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RIP Davy Jones of The Monkees, who died today aged just 66.
Read the article on the BBC
"Ex Vegas showgirl turned lounge act cocktail pianist Miss Hope Springs is on tour in Europe after the Starlight Lounge at the Pink Pelican Casino, where she had been entertaining since the sixt... I mean seventies... was dynamited and turned into a parking lot.She was unfortunate in the fact that much of her audience at the Ball were mainly busy chatting at the bar (and some chatting right at the front of the stage - how rude!). But she growled magnificently through three hilarious numbers, before leaving us. Here's the "lady" herself...
Having recently become single after her husband Irving ran off with his gym buddy Carlos, Hope is searching for that elusive trio - no... not her musicians, but love, happiness and success.
Currently living in her Winnebago, Miss Hope Springs is available for private parties, weddings and bar mitzvahs."
"I read Stephen King and at fourteen I found a friend in ‘Carrie’. She wasn’t like me. I wasn’t like her. I didn’t have a religious maniac for a mother. I didn’t have the power of telekinesis - though for a time I rather wished I did. But like Carrie, I was bullied at school. And like her, I had a secret."Paul Burston appeared in what looked like a very "official" position last night, as he ventured North of the river for a change, and took pride of place in the opulent surroundings of Islington's Council Chamber.
"I’ve always been seen as a gay writer. And whenever people ask me if I’m happy with that, I always tell them that I don’t mind, provided that when I go into a bookshop like Foyles or Waterstone’s, my books are in the general fiction section and not just the gay and lesbian section. Or to put it another way, I’m happy for my books to be read by ‘people like me’. But I don’t want them to be read only by ‘people like me’.This was indeed a fascinating talk - with quotes from such disparate writers as Edmund White, Jean Genet and (my fave) Queens by Pickles, to boot - that engendered a healthy discussion and lots of questions afterwards, as the (unfortunately very small) audience explored his ideas, and picked Paul's brains on the subject.
When you write, the question of ‘people like me’ takes on a whole new meaning. A writer doesn’t only write for himself. He also writes for his readers. I don’t mean that I write with a specific reader in mind. But I write knowing - or at least hoping - that there will be readers, and that those readers will be as diverse as possible.
With apologies to Jane Austen, it is a truth universally acknowledged by publishers that books by and about heterosexuals are somehow universal in their appeal, while books by and about homosexuals are only ever for the gays. Like many gay authors, I live in hope of proving the publishers wrong. I live in the hope that readers will go where you take them, and that people who love books aren’t only interested in reading about people like themselves.
If readers are willing to surrender to stories about vampires, goblins and serial killers, why should they run from the idea of same sex love? Should it matter whether they’re gay or straight, male or female, black or white?
Way back in the 80s I fell in love with a book called ‘The Color Purple’ by Alice Walker. One of my favourite books of last year was ‘Red Dust Road’ by Jackie Kay. My enjoyment of these books wasn’t hindered by the fact that I am not and have never been a black woman."
The Polari First Book Prize is for a first book which explores the queer experience and is open to any work of poetry, prose, fiction or non-fiction by a writer born or resident in the UK, published in English within the past twelve months.LGBT History Month continues throughout February 2012.
Self-published works in both print and digital formats are eligible for submission.
Works must be submitted to The Polari First Book Prize by the publisher.
In the case of self-published works, works must be submitted with a one-page/A4 size letter of support describing why and how the project has been self-published.
The winner of the 2011 Polari First Book Prize was James Maker, for his memoir 'Autofellatio' (BIGFib), which began life as an e-book.
This year’s Prize is for books published between Feb 1, 2011 and Feb 1, 2012.
Vanessa became a singer almost by accident when a demo she recorded for a friend landed on the desk of Dutch Recording Company DURECO. She released her first single in 1981, by 1987 she married her third husband, Free Record Shop boss Harry Breukhoven and retired from showbiz. In 1995 she released a new album, but when the second single flopped she quit again.A suitably badly-worded tribute, methinks...
In August 2005 she did a blitz performance at the Gay Pride in Amsterdam after a friend asked to perform once again. The success was so heartfilling she considers a comeback.
"Same-sex sexual behaviour is often condemned on the grounds that it is "against nature". Indeed, biology tells us that selection favours those who leave more offspring. But then, homosexual behaviour is widespread - not only amongst humans, but other animals alike, be they flamingos, gorillas, dolphins or bisons. Doesn't this constitute a paradox for Darwinian theory? And is there a connection between what goes on in nature and what is morally desirable?"We were captivated. Inevitably there were dozens of questions, which always makes for a vibrant occasion. There is no need for me to go into any further detail, for you can watch this video presentation of the whole thing and see what I mean:
"Without being really fond of any woman, Monsieur used to amuse himself all day in the company of old and young ladies to please the King: in order not to be out of the Court fashion, he even pretended to be amorous; but he could not keep up a deception so contrary to his natural inclination. Madame de Fiennes said to him one day, "You are in much more danger from the ladies you visit, than they are from you."Every bit as intriguing as the outrageously gay character of Monsieur was that of his second wife Lieselotte, a sturdy German no-nonsense princess with a penchant for letter-writing. It is thanks to her remarkably comprehensive - and brilliantly written - accounts of the gossip and scandals of the court that we have such a clear idea of what exactly went on in the corridors of Versailles and the other Royal Palaces.
When A Thief Kisses You, Count Your TeethWow.
Take my coat and hang it by the door next to others.
Rip my shirt, button by popped button, tie it around your waist.
Pick up the little black things and put them in your pocket.
Undo my belt, wrench it until the loops split, curl it up.
Slide down skin-clung trousers. Fumble with my feet and socks.
Cut off my boxers. Naked, take in my scent and shy eyes.
With a razor shave my hair, brows, pubes; store them in a pillowcase.
Use your fingers to peel off the dead skin from my heels.
Tap my head three times to unlock my skull, open the cavity
Prise out my brain and let it dry on the windowsill.
Shed off my case and dump it shrivelled by your bed.
Wipe the blood from my musculature and smear it on your clothes.
Use spoons and knives and forks and dismember my limbs.
Put my toes and fingers in your dog’s bowl.
Crack open my ribs, suck the breath from my lungs.
Siphon the wine of me. Decant it with the rest.
Use my tendons as thread, my bones as knitting needles.
Gouge my eyes and add them to the necklace you wear.
Take it all. Everything. Now.
Bare, wordless, prop me up, a model skeleton for your museum.
"Just imagine the absurdity of two openly gay, recently married, middle-aged, middle class men escaping the liberal sanctuary of anonymous London to relocate to a Muslim country. The country in question is not Iran (we had no desire to be lynched from the nearest olive tree by the Revolutionary Guard) but neighbouring Turkey, a secular nation practising a moderate and state-supervised form of Islam. Even so, Turkey provides a challenge to the free-spirited wishing to live unconventionally. Openly gay Turks in visible same sex relationships are as rare as ginger imams."Indeed.
For those desperate to crack Murray’s brain open and feast on her childhood memories of rock legends, Diamond Star Halo is the book you’ve been waiting for. The story is set in the fictional haven of Rockfarm, in the Welsh countryside.Bloody marvellous...
It’s a picturesque family home that just happens to also be a recording studio for musicians from all over the World. Chickens peck at plectrums in the dust, and the sound of drum solos and playback wash over the rolling hills of brown-sugar cows and the family’s pet horses, Ziggy and Stardust.
This coming-of-age tale is narrated by Halo Llewellyn, so called because she learnt to walk to T-Rex’s Get It On. She is five-years-old when the story begins on a hot evening in 1977, while the family are waiting for the next band to arrive at Rockfarm.
The American eight-piece, Tequila, pull up the drive in a silver tour bus, and Halo is immediately taken with their lead singer, a heavily pregnant young woman called Jenny Connor, who wears cowboy boots under her dress and has a voice like "chewing dough and toffee at the same time". If Halo is in awe of Jenny, she is positively star-struck by her unborn baby, the boy that gives her a jolt of electricity every time she touches Jenny’s belly.
When Fred Connor is born, Halo knows right away that he is extraordinary, and when he is left to be raised by the Llewellyns on the farm, it is obvious to the whole family that the boy who is “half seal-pup half bloody Heathcliff” is destined for rock ‘n’ roll greatness.