What’s me? Me is that which want to be amazed without natural cessation, in an eternity of ecstasy. Rules? Laws? To me, what? I am free to want what I want. I want uninterrupted rapture. I believe this has been made manifest to me in dreams, and in music, and in the pages of Dostoevsky, in the lines of Shakespeare, in sexual joy, in drunkenness, in being high on tea. Why should I compromise with anything else or with the “Bourgeois” calm of the backyard lawn, The Edgar Guest concession wild, wild happiness. On tea I have seen the light. In my youth I saw the light. In my childhood I bathed in the hints of light; I hankered, eager. I want a blaze of light to flame in me forever in a timeless, dear love of everything. And why should I pretend to want anything else?After all, I’m no cabbage, no carrot, no stem! a burning eye! a mind of fire! a broken goldenrod! a man! a woman! a SOUL! Fuck the rest, I say, and PROCEED! (This is what I want to write, not stylistic crap!) JACK KEROUAC, in Windblown World, the Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947-1954 * previously posted on https://tsunamibooks.jimdo.com/2013/08/20/the-ecstasy-of-jack-kerouac/
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"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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May 2018
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