Buttfeed

21-year-old actor-cum-director Xavier Dolan from Québec, Canada, is having his moment in the spotlight. His first film I Killed My Mother, a semi autobiographical story of a gay boy and his mother, won every single award it was nominated for at the Cannes Film Festival, and others at festivals around the world. Xavier is a true artiste. He isn’t in it for the fame or getting laid. We met up in Montreal, at coffee shops and at his house, the morning after his film won Best Feature Film at the Jutra awards. He was frantically renewing his passport so he could drive to New York the next morning to screen his film at MoMA's New Directors/New Films festival. He is intense, charming and intimidatingly handsome.

We'd been hoping to interview former WWE wrestler Chris Kaynyon for the past year or two but unfortunately it's now too late. Kanyon committed suicide this past Friday night at his apartment in Queens, N.Y. Only 40 years old, Kanyon, whose real name was Christopher Klucsaritis, suffered from bipolar disorder. He came out of the closet in 2004, shocking the pro-wrestling devotees who never dreamed, or at least, never hoped that one of the oily muscled men in speedos in front of them would turn out to be a fag. Kanyon continued to wrestle, incorporating elements of his homosexuality into his performances.

Twenty years ago, David Hurles was rolling in cash, living the sweet life in the Hollywood Hills. He had spent the better half of his life photographing and filming the surliest, dirtiest rough trade motherfuckers the West Coast had to offer and selling these photos and videos under the name Old Reliable Tape & Picture Company. His fans ranged from John Waters to Gore Vidal. When I met David two years ago, he shared an apartment with his longhaired thirtysomething boyfriend, Mykey. They survived off of David's social security checks and government-issued cans of food. Today, David is the most popular resident of a state-funded nursing home in East Hollywood. The place is a dump, really. But if you catch him at the right time, you'll find him transported to another place in his memory, a place where the rough trade runs free.

Joel Gibb moves through the after-hours world inhabited by indie bands and their blogging fans with a kind of big-dick confidence one associates with celebrity jocks or movie stars. After a blistering set that included sped-up, amphetamine versions of songs from the most recent Hidden Cameras record (plus a few surprises like an energetic cover of Ton Steine Scherben’s 'Macht Kaputt Was Euch Kaputt Macht'), I meet up with Joel inside the pitch-black tour bus that he calls home for the next few weeks. We whisper — his bandmate and a new friend are taking a recreational nap in one of the bunk beds — as he fills me in on what’s new since he last met up with BUTT in 2003.

Keiran is a self-proclaimed 'international whore' with an 'incredibly high sex drive' who loves us so much that he sent us these pictures.

Mavado Charon's drawings immediately call to mind artists like the Marquis De Sade, Hieronymus Bosch, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Goya, and Georges Bataille; all of whom made work about the meeting point of terror, chaos, violence, and sexuality. Charon combines these influences with a punk rock zine/underground comic book aesthetic - think Johnny Ryan, Mike Diana, and even Bruce LaBruce. His work regularly depicts group scenes of casual torture, rape, and violence, often by Mad Max style characters who are simultaneously fucking or fisting each other with intense passion. I've been following his work on his blog Dirty Charon for the past few months, and decided to email him to find out more about it.

I took an interest in Robert Patrick’s work after reading his tawdry and epic poems in one of the yearly editions of Best of Gay Erotica. I have never known someone with the ability to weave rhyme in erotic poetry so sensationally without it sounding corny or just plain bad. After some research (and a subsequent friendship between us on facebook) I found out that he is quite the artist who has acted in and written plays in New York and L.A., written and published multitudes of gay poetry and porn reviews and whose sketches are both beautiful and poignant. The hot pic of his 72-year-old butt above is a work of art in itself.

NEW YORK CITY, U.S.A. — In Los Angeles, the only thing I pumped at the gym was my dick. At brand name gyms, I winked my way through workouts and afterward wasted precious water jerking off with that perfect specimen in the shower opposite. Instead of muscles, I developed a keen ability to perceive the size of bulges beneath towels. My physique was disappearing, with a puff of white vapor, into the steam room. In New York, I vowed to workout more than just my forearm. I needed a gym where sex was not just unaccepted, but impossible. Along the East River, past the projects and the condemned boardwalk, just beyond the low-income housing of Stuyvesant Town, I found my answer in an elegant building that was once a public bath. Asser-Levy is a Parks Department recreational facility housing a spacious gym.

Young filmmaker Loo Zihan's first film Solos was a frank portrayal of a gay affair between a teacher and a young student, played by Zihan himself. Unsurprisingly the film was immediately banned in Singapore upon its release in 2007 due to 'explicit content'. Zihan and I have become friends over the years and when he recently emailed me to say he was coming to New York for a working vacation, I figured he meant writing, or directing, or working on a film in some other capacity. I was more than a little surprised when I found out that the work that brought Zihan here was a week-long stint of go-go dancing at the city's only Asian gay bar called The Web, an underground club on 57th Street that I'd always heard about but never went to. Every night Zihan, who now lives in Chicago and studies art and film-making, dressed up in inventive costumes that most go-go boys no longer put the effort into — Olympic swimmer garb one night, Shibari Japanese rope bondage another, and a full on leather-man look with nipple clamps the next. It didn't take me long to realize that more than likely, this experience would be more than just an easy way for Zihan to make money. It's probably going to end up being his next film...

When I went to see the Brooklyn band Vivian Girls play in London a few weeks ago, I came away more smitten with the support act than the headliners. The band in question, Veronica Falls, play perversely catchy pop songs inspired by suicide spots and haunted graveyards — but it was their adorable drummer, Patrick, that I couldn’t take my eyes off of. Last weekend I met up with fellow BUTTHEAD Patrick over pints of traditional cider to reminisce about New York and talk about our shared obsession with movies about teenage girls. Don’t you just want to put him in your pocket?

Gan Ha'Atzmaut — or Independence Park — is widely known for being Israel's number one waterfront cruising park, conveniently located near the Tel Aviv Hilton. In recent years nighttime revelers have been increasingly frightened off by uncomfortably bright lighting fixtures installed by Tel Aviv's municipality. However, as this photograph bears witness — taken by German tourist Jürgen during a recent trip to the Holy Land — there's still some fun left to be had.

Alex is a 37-year-old artist who hails from the mountains of South Carolina. He loves his awesome dog Pete, Brian Eno, bird watching, and hairy asses. He also loves ribs, but because he thinks pigs are so damn cute and smart, he only dreams about eating them.

Elijah and I were naked when we met last spring. We spent the night in an abandoned house on Governors Island just off the tip of lower Manhattan and I fell asleep in his lap. It was a strange and fantastic night. We had both been invited to participate in artist A.A. Bronson’s mysterious Queer Sprits Invocation, an all night séance he has now held three times, in three different cities.

The night was a bonding ritual with the goal of inviting queer spirits from the past into the room to guide our ‘big topics’ of conversation, allowing the spirits wisdom to effect the present. It involved fifty candles, twenty-two spices, ten bottles of rum, a circle of leaves, one ounce of Florida Water, six butt plugs (three large, three small) and a variety of flamboyant feathers. No pictures were taken and although no one was officially sworn to secrecy all attendees kept quiet about what went on and how these items were used. A few months later Elijah sent me a link to his blog where he had posted some drawings of the night he made from memory. The drawings, which bear visual similarities to the work of David Parks and Patrick Angus, are the only visual documentation of the event. Last month Elijah had his first solo show. It’s no surprise that his work focuses on magic, rituals, the male body and the occult. Elijah tackles the darker side of life but always with a friendly approachable touch. I called him to find out more about his work and understand his process.

Like many places in the world, most gay porn available in Mexico is imported from the US. There is only one local company that produces gay porn: Mecos Films. A good friend of mine had told me about them because they use a lot of very Mexican-specific clichés in their movies, like wrestling, mariachi, corruption, and Aztec folklore. So during a recent trip to Mexico City I watched some of Mecos’ films from my friend’s collection and was totally fascinated. I wanted to know more about them and emailed them under their online open talent call (I knew they had a pussy role in one of their movies, so maybe they’d even be interested in casting me?). They almost immediately wrote back and we set up an interview for the next day.

I arrived a little early and was surprised to find that the address was a fancy townhouse in one of the more expensive parts of the city. Gerardo Delgado, Mecos’ founder, greeted me warmly at the door. After walking past many rooms, all with computers in each of them and red carpet everywhere, I was told to sit in a waiting room downstairs and asked to be discrete about the reason I was there. Apparently there were very important clients upstairs who were unaware of the fact that these were also the offices of a porn company. As I waited a white Labrador came up to me and started dry-humping everything in sight: the edge of the couch, a pillow, the table, my leg. This dog was horny! It eventually started raping my toes when, after what seemed like an eternity, Gerardo finally came out of the meeting room. The interview could begin.

When I posted here in December about filmmaker William E. Jones' exhibition at the Swallow Street gallery in London, many commenters wanted to know where and when Jones' films would play in the U.S. Now, thanks to the always savvy programmers at the Anthology Film Archives in New York City, as well as the support of MIX NYC, a complete retrospective of William E. Jones' work will open on Friday, February 26th.

May 1914 — December 1948
Occupation: Prostitute

"…if Fouts had slept with Hitler, as Hitler wished, he could have saved the world from the Second World War…" - Ned Rorem recounting a quote by Truman Capote in George Plimpton's Truman Capote

French photographer Thomas Dozol has a knack for snapping his illustrious group of friends when they've just stepped out of the shower in varying degrees of wetness and undress. Here are some of our favorites.

A few months ago, during a trip to Montreal, I went to the Museum of Fine Arts where I came across a series of epic paintings of North American landscapes full of strapping half-naked Indians and Western-looking hunters, like homoerotic fantasies of post-colonial role reversals. The artist, Kent Monkman, had also installed a multi-screen video installation featuring a performance by his alter ego, Miss Chief Eagle Testickle — a creature resembling something of a peyote-enhanced Vegas vision of Pocahontas. I watched the video five or six times and had to meet Kent Monkman. When I tracked him down in Toronto (he’s the son of a Cree father and an Irish-English mother and originally from Winnipeg) I found him to be tall, handsome, charming and quite funny. After a few glasses of wine I convinced him to transform himself into Miss Chief Eagle Testickle again. He reluctantly agreed (he usually only does it for performances).

Justin Bond sent in this lovely photo of her friend, ‘rap/spoken word burlesque performer’ Nicholas Gorham, taken on Justin’s East Village balcony.

Abney Park Cemetery in London is famous for being the first arboretum in Europe to be combined with a cemetery. It's a very gorgeous and dodgy place with fallen tombs outcropping everywhere, squirrels and foxes around, and a beautiful landscape during every season. It's known for all the cruising going on around the tombstones.I fancy cruising outdoors and I go there sometimes since moving to London from Jerusalem two years ago. This time I got naked and took some photos. Some men actually approached me but I was so into my own trip that I didn't even notice them watching me through the trees. My inspiration was something like ‘a living body among the deads’. I set the camera up on a gravestone, turned it on 'automatic'…and these are the results.