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In Search of Lost Boys

In the Telegraph, Jonathan Beckman writes: “One usually has a choice of Sherpas when attempting to scale the great peaks of foreign literature in English, but for the reader wishing to tackle Proust your guide must be C K Scott Moncrieff. His friend Joseph Conrad called his skill as a translator “a supreme faculty akin to genius”, and there are some who believe his headily perfumed translation of À la recherche du temps perdu conjures Belle Époque France more vividly even than the original. Translators, we instinctively assume, have a self-effacing nature, but Charles Scott Moncrieff lived – as the subtitle of this biography confirms – a richly coloured life.

He was born into a well-to-do Scottish family in 1889 and educated at Winchester, where he decided to become a poet. His early efforts were the conventional products of a public school education, earnestly shifting between quivering homoeroticism and godly self-mortification. Less conventionally Scott Moncrieff received, while still a schoolboy, an entree into the gay literary coterie that centred on Robbie Ross, Wilde’s lover and keeper of the flame after his martyrdom. His invitation into the circle reassured him of his own homosexuality and led to a lifelong friendship with Wilde’s son, Vyvyan Holland.

He read law and English at Edinburgh, published poems in the right magazines, and cultivated a brittle wit to deflect enquiries into his hidden emotional life that probably only confirmed its general contours. The First World War came as a thrilling opportunity. He had enjoyed serving in the cadets at school and university, and the Army provided a congenial homosocial milieu. He conducted himself with reckless gallantry. One soldier who served under him wrote that his “behaviour in the face of death helped us to keep our reason”.

The war provided a boost to Scott Moncrieff’s literary career. His jaunty poetry – “We’re feasting on chocolate, game pie, currant bun,/To a faint German-band obbligato of gun” – set itself against the cynicism of more lauded contemporaries. And it brought with it spiritual awakening. At Rouen Cathedral in July 1915, he realised he was “at home”: he stalwartly maintained his Roman Catholic faith for the rest of his days and seamlessly reconciled it with an energetic sex life.”

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Edwin Gill at Red NYC
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Edwin Gill at Red NYC

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Stranger by the Lake

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audacity 
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audacity 

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Lee Friedlander, San Juan, Puerto Rico, 1979.

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Xavier Serrano
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Xavier Serrano

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Vaczine # 1

"So VACZINE #1 is finally slated for release on June 15th. The final edit features over 70 of the most diverse & divinely individual literary & visual artists working today. Thanks to our Indie-Go Go funders we got a head start on our printing costs and actually sold the deluxe hard cover copy of Vaczine #1 for $500! Although we won’t be having our launch party until July, I will be releasing a series of teasers from the first issue culminating with the super special surprise Scooter LaForge wrap around cover featuring his take on our art directors VACZINE logo the day before the issue is available to be ordered at blurb.com. The first issue of VACZINE will be print to order with hard copies available only at The Leslie Lohman Museum. Please follow our just set up fan page @https://www.facebook.com/pages/Vaczine-Magazine/236887599833397
and have an ultra correct day ;) xxWC

This weeks preview is one of the written pieces from Vaczine #1. By myself lol. It never made the final cut of my book FUKT 2 Start WITH, but like most things in my life, it took it’s time to find it’s place, much like I waited 10 years to do another magazine after the first issue of my last one CSNA got me sued by Louis Vuiton. I’m looking forward to sharingthe rest of VACZINE with you XXWalt


My Un-Official How to Guide to Hustling By Walter Cessna
Like many curious souls, I often find myself persuing the back pages of local fag rags, looking through the model/escort ads.  I’m always amused by the model/escort moniker as it just reeks of tacky innuendo and is such a weird way to try and disguise the fact that they’re hustler ads.  I think back to when I was a teenager and hustling simply wasn’t this easy, or convenient.  You didn’t advertise your modeling services.  Back in 1980 on Santa Monica Boulevard, you wore your ass out walking the street and hopping into the occasional car.
Thanks to clever advertising and a healthy dose of prostition practicality, all an aspiring rent boy has to do these days is come up with a clever tag line, enhance his measurements and if he can swing the extra dinero, produce a decent shirtless and headless shot to entice a sufficient amount of pay for play customers.  With the economy going to hell in a hand basket, there seems to be a surge in the rent boy revolution.  The back pages of Fronteirs, The Bay Area Reporter, HX, In, etc. are a chock full of pretty young (and old) things looking for paid company.
I’ve dabbled in hustling a few times in my life, both Hollywood and San Francisco.  In Hollywood, there used to be this beyond seedy bar, Hunters, which was a magnet for young white trash hookers and their older, perspective daddy’s.  Most of the kids I met there probably aren’t even alive now, unaware of even the most simplest of things.  Condoms? No way man. You got fifty bucks, more if you barebacked and twenty more if you slurped down their load.
Hunters finally got closed down by the cops about two years ago.  The Spotlight and Numbers have tried to pick up some of the slack, but the Santa Monica street hustler scene never really recovered.  It was further hindered by the never ending road construction between Fairfax and LaBrea and the increased presence of the police intent on cracking down on the Crystal casualties spilling out onto the street are so rough their almost indiscernible from the homeless people.  Most prostitutes advertise in the fag rags or through very select word of mouth.
Since the street hustling scene on Polk St. has been much cleaned up, San Francisco has also become more about having an ad in the paper and trying to keep things respectable (at least on the surface).  The kids are much more knowledgeable about safe sex these days and in general have a less dangerous air to them.  These are not the rough, dirty street hustlers of gay folklore.  These boys are scrubbed, well groomed and very professional.  However, a few odd characters have managed to stay on the fringes of the scene, lending not only there eerie presence, but the occasional shoulder for their younger counterpoints to cry upon.  I’d like to introduce you to a few folks that I have run into over the past years.”
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