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ellauri210.html on line 365: One of them was the Swiss enema Arthur Cravan. Described by one critic as “a world tramp … a traverser of borders and resister of orders,” Cravan traveled the globe in the early 1900s by forging documents and assuming false identities, preening, harassing, and haranguing, as he went. He was hailed by André Breton as a pivotal precursor of Dadaism, and belonged to that category of floating prewar avant-gardists whose legacy resides more in their mode of living than their artistic creations. Indeed, he declared himself anti-art and avowed boxing to be the ultimate creative expression of the modern, American-tinged age. He’s often referred to as a “poet-boxer,” though he wasn’t especially accomplished as either; his real talent appears to have been making a spectacle of himself, in every sense. Publicist rather than a pugilist.
ellauri210.html on line 373: By the time Johnson arrived in Paris, Cravan had carved out a reputation as a boxer himself, a discipline he first picked up while traveling across the USA. He was also known as an ardent proponent of the “American” attitude toward life, by which he meant living according to desire and instinct, and telling so-called civilized society to take a running jump. In an essay titled “To Be or Not To Be … American,” he wrote that, thanks to the influence of cakewalk dancers, track athletes, and boxers such as Joe Jeanette, the whole of Paris had turned American. “Overnight,” Cravan said, “everyone began to spit and swear” and “floated around in clothes two sizes too big for them.” He finished the piece with a crib sheet for how to pass as American: “Chew … never speak … always look busy … and, above all else, crown yourself with arrogance.” It was advice he followed assiduously. How right, how true, to this day.
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ellauri221.html on line 379: But it´s floating in most peculiar way
ellauri221.html on line 396: Here am I floating in my latex bag
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ellauri241.html on line 1464: And float my brittle limbs o'er polar seas?

ellauri247.html on line 129: Cape Tribulation was named by British navigator Lieutenant James Cook on 10 June 1770 (log date) after his ship scraped a reef north east of the cape, whilst passing over it, at 6pm. Cook steered away from the coast into deeper water but at 10.30pm the ship ran aground, on what is now named Endeavour Reef. The ship stuck fast and was badly damaged, desperate measures being needed to prevent it foundering until it was refloated the next day. Cook recorded "...the north point [was named] Cape Tribulation because "here begun all our troubles".
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ellauri302.html on line 229: At home, in my village, the first sorrel must be sprouting. Yes, at the first May rain they cook sorrel soup... And the goats must be grazing in the meadows... And the rafts must be floating on the stream... And Franek is getting the Gentile girls together, and dancing with them at the inn... And the women must surely be baking cheese-cakes for the Feast of Weeks.* (Silence.) Do you know what? I'm going to buy myself a new summer tippet and go home for the holidays... (Buns into her room, brings out a large summer hat and a long veil; she places the hat upon her wet hair and surveys herself in the looking-glass.) Just see! If I'd ever come home for the holidays rigged up in this style, and promenade down to the station... Goodness! They'd just burst with envy. Wouldn't they? If only I weren't afraid of my father! He'd kill me on the spot. He's on the hunt for me with a crowbar. Once he caught me dancing with Franek at the village tavern and he gave me such a rap over the arm with a rod (Showing her arm.) that I carry the mark to this very day. I come from a fine family. My father is a butcher. Talk about the fellows that were after me!... (In a low voice.) They tried to make a match between me and Nottke the meat-chopper. I've got his gold ring still. (Indicating a ring upon her finger.) He gave it to me at the Feast of Tabernacles.* Maybe he wasn't wild to marry me, — but I didn't care to.
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