(my comment to a photo,
re-written as the note)
life (if I ever had it). Evelyn Waugh
Chekhov is my first literary love.
Oscar Wilde is my current icon.”
Saying that I am a votaress, fan and sympathizer of my native Monarchy and monarchists, I have to say that this my view is well-founded and completely in concordance with my other views satisfying my imagination and feelings, and I need nothing else in this regard, and I don’t see reason why I should love every royal family if I’m my native monarchy’s fan. This my double standard is quite understandable. Really, the family of our Russian last Emperor seemed so tolerant to homosexuality, as we know, since at least three Grand Dukes were said to be gay me and nobody was about to do any harm to them for their sex orientation, at the same time, the death of Prince Eddy seems oh so suspicious for me, and in the light of Oscar Wilde’s case I feel certain that the Windsors well may do away with the prince, secretly, in camera, as it were, since those men were mighty enough to arrange and imitate whatever. Apparently, our Russian mamas loved their sons much more, too much to let any crazy puristic uncles to kill their sons because of such a trifle as a lifelong homosexual romping. Apropos, our Russian great poet Aleksandr Pushkin had four children, and much earlier, when he was a young student, he tried more than once to be cured of venereal diseases, which were incurable getting hereditary in those times, as we know. Later, after his death, one of his daughters finally became a member of the British royal family, and personally I am happy to congratulate the Windsors and their fans on this “gift”.
"on 21 November, again, and more than ever"
The Russian cabaret artist and song-writer Aleksandr Vertinsky (1889-1957) left some interesting evidence in his Memoires. After he began a career of a singer in Moscow, he quickly became a super-star. It must be said that narcotics were most popular in Russia, the 1910s, especially at the time of the prohibition law (1914), and coke might be bought at any pharmacy, one of its kind, without a doctor’s prescription, and the young celebrity Aleksandr quickly got addicted to this sort of the heady flower of decadence, however, like many actors, artists and aristocrats of the metropolises. As he told in his Memoires, he lived in an apartment with his room looking over a roof below, and every time emptying the next little vial of coke he threw it out of the window and it remained on the lower roof. One day he looked out of the window with his sober eyes and he got horrified with the amount of the little vials that covered the roof glittering like the snow. It’s difficult to say when he got resolved on giving up coke, that day or on the day when he saw Aleksandr Pushkin, living and going by tram along with him, or on the day when he looking at himself in a mirror he could see his nose got disfigured, swollen and flabby, which was a result of the addiction. It was the WWI time, and after all these events resolved eventually into his giving up coke, he fled from the metropolis to the army. So, I conclude. A celebrity who takes coke may be recognized by his nose, which changes in the course of time. As for our favorite’s nose, it is all right remaining without changing, getting neither reddened nor bigger/swollen (like late Tony Curtis’), as we can see. Thus we may congratulate each other and love our adorable celebrity Mr NG yet more.
Revue Blanche e-Library
On the Net, I happened to see some of my favorite stories by A. Chekhov, translated, but I don’t know safe links, so, the link is to the collected stories by other Russian writer. Meet A. Kuprin (1870-1938) and his story Captain Rybnikov (1906). Author regarded the story as his best. PDF file: search the word “Ribnikov”, and there will be the title.
Two book recommendations:
Personally I never read the two books (links above), being busy with my new novel, which is complete and in process of being polished away, and which will be available on Smashwords and Lulu, after the 25th of November. A wonderful winter tale, gay-themed as always, is a part of the sequel of my new novel with the working title One Shadow for Two.
"Publication is a self-invasion of privacy."-(Marshall McLuhan). I hate admitting that the author is right, but I realize that he is. Wishing to be published author seems to agree to unveiling privacy. Most unpleasant. Rather unpleasant than complicated. On the other hand, the novelist, who has not a mask or masks on, when creating as well as in social life, cannot be called a good fiction author, and if any publication unveils something, anyway there much unveiled remains, and it’s not a fact that the bottom will be ever reached.