JACK KEROUAC’S LIFE, FROM MY PERSPECTIVE, WAS JUST ONE BIG ROLLER COASTER ESCAPE LOVE LUST RUNNING after something you just can’t quite grab with your greasy fingertips, dusty road sunsets and moonrises and evergreen tree sparkling moments filled with adventure and whiskey soaked till the morning comes running after your dirty clothes thrown on the naked floor.
This website, these stories of mine, they are my roller coaster. My moments of reflection, of study, creative escapes trying to plot through the forest of new weeds and words and ideas and madness. This is my year with Kerouac.
Last year my mantra was… “happiness, one cup at a time.” I drank a lot of hot tea. That’s a lie. I wanted to drink a lot of tea because I thought it would make me happy. I had this crazy idea that drinking a lot of hot tea would make me happier.
That simple warmth, that honest innocent taste, it always puts a smile on my lips. I guess the mantra could apply to alcoholics too: happiness, one cup at a time. Bourbon, gin, even wine. But no, I’m not there… Hot tea. One cup at a time. Sipping up some warm peach, ginger or chamomile tea just reminds me of sunshine and dandelion weeds. A little bit lustful and innocent. That’s why it’s happiness to me. Drunken, sunshiney happiness.
But as the year went on I discovered that teacups were an empty excuse for happiness. I’d go through all the fuss to boil water on the stove, pick out the perfect tea bag, let it steep, and then by the time I got around to drinking, the tea was cold and it upset me even more. So I gave up on tea. Hurrah! Well, I had tried. From time to time I still make tea, ginger tea to calm my tummy.
From tea to Jack Kerouac… I know he was fond of tea, but another type…
This blog is my dedication to my writing and to the writing of the beat authors. I will write and publish here when I have inspiration or simply something to say. It will likely be poems, prose in the style of Kerouac, and essays. Maybe a few narrative interviews if I can come across some interesting characters. When I have no words and my fingers won’t type, I will read, I will listen to the soft syllables of Jack and friends. Ginsberg. Carolyn. Good ‘ol Bill Bouroughs. I hope to become so familiar with them its as if they sit around my kitchen laughing, smoking, they become my own dear friends. I know these writers are wise and have much to teach me, so I am here also to learn. Learn and write. Discover. This is my year with Kerouac.