nobody talks about them, the discrete, those whose habits do not lend themselves to be monetized. No return for now to Bouvard and Pecuchet or Hanta, readers of strange races, because it seems that time brings the question of the survival of books and neglecting the fate of the reader. Yet still there, sometimes a few times, the reader is a figure of public . Were in that series of André Kertész taken in New York in 1974 and which indicates the possibility that some cults are spite of themselves, and Hanta-, as an inescapable imperative street that would lead to the piles of books evicted , with the drawers of bouquinistes , with shelves set, and standing in front of the old paper waiting to be told something from the stomach, a big YES! visceral, because these guys read the entrails. Maybe one day reach the book of death and then these bastards, they have not spent a nail in their culture, first made in August with both abandoned body and act followed, will go to hell forever. That day engulf one of the margins of the culture industry: the theme of gleaners of books will be considered settled.
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