Artist, poseur, self-crucifier, self-dramatist, rejected entrant to the US (for "moral turpitude"), Horsley is the bastard child of Oscar Wilde and Mae West.
Never mind how much of this rancidly delightful "memoir" belongs in the category of fact, of fiction, or in some syringe- and condom-strewn Soho alley in between. Just enjoy the rake's, tart's and junkie's progress, in a "tinsel-adorned tumbrel", of a maverick who is (like all his kind) a moralist as well.
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