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December 2010 Memoirs of a bookseller

Dear Internet, do not weep. You knew that, at some point, this would happen. Everything that begins must end. Such is life.

I have my reasons, but it is well known that the humanoid does not like to use the gift of words to express anger. If you have nothing good to say, it is best to say nothing.

Moreover, as the closest know, the humanoid is no longer a bookseller and a reason that I find important enough to abandon the blog, among other reasons I'd rather not say.

I warmly thank all the readers, writers, friends and acquaintances who left comments or made contact in one way or another. You (and only you) made it worth the effort.

Moreover, it is worth remembering that the humanoid has not written a single line to boast about their reading or something similar. The only motive has always been to open a space for discussion as possible. Sometimes we were lucky and many do not. I hope only the best moments are remembered.

All that has been published to date, is available for consultation in the future. All questions, concerns or comments they want to do will be answered, listened, answered.

I apologize for the inconvenience, but I can not just continue with this blog. The truth is that I no longer do happy. I no longer fun. And if I'm not fun to me, least I can pretend that they amuse you. So here we are. I hope you liked it and hope that you still continue to consult, in retrospect.

is not entirely excluded the possibility of returning in the future. If you wish, you can understand this as a vacation indefinitely.

I love you. I send you a hug galactic eternal.

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pornographer

A bookcase is a kind of priest of a pagan cult, since that eroticism can be seen as a peculiar psychological condition human, susceptible to produce unlimited pleasure through the only means of intellectual excitement.

stimulation can produce imagination is the most powerful of all possible forms of stimulation. A bookseller is someone who can pass from one world to another. Someone who is able to run on the narrow limit of the imaginary and real.

The inclination or preference of the imaginary against real is not an isolated case. Erotic literature can function as a remedy to the frustrating reality. Desires, fantasies, the only thing that seems to have no limit.

Some people believe that the bookseller is part of a strange and secret world where vice reigns. And maybe so, because collecting is a kind of vice, as is the thirst for knowledge, craving to stimulate the imagination and thought.

Coppens tells how once it has entered into a bookstore where a Vietnamese agreed to take pictures racy, to the delight of the salesperson, who then sell on the black market. While Coppens can not hide his excitement and excitement at the spectacle that is casual witness, the bookseller partner is indifferent. Perhaps because of the habit.

Coppens talks to the bookseller on perversions and customers and other strange characters, the special gallery erotica consumers. Coppens remember that once a collector wanted to get rid of his collection, but no great commercial value, since all specimens were damaged by choice. The customer would have maimed all the margins of books, in a bizarre manifestation of fear of castration.

Moreover, Coppens think it is good for man to rebel against the limits imposed on it and it is natural to try to transfer them. Therefore it is necessary that the bookseller has no scruples. Coppens started in the craft out of necessity. If it had been a wealthy businessman, had just become a collector, but as their financial resources were limited, had to engage in the profession to have access to all these works who stole his dream.

ever tried to persuade Coppens to abandon his penchant for erotic literature. Sometimes the arguments were compelling. Others simply a manifestation of the narrow-mindedness that characterizes a certain sector of right-thinking bourgeoisie. The truth is that, with erotic literature, curiosity begins and ends truly possessed. This passion pervades the whole being.

Coppens I have told that pornography has only one purpose: to encourage the baser instincts of man, which prevents him from seeing the crucial element of sex. Coppens think, certainly, life involves two irreconcilable elements, lust and love.

Pornography does not satisfy man, left in a state of deep frustration that always leads him to seek new sexual experiences.

Coppens tells the story of the fraudulent priest who founded the Byzantine Russian Gnostic Church, on an ideological basis immoral, however, enjoyed great wealth and acceptance among many acolytes.

A crazy imagination always draws fans. The priesthood of the protagonist of the story of Coppens started his career by chance. One day she dressed in the habits of a cure for a costume party and no longer separated from his disguise. By accident or by chance, the star said he had found his true vocation. What is the most outrageous when you consider that this character turns out to be an alcoholic and a homosexual who does not leave or abandon their customs for the duration of the exercise of their religion.

Then Coppens describes his sexual adventures, stories of sex and excess of which has been an avid player or spectator. Even the most inhibited people are prone to yield to the collective delusion. Coppens has witnessed numerous orgies and casual volunteers, which has had the opportunity to meet remarkable characters in a context unusual.

While most unusual character may be a former editor, obsessed with lesbianism, whose highest aspiration in life is to have the opportunity to behold two sisters cuddling and kissing in front of him. His obsession was so great that it has undermined all his accomplishments and commercial successes. The comfort of a paid service can never meet a situation that deserves to be genuine.

pornography, the occult and surrealism seem cut from the same cloth. Reveal a human tendency toward the bizarre and abominable. Coppens is equally interested in all the oddities of the human race.

Any thing of beauty is a joy forever. Coppens customers, crazy about the book is lacking. Collectibles literature with homosexual themes of sadomasochism. A couple with strange rituals. Good business. A manuscript of Ashbee lost by accident. A suicide incestuous love object whose reverence is lost forever.

parade
All haphazardly, by the memories of a bookseller pornographer. All clients, acquaintances, friends. All passions, fantasies, successes and failures, the possible and the impossible. All parade and explodes. In one of the possible expressions of the myth of universal orgasm.

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Maintenant

Trickster. Pacific ocean. Mulatero. Orange picker in California. Snake charmer. Ratter. Nephew of Oscar Wilde. Giant lumberjack in the forests. Former boxing champion from France. Grandson of the Chancellor of the Queen. Car driver in Berlin. Thief. Etc. Etc. Etc.

If you have poison in the blood, to speak ill of others should be very careful not to bite his own tongue. Complaining can be easier to create. However, it is certainly less interesting. Craven has complained about everything and everyone, but has also created and has done so in a peculiar way, finding their own way, creating their own universe. Your magazine is a paradigm of the law of "do it yourself", which then would appropriate the first punks. Although the instinct seems to guide his pen Herostratus has also shown a genuine sensitivity and I think that ultimately must be judged by his best poems.

Pessoa
If we think as "a little genius get fame, gets a bad rap genius, a genius more get the desperation and God gets the crucifixion" is not difficult to understand the fascination may occur in some Arthur Craven. Before anything else, Cravan Arthur was a rebel, like Jesus Christ. But it was not a martyr, fortunately for Proudhon, which states that: "After the tyrants, I know nothing more detestable than the martyrs." The truth is that Arthur Cravan was so loved and hated and could never go unnoticed. Arthur Cravan certainly was a singular type. Even in physical appearance. A giant in every sense. They say it was beautiful, measuring two meters. Was a boxer and poet. Not adhere to any school or any artistic movement because, before anything else, was always a loner. However, the Dadaists were served to his name, he cited and celebrated his jokes and pranks, they found similar. But it was Cravan Dadaist or surreal, or anything. Cravan was Cravan. A colossus who was willing to take the world ahead. And, somehow, is what he did. Or tried to, until she disappeared without a trace.

Moreover, it is true that potentially interesting artists seem to become even more interesting when they are elusive. The researcher-turned-literary detective leaves behind a veil of mystery that expands the myth of its subject. (If not, ask for Archimboldi). Then Arthur Cravan belongs to a unique gallery of artists without work or, in other words, artists whose lives were his own work. A character that must necessarily be reconstructed from the statements of others. From the footprints he left on others. The issue of how it affects the work life and vice versa refers in turn to another argument that, when speaking of Arthur Cravan, it seems inevitable. This is the tendency to commit criminal acts to gain popularity. Although it may seem strange, Arthur Cravan seemed morbidly interested in popularity. His speech, rather than contradictory, it is ironic, then top it off, Arthur Craven also was a great joker. We could say that she cared a damn intellectuals of the time, mostly because they talked about him. Obviously, this mode of reasoning is not contradictory, it's just ironic. As the joke by Woody Allen Annie Hall opens. (Life sucks and takes up little.)

Then, the myth, the figure of Arthur Cravan become an icon of an era, marked especially by the disillusionment and rebellion, the myth of the cult of beauty and myth of the revolution and the avant-garde. Cravan Arthur, wanted to escape from the cloud, and hid it behind a dozen of them. (You know, like the joke that says that the best place to hide a tree is in a forest.) Arthur Craven, the elusive giant was necessarily a child of his time. A specimen of some might be proud. A joke that some knew laugh. Moreover, the dynamics of a neurotic society requires that a novelty is quickly replaced by another. The name of Arthur Cravan was fading. Although some had the fortunate idea to mention here and there and thank all those who kept alive his memory, we remember today. In particular, the English-speaking readers, since we had news of him for having appeared in the anthology of black humor, of Breton, published by Anagram. We can also trace his footsteps as an episode somewhat marginal, but an episode to end the life of Marcel Duchamp. Tomkins biographies Marcade and give it due consideration. Also mentioned in the book Bohemians, by Dan Franck, the famous dispute between Craven and Apollinaire. Until the advent of Maintenant (editorial Black Box), the evocation of Arthur Cravan was a simple comment. Now, we can read. We refer to the sources. Which is extremely lucky.

Tomkins quote the book: "Cravan had managed to insult most of the Parisian artists through their offensive Maintenant magazine, which was published from 1911 to 1913 and sold at the entrance of sports stadiums, shopping in a greengrocer. To avoid the call to military service, Craven had gone to the neutral Barcelona, \u200b\u200bwhere he challenged Jack Johnson, former world champion heavyweight. The battle, which enjoyed so much publicity, was nothing but a farce. Cravan managed to pull enough of this sad episode to afford a ticket to New York. One of his fellow travelers would be Leon Trotsky, the exiled Russian revolutionary, who recalled that Craven had confessed that he preferred to spray the jaw of the Yankees in a noble sport that left spray the ribs by a German. "

The episode on the will be forever remembered is the one pertaining to the exhibition of the Independents, which occurred in New York. Duchamp and Picabia, who organized, were commissioned to carry Cravan the audience. Cravan undressed, he yelled, boxed, made a tremendous scandal. At a party given by Arensberg (patron of Duchamp), Mina Loy Cravan know (which actually was interested in Duchamp). Although at first did not get along, then got on and got married. You could say they were happy, until Cravan disappears.

We still Maintenant, magazine and book. His angry tirades against Gide, Apollinaire, against the modern. But we have the mystery of his poetry. Cravan was an extraordinary poet, transatlantic and universal. His wanderlust took him away, so far reached where it is not possible to return.

Each hour has a color that erases

a bird leaves only a trace of him

The memory in vain colors

would gather in a bouquet of different scents

The memory can only remove ashes ...

Au revoir, Mister Cravan.