real faun, sitting on a rock,
Far away from the usual paths of Taormina’s young shepherds,
So far that he was in the middle of nowhere…
“Are you a god or just an illusion ?”, asked Pasqualino.
“Did I love you a long time ago, I am sure I know you”,
Answered the faun with his Dionysiac horns…
“Cute shepherd of Taormina, please, play a melody for me,
A melody from your reed flute, perhaps I will sing one for you,
A song of love, of the love of gods for Taormina’s shepherds…
Please, have a seat on this rock, beside me, let us sing and dream,
Hope and remember, love and be loved, let me tell you the legend of fauns,
Please tell me the story of your life, where you are from, what you dream about…”
And Pasqualino played the most beautiful of the tunes the boys of Taormina know,
A music wide as an horizon, deep as eyes, sensitive as a caressing hand,
A music of longing and sorrow, of dream and hope, of loneliness and communion.
Wilhelm von Gloeden’s camera obscura was able to catch the magic of this encounter,
The encounter of a Faun and of a young shepherd from Taormina,
At the turn of a century, at the threshold of two worlds, reality and imagination.
While looking at this photograph, forever I can listen to this forgotten melody,
To the melody of Fauns meeting young shepherds in the most remote wilderness,
Of Fauns falling in love with them, and crossing the invisible border,
The border between gods and humans, between dream and reality,
Between hope and memory,
So far, so deep, at this crossroads where a lover meet his loved one.
Anonymous poet, around 1907, Von Gloeden Archive, 1907, call number 1907/Anon/12 (Rêves Siciliens)
Taking a bit of a break today, so get your cup of coffee and join me. Truth be told, I sort of came up blank with an idea for a post today, so I just thought I would add this hot picture from Marlen Boro (NSFW).
If you want to know more about Marlen Boro or the model above, click “read more” below.
So here is a little about the photographer.
Marlen Boro was born during the magical seventies and in a magical land called North Dakota. He remained in this land throughout his youth, enjoying a wholesome, idyllic childhood shaped by conservative Lutheranism, regular family meals with his parents and brothers, and hefty doses of Disney musicals. When he was 10, his father gave him his own camera. He enthusiastically embraced photography, a practice that complemented a more general enchantment with the arts.
Upon graduating from high school, Marlen left North Dakota for rural Ohio, where he spent four glorious years studying political philosophy at Kenyon College. During his time at this liberal bastion for the liberal arts, he enjoyed a brief flirtation with communism, but abandoned it when he realized that he really didn’t like to share.
Marlen eventually settled in Minneapolis, Minnesota after a stint in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where he earned his J.D. After a number of years practicing corporate law at prestigious firms, he began to question some of the priorities he had absorbed in law school. At the same time, he began to experience a resurgence of his love for art and photography. As his collection of cameras and equipment grew, his commitment to the stressful lifestyle of a full-time corporate attorney waned. Today, though he still practices law (primarily as an advisor to other photographers), photography is his main focus.
Marlen’s photography reflects his lifelong quirky sense of humor and impossible-to-squelch delight in the world. He is masterful at bringing out not only sultry shadows and the astonishing beauty of the male body, but also genuine smiles, infectious smirks, spontaneous grins, and other moments of unguarded authenticity. He encourages his clients to be simultaneously sexual and playful. Unapologetic about being gay, Marlen encourages his clients, whether gay or straight, to find joy in themselves and their sexuality. Marlen’s imaginative, playful approach to photography sometimes manifests itself in coats of glitter, in stretched pairs of ladies’ underwear, or dime-store bunny ears.
In short, Marlen combines top-notch photography skills with a lighthearted, playful attitude, and the result is an interwoven web of whimsy, confidence and eroticism.
In the photo at the first of the post, Boro states the he had been able to convince the model, Shawn, to stop shaving his chest. Here he is with his chest shaved:
Which do you prefer? I like both, but the one at the top of the post makes him look older and more mature.
If you’ve read this whole thing, then you know that I was having a hard time coming up with a topic today. It’s not my usual post, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.