Wednesday, February 25, 2009

The New Explicitness

“It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in.”Raymond Chandler


Recently I checked out a copy of Anne Hooper’s book “Erotic Massage”, lavishly illustrated with nude photos demonstrating the moves in the text, nubile young couples, with bursting pectorals and yearning nipples, and the elderly librarian didn’t even blink. They know me by name there even though I never introduced myself. People talk about me when I’m not around.

Tell you what. Georgia has a hell of a library system.

I wouldn’t have thought that when I first came here, after wandering like a prince among letters through the arrogantly lush aisles of the Midtown Manhattan library in New York City, and later the Pretty Good libraries of San Antonio. When I moved here the libraries of Richmond and Columbia county seemed poor and lonesome shelters for homeless books. I felt as though I’d landed in purgatory. Whatever Georgians were spending their property tax dollars on, it wasn’t books. I couldn’t bear to go in there after awhile for the sheer pain of viewing such intellectual poverty. Then one day, a maternal library worker who saw me staring at my shoes, drew me aside and told me an esoteric secret known only to a few. The card catalogs of all the libraries in Georgia are interconnected on the Internet. You can order a book from any library in the whole damn state of Georgia. Any book they have anywhere anyhow, flat out.

Library kung fu.

BAM! Pow!

Say it brother. Georgia has a helluva library system. I’ve been slowly burning my way through Suzie Bright’s “Best Erotica” annual series year by year, culled from shelves in small God fearing Baptist towns around the state, Anne Hooper’s picture books for adults, Desmond Morris “The Naked Female”, comic book anthologies by Robert Crumb and the usual classics an apprentice writer must be well acquainted with. One of the austere ladies behind the desk, with glasses on a chain around her neck, thumbed through the Desmond Morris book with an air of respect and asked me to let her know when I was done with it. Mr. Garcia. (So you’re that guy.)

And then there’s Google.

Omniscient as God, Google is evolving the human species into a huge colonial organism. These days revolutions aren’t carried out with guillotines and cheering bodies flinging themselves over the barricades. They happen quietly with legal negotiations and HTML code. When Google Books solved their copyright problems last year a revolution occurred that has not yet shaken the world but will.

Take Henry Miller. Published in France, his books were banned in the United States for decades as obscene. A friend of his did prison time when customs munchkins fished out a copy of “Tropic of Cancer” from the bottom of his suitcase, probably taking a moment to peruse page five. Man, those were the days. Perhaps you’ve never read “Tropic of Cancer”, would you like to? For free? Without the prison sentence? Starting with tasty young Tania on page five? Sitting in Taco Bell with a wireless laptop and a beef gordito? You can read most of it here:

http://books.google.com/books?id=xXq99FasvW8C&printsec=frontcover&dq=Henry+Miller&ei=OTVvSYD0GqasNejjidQM

Hell, your kids can do a book report on it for English class. They can read Suzie Bright’s books too if they want to if they want to maybe do a book report on “How to Tell A Dirty Story”.

“Mommy? What’s a butt plug for?”

Times have changed. The first time I realized I was heterosexual, I was a young kid and wandered into a car repair garage in my little town of Gilbert Iowa. This would have been around the time of the Kennedy administration when people were still getting busted for reading Henry Miller. My friend Andy and I had been collecting pop bottles in ditches and fields. If you got about 6 of them together you could take them to Ruthie’s Drug Store (also a pool parlor) and cash them in for an ice cream cone, or maybe a new Spider-man comic that today you could sell on eBay for enough to pay for my kid’s college fund. I usually took the ice cream, what did I know. I knew I had to “go real bad” and the mechanic waved me into the back where the toilet was. Over the sink was a fold out pin up of a naked woman, the first I’d seen since emerging from my mother’s womb seven years before. Breasts the size of a catcher’s mitt and that downy delta of hair with its mysterious vacancy below. It was as alien and strangely compelling a sight as if a spacecraft had landed in our backyard corn field. I never knew there was anything like this in all the world and I forgot all about peeing and went to get Andy so he could see too. The forbidden image stuck in my mind for days and caused strange stirrings in me when I went to bed at night. Now its everywhere. In the movie “Spiderman”. Aunt May asks Peter Parker if he knows about the birds and the bees and he sighs “Aunt May, we’ve had cable for years.” There are no mysteries for kids anymore, they just grow up knowing everything and no knowledge is forbidden territory. I suppose that’s good, and yet I feel a little sorry for this generation. They’ll never know what it feels like to be stunned into awed silence by that first sight of a nude woman the way I did, or the feeling of doing something daring the way Jack Kerouac did when he got his hands on his first felonious copy of Henry Miller and suddenly knew what he wanted to write.


These days it’s been taken to an altogether new level of banality with something called “sexting”, which it turns out one out of five teenagers has done. This is where you take a cell phone with a camera or video cam and take nude photos of yourself and send them around to your friends. It seems like a kind of young whacky thing to do but kids are getting charged with child pornography over this. They’re playing with fire at the same time the walls are coming down.


C. Sanchez-Garcia

10 comments:

  1. Garce,

    There are so many insights in your post, I don't know which one to address first. Your experience with the pin-up girl would make a wonderful story. Even now, I think that you can evoke those same emotions, through fiction, which distills and concentrates and focuses the mind, erasing for a moment the noise of the sexed-up outside world.

    "These days revolutions aren’t carried out with guillotines and cheering bodies flinging themselves over the barricades. They happen quietly with legal negotiations and HTML code," you say, and you are right. Not just in the availability of books, but in the rich, varied, powerful, dangerous information that is now so readily available.

    It makes me sad that kids see sex as something so trivial. I have a relatively permissive attitude toward teenage sex (I gave away my own virginity at 15), but with respect and responsibility. When I was 15, I knew what I had to do in order to avoid getting pregnant. And it was a big deal, intensely exciting mentally (making up for what it lacked physically).

    This, too, is something that we've lost today, the gravitas of a first encounter - along with the post-Pill, pre-AIDS freedom that I celebrated in my own post.

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  2. Lots to think about there.

    Enjoyed the calender story :)

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  3. Thanks Lisabet. Thanks Kim.

    Not my best post I guess. Sorry. Next time better.


    There's this book by Georges Battille called "the Tears of Eros" which starts out by saying that sex and eroticism are not the same thing. Sex is what animals and any organism does, but eroticism is linked with the knowledge we will die and and is linked with the diabolical. Animals don't feel the mystery we do, when it comes to sex. Its just business, keeping the genetics moving along.

    Its the same with killing and death, which is on my mind as I work on Nixie's downfall story. Human beings fear death and are fascinated by it. With animals, sex and death are both just business. The lion has nothing against the antelope, and the antelope doesn't feel sorry for itself. As Nixie might say - it's just food.


    Garce

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  4. Henry Miller was just as illegal in Ontario as it was anywhere else in the years I was growing up, so I missed him. My sex education came from my father's collection of poorly-concealed porn, so it was interesting to look at the real thing on your Google link.

    Those were the days when writing erotica was easy, because no one made a distinction from porn. You just needed a sex scene or two, with the assurance that no one was going to read any other part of the book. I don't remember a single plot point from any of my dad's library, but many sex scenes are burned indelibly into my brain, even after 50-55 years.

    DB

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  5. That last paragraph kind of gives new meaning to the term 'Burning down the house!'

    I got my first glimpse of the forbidden when a friend and I found a torn up porn magazine in a ditch near where we played. Surprisingly, it was full of nude males (and I say surprisingly because this was way back in the 70s and I don't think PlayGirl was around then, so where did this magazine full of naked men come from?). Wherever it came from, I think I had the same feelings you had over that pin-up gal, only emanating from different parts of the anatomy.

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  6. That last paragraph kind of gives new meaning to the term 'Burning down the house!'

    I got my first glimpse of the forbidden when a friend and I found a torn up porn magazine in a ditch near where we played. Surprisingly, it was full of nude males (and I say surprisingly because this was way back in the 70s and I don't think PlayGirl was around then, so where did this magazine full of naked men come from?). Wherever it came from, I think I had the same feelings you had over that pin-up gal, only emanating from different parts of the anatomy.

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  7. Dangerous Bill!

    My earliest memory of forbidden things my Dad had was finding a box of rubber things in his underwear drawer, right around the time I saw the pinup girl. "Balloons! I want a balloon!"

    "Gimme those. They're not balloons."

    "They look like balloons."

    "They're not balloons."

    "There's a Roman guy on the box. They're Roman guy ballons."

    "Stay out of my drawer. They're not balloons."

    Garce

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  8. A gay magazine in the 70s. That seems so weird. I remember Playgirl magazine too, with its first pinup of a hairy Tom Selleck I think it was. I wonder if that magazine is still around.

    Garce

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  9. Bill,

    I don't think writing erotica was ever easy. Even writing porn (if there's a distinction) is not easy, if you want to do it well.

    Best,
    Lisabet

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  10. Hi Garce,

    Interesting you bring up Georges Battaille. He had some interesting ideas on the concepts of excess and sacrifice: basically lust is a manifestation of excessive human sex drive, and should be dealt with ritualistically, like a sacrifice. I believe it is called "The Accursed Share." It was one of the central texts I used to inform "The Splinter".

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