I’m tired of living vicariously through the books that I read, it’s almost depressing reading something written by Kerouac, I feel so kindred to the Beat, but scared almost to let myself, live it out. I want to road trip, I want to stop in coffee shops, sit in Seattle and read, go to San Fran see what I want to see, is it ridiculous to drive three hours only to sit in a coffee shop and read? Listen to Kerouac:
“Just as flat as that. It was the saddest night. I felt as if I was with strange brothers and sisters in a pitiful dream. Then a pitiful silence fell over everybody; where once Dean would have talked his way out, he now fell silent, but standing in front of everybody, ragged and broken and idiotic, right under the light bulbs, his bony mad face covered with sweat and throbbing veins, saying, “Yes, yes, yes,” as though tremendous revelations were pouring into him all the time now, and I am convinced they were, and the other suspected as much and were frightened. He was Beat-the root, the soul of Beatific. What was he knowing? He tried all his power to tell me what he was knowing, and they envied that about me, my position at his side, defending him and drinking him in as they once tried to do. Then they looked at me. What was I, a stranger, doing on the West Coast this fair night?” (195)
“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks and dispersing?-it’s too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” (156)
I’m coming on the end of On the Road by Kerouac, what’s next to read? That’s a hard question to answer…maybe Burrough’s Naked Lunch? We’ll see…I need to road-trip, something major… Headed to San Fran Saturday, that should satisfy me somewhat…
Glitch is Dead
