Here are more observations plucked from my notebook. This collection, however, has a very specific flavor. One that tastes of bummed cigarettes and day-old croissants, infused with the aroma of burnt coffee and the scent of a really worn and torn copy of The Sun Also Rises. And as such, this post will most likely appeal to (below-) average English majors. My deepest apologies to all other majors. You are excused from reading this post.
– Mark Twain is absolutely amazing – presently. I can’t say if he was any good in the past.
– Thanks to the magic of the Internet, I heard Ginsberg read “Howl.” Hearing him get increasingly agitated reduces the need to refer to the footnotes to understand he’s upset.
– Artemus Ward. His name sounds so familiar. I either read something he wrote or I met him at a party where he offered me a healthy variety of illegal substances. Which was it?
-In my youth, I loved Robert Frost. Now, not so much.
– Envy. Deep, forest-green envy. Engulfs me. When I think of everything Jack Kerouac experienced in his life. Except for death. That part he could keep.
– I wish Langston Hughes would’ve cut down a few words from, “Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.” As is, it makes for a really large tattoo and I wanted a something a little more dainty.
– For a short while I became obsessed with Virginia Woolf, but I had to break it off. She was just too high maintenance.
2 thoughts on “Hey Jack Kerouac”
Hello Mari: I picked up a tweet, landed here. I really like these acerbic, witty, and caustic comments. Especially enamored of the V.Woolf one.
Jack, hi! Thanks for stopping by. I’m glad you weren’t put off by my sense of humor. Like our friend Virginia says, “The older one grows, the more one likes indecency.”