"Dean’s intelligence was every bit as formal and shining and complete, without the tedious intellectualness. And his «criminality» was not something that sulked and sneered; it was a wild yeasaying overburst of American joy; it was Western, the west wind, an ode from the Plains, something new, long prophesied, long a-coming (he only stole cars for joy rides). Besides, all my New York friends were in the negative, nightmare position of putting down society and giving their tired bookish or political or psychoanalytical reasons, but Dean just raced in society, eager for bread and love; he didn’t care one way or the other, «so long’s I can get that lil ole gal with that lil sumpin down there tween her legs, boy,» and «so long’s we can eat, son, y’ear me? I’m hungry, I’m starving, let’s eat right now!» - and off we’d rush to eat, whereof, as saith Ecclesiastes, «It is your portion under the sun.» A western kinsman of the sun, Dean." JACK KEROUAC, On the Road
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Photo: Neal Cassady & Charles Plymell, 1963 SONG FOR NEAL CASSADY, BY CHARLES PLYMELL –For John Cassady Oh really really Neal his first love was the automobile Drove a ‘34 Ford with suicide doors and stick shift on the floor Draggin’ down main to Colfax Avenue Jumpin’ in the back seat boulevard kicked back watching asses in the rearview cruising past the high school Clock on the dash reading 10:18 past the neon diner last stop for Benzedrine and onward to another scene Chicks would rob a joint just to buy him food One hand on the wheel the other in her mood The blue-eyed kid and the wild-eyed bobby soxer California surfers Tarot card sharks and word shooters Found Ann-Marie in Frisco like a hurricane cock didn’t need the Sexual Freedom League Driving with white pills and pot but was really addicted to the wheel Came back to Old San Francisco Flower children all over the streets Carried star struck Ann-Marie in his arms the Denver Kid he never returns Traded her Chevrolet coupé for an old Pontiac Up the hills, down the curves gear it down, pump the brakes Old mother Ginsberg’s back seat drivin’ turning toward the Avalon Driving down Van Ness jumping parking meters One hand on the gearshift the other copping a feel One hand up her dress the other on the wheel Stole a car in Denver just to hear it peel just like drivin’ in the races Stole a car in Denver just to hear it squeal He moved so fast he had one foot in Cincinnati the other in Kalamazoo Women knew just what to do and all wanted him to be true Parked in front of Gough Street in a 50’s red and white Plymouth Fury Just back from seeing Kerouac, in a hurry patrol car in the mirror the old white and blacks Drove past someone with some little white pills heading into town He jumped in the driver’s seat and spun that Fury around. The roads were paved with powder all the way to Mexico and train tracks shined in the moon Did hard time for two reefers and came out smokin’ some boo First Road Warrior never knew what he did wrong CHARLES PLYMELL - from SOME MOTHER'S SON |
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May 2018
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