Category Archives: Photography

I Couldn’t Help Myself

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.


Moment of Zen: Nude Gay Zen

This might be one of the gayest pictures I have ever seen. I love it!

Contemplation


The Love That Dares To Speak Its Name

“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,
beardless, breathless,
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.

Further Reading:


Fauns and Satyrs

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)


Cary Grant

Yesterday on Tuner Classic Movies’s Summer of the Stars, Cary Grant was the feature star.  I love Cary Grant. In my opinion, there has never been, before or since, an actor as handsome and with such charisma as Cary Grant. In honor of Grant, I wanted to write a post about him.

A master of the screwball comedy.

Archibald Alexander Leach, better known by his stage name Cary Grant. With his distinctive mid-Atlantic accent, he was noted as perhaps the foremost exemplar of the debonair leading man, not only handsome, but also witty and charming. He was named the second Greatest Male Star of All Time by the American Film Institute. Grant starred in some of the classic screwball comedies. His popular classic films include The Awful Truth (1937), Bringing Up Baby (1938), Gunga Din (1939), Only Angels Have Wings (1939), His Girl Friday (1940), The Philadelphia Story (1940), Suspicion (1941), Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), Notorious (1946), To Catch A Thief (1955), An Affair to Remember (1957), North by Northwest (1959), and Charade (1963).  From the beginning of his career to the end, I have never seen a bad or even mediocre, Cary Grant movie.  They have all been some of my favorite movies.

With Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday

At the 42nd Academy Awards the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences honored him with an Honorary Award “for his unique mastery of the art of screen acting with the respect and affection of his colleagues”.

Cary Grant embodied the elegance, charm, and sophistication of Hollywood in its golden years. His good looks, charisma, and ambiguous sexuality enchanted women and men alike. As the star-struck comedian Steve Lawrence once said, “When Cary Grant walked into a room, not only did the women primp, the men straightened their ties.”

Grant was married five times. He wed Virginia Cherrill on February 10, 1934. She divorced him on March 26, 1935, following charges that Grant had hit her. In 1942 he married Barbara Hutton, one of the wealthiest women in the world, and became a father figure to her son, Lance Reventlow. The couple was derisively nicknamed “Cash and Cary”, although in an extensive prenuptial agreement Grant refused any financial settlement in the event of a divorce. After divorcing in 1945, they remained lifelong friends. Grant always bristled at the accusation that he married for money: “I may not have married for very sound reasons, but money was never one of them.”

On December 25, 1949, Grant married Betsy Drake. He appeared with her in two films. This would prove to be his longest marriage, ending on August 14, 1962. Drake introduced Grant to LSD, and in the early 1960s he related how treatment with the hallucinogenic drug—legal at the time—at a prestigious California clinic had finally brought him inner peace after yoga, hypnotism, and mysticism had proved ineffective. (In 1932, Grant had also met the Indian spiritual teacher Meher Baba.) Grant and Drake divorced in 1962.

Grant and Cannon

He eloped with Dyan Cannon on July 22, 1965 in Las Vegas. Their daughter, Jennifer Grant, was born prematurely on February 26, 1966. He frequently called her his “best production” and regretted that he had not had children sooner. The marriage was troubled from the beginning and Cannon left him in December 1966, claiming that Grant flew into frequent rages and spanked her when she “disobeyed” him. The divorce, finalized in 1968, was bitter and public, and custody fights over their daughter went on for nearly ten years.

On April 11, 1981, Grant married long-time companion Barbara Harris, a British hotel public relations agent, who was 47 years his junior. They renewed their vows on their fifth wedding anniversary. Fifteen years after Grant’s death, Harris married former Kansas Jayhawks All-American quarterback David Jaynes in 2001.

With Randolph Scott

Some, including Hedda Hopper and screenwriter Arthur Laurents have said, that Grant was bisexual, the latter writing that Grant “told me he threw pebbles at my window one night but was luckless”. Grant allegedly was involved with costume designer Orry-Kelly when he first moved to Manhattan, and lived with Randolph Scott off and on for twelve years. Richard Blackwell wrote that Grant and Scott were “deeply, madly in love”, and alleged eyewitness accounts of their physical affection have been published. Alexander D’Arcy, who appeared with Grant in The Awful Truth, said he knew that Grant and Scott “lived together as a gay couple”, adding: “I think Cary knew that people were saying things about him. I don’t think he tried to hide it.” The two men frequently accompanied each other to parties and premieres and were unconcerned when photographs of them cozily preparing dinner together at home were published in fan magazines.

Grant and Scott

Barbara, Grant’s widow, has disputed that there was a relationship with Scott. When Chevy Chase joked about Grant being gay in a television interview Grant sued him for slander; they settled out of court. However, Grant did admit in an interview that his first two wives had accused him of being homosexual. Betsy Drake commented: “Why would I believe that Cary was homosexual when we were busy fucking?”

In 1932 he met fellow actor Randolph Scott on set, and the two shared a rented beach house (known as ‘Bachelor Hall’) on and off for twelve years. Rumours ran rampant at the time that Grant and Scott were lovers. From 1933 onwards, Cary Grant occasionally shared a house with Randolph Scott. There were many rumors about their relationship. Scott often referred to himself, jokingly, as Grant’s wife. Many studio heads threatened not to employ them unless they lived separately.

Grant and Scott

In their biographies of Grant, Marc Eliot, Charles Higham and Roy Moseley contend that Grant was bisexual. Higham and Moseley claim that Grant and Scott were seen kissing in a public car park outside a social function both attended in the 1960s. In his book, Hollywood Gays, Boze Hadleigh cites an interview with homosexual director George Cukor, who commented on the alleged homosexual relationship between Scott and Grant: “Oh, Cary won’t talk about it. At most, he’ll say they did some wonderful pictures together. But Randolph will admit it—to a friend.” (It should be noted that there is substantial disagreement as to the veracity of Hadleigh’s works.) It has even been suggested that Grant and Scott were married in a secret ceremony in Mexico. Randolph Scott’s son Christopher refuted these rumors. Following the death of his father in 1987, Christopher wrote a book, Whatever Happened to Randolph Scott?

Grant and Scott

According to screenwriter Arthur Laurents, Grant was “at best bisexual”. William J. Mann’s book Behind the Screen: How Gays and Lesbians Shaped Hollywood, 1910-1969 recounts how photographer Jerome Zerbe spent “three gay months” (his words) in the movie colony taking many photographs of Grant and Scott, “attesting to their involvement in the gay scene.” Zerbe says that he often stayed with the two actors, “finding them both warm, charming, and happy.” In addition, Darwin Porter’s book, Brando Unzipped (2006) claims that Grant had a homosexual affair with Marlon Brando.

Grant and Scott

Whether Cary Grant was heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual doesn’t really matter to me, he was a great actor.  His former wife, Dyan Cannon was thrust into the Hollywood celebrity whirlpool in 1965 when, at 28, she married superstar Cary Grant who was 35 years her senior. It was Cannon’s first marriage and Grant’s fourth. She has always been adamant when asked about Grant’s sexuality saying “I can tell you there isn’t an iota of truth to those ugly rumors. They would never have written that drivel when Cary was alive. He’d have sued the pants off those cowards. Cary can’t defend himself from the grave but I will go to mine insisting he was every ounce a straight man.”


Taking a Break

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.