Masturbatory

"Men everywhere sit on their own insignificant pot, they dandle the gland all doom."

Kerouac, Jack. « To Neal Cassady, Jan. 10, 1951 », Selected Letters 1940-1956. Penguin Books, 1995, New York. Page 304.

Jumble

“That’s right where I lost it – trying to remember how I got there, for then the onrushing memory of those events tangled with my own American or “real-life” memories and everything became jumbled just like a shortwave radio at midnight that brings sounds from all over the world in a discordant but definite MEDLEY. I’d been there; I knew I’d been there; and now I’d never know how, or when, or why, or what, and life was still a foolish hassle when the vision died down and I stood dreaming on the pavement.”

Kerouac, Jack. « To Neal Cassady, Jan. 8, 1951 », Selected Letters 1940-1956. Penguin Books, 1995, New York. Page 280.

Words

“I have nothing to offer but the words that spring from my heart and mind in this enormous story.”

Kerouac, Jack. « To Neal Cassady, Dec. 28, 1950 », Selected Letters 1940-1956. Penguin Books, 1995, New York. Page 261

Self

“It has suddenly been revealed to me the extent of our common madness, and I mean not only you or me, but all of us. Particularly since our madness sets itself no vital goal, but only a kind of sustained and unrelieved heaviness of personality. We don’t want to move, we are caught inert in the contrived intertwining stupidity of the common preconceived notion of ourselves.”

Kerouac, Jack. « To Allen Ginsberg, Nov. 13, 1945 », Selected Letters 1940-1956. Penguin Books, 1995, New York. Page 100.

Spring

“ Spring is coming –
         Yep, all that equipment
For sighs”

Kerouac, Jack. « TANGIERS 1957 », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Page 402

“ I, poor French Canadian Ti Jean become
a big sophisticated hipster esthete in
the homosexual arts, I, mutterer to
myself in childhood French, I, Indian-
head, I, Moogloo, I the wild one,
the “wild boy,” I, Claudius Brutus
McGonigle Mckarroquack, hopper
of freights, Skid Rok habitué,
railroad Buddhist, New England Modernist,
20th Century Storywriter, Crum, Krap,
dope, divorcee, hype, type; sitter in win-
dows of life; idiot far from home; no
wood in my stove, no potatoes in my
field, no field; hepcat, howler, wailer,
waiter in the line of time; lazy
washed-out, workless; yearner after
Europe, poet manqué; pas tough! ”

Kerouac, Jack. « SAN FRANCISCO SKETCH (1954 now) », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Page 398-399

Fellaheen

“ – in fact life insulting me
because it no longer
included Gerard –
   Get rid of pride
   Get rid of sorrow
   Mix with the People
   Go among the People,
the Fellaheen not the
  American Bourgeois Middle-
  class World of neurosis
  nor the Catholic French
  Canadian European World
        – the People –
Indians, Arabs, the
Fellaheen in the country, village,
    of City slums – an
  essential World Dostoyevksy
    if you want to Gauguin on –
  but mainly, fulfill yr.
needs, live,  – sit staring
in the yard all day, if
  the other men laugh at
  you challenge them
  & ask them if “you would
  like it if I laugh at
   you” – Screw, drink,
     be lasy, roam, do
    nothing ... gather yr.
     food – Get out of
       America for good, it’s
         a Culture holding you,
           no Life – The People
          of No Good & Evil –
         of No Culture, no
        Prophets – nothing but
       essential politics & literature
    as Tales of the People –

  Gauguin practised a
neurotic civilization
  impressionism among
primitive fellaheen
  people – is his
  art so good as they
  say? – is it better
  really than all-out
  culture bourgeois dutch
 come-&-honey Rembrandt?
 – of course not – Impressionism
is & has always been
   a breakup & compromise
  in the art of picturing
 nature & is now a
wild scatological paint
blur call’d Surrealism etc

Primitive art nevertheless
is closer to Surrealism
than “Naturalism”
(which is unnaturally tech-
nical) – but primitive
art does not consider
Subconsciousness or
  Primitivism – & is in
any case Decoration
for Utilitarian Purposes,
not so called “expression
for expression’s sake”
& the difference is
millionfold down deep –
Gauguin would have done
better decorating their pots
  & boats – This humility
is the true artist’s –  ”

Kerouac, Jack. « Sun Apr 26 SWING THE HILLTOMBSTONE », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Page 273-276

TOMBSTONE

I was a naive
   overbelieving type

Kerouac, Jack. « TOMBSTONE », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Page 267.

Holy Ghost

“A big piece of myself is stuck
is choking me in my throat

My belief in the Holy Ghost
less and less – it’s fading
– It must not fade, but
  return – Return, Holy Ghost”

Kerouac, Jack. « EN ROUTE MONTREAL BUS Mar 20 ‘53», Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Pages 234 - 235.

Go Naked To The White

“Evil dies, but good
   Lives forever –
     The evil in you will die,
& your flesh with it, but
the good in yr heart &
   soul will live forever –
     Evil can’t live, good
can’t die –

     Your angriness, impatience,
hassels, even that & your
shit, all – will die, cannot,
wills not to live; but the
  flashes of sweet light will
never die, the love, the
kindness of hope, the
  true work, joy of belief –

                              As for reforming others,
                              let them reform themselves,
                              if they can’t they were
                              meant to die; they
                             are barely alive now if they
                             can’t reform themselves to-
                             morrow; better a cleaner of cesspools than a re-
                             former. Let every man
                             make himself pure as
                             I have done – that’s
                             the “reform” –
                                  Work on your own soul –
                             experiment to see if one
                             man can be saved, as
                             the whole lot en masse
                                can apparently not –
                                 on yr own soul first.
[...]
& keep your
flesh fit so as not to
burden the soul with
temporal strains & remove
  that much energy
                                  for its prime considera-
                                  tion & meditation –
                                    God, & Good – Direct

contact between you &
  God means no church,
  no society, no reform,
  & almost no relationships,
  & almost no hope in
  relationships – but
  kindness of hope inherent
   in what that is good,
    shall live, & what is
      bad, dies – Your
      flesh will be a husk,
        but yr. soul a star –
             The greatest & only
   final form of “good”
        is human –

                                  Because intellectual
                                  & intellectually willed
                                  good & so conceptual
                                  good is only a word –
                                   “Almost” no hope in
                                  relationships, means,
                                  no foolish hop, but
                                  true hope –
                                       Everyone to his own
                                  true work – There
                                  is no good in work
                                  which does no good.
                                    Railroads, factories,
                                      solve & give nobody
                                      nothing, serve the
                                      flesh only, at great
                                       time & sacrifice, are
                                         evil –
The true work is on
belief; true belief
  in immortal good;
  the continual human
  struggle against
  linguistic religious
  abstraction; recognition
  of the soul beneath
  everything, & humor, –
Lights in the foggy
night are not necessarily
bleak & friendless, but
  just lights (in fact to
  light yr. way), & fog
  from the necessary sea –
     Stupid, fatuous men
are not necessarily
    all stupid & fatuous,

  nor all on the horizon,
nor completely devoid of
good, or hope – The evil
in them will die, the
good will live – Bleak
& friendless universe is
  only one of several
  illusions, the greatest &
  only immortal one of
  which is good –
    Enough, the words to
  this “idea,” or belief,
    are limited, the combi-
  nations to describe it
    almost exhausted al-
    ready – Manifestations
    of this in humanity, there-
      fore in your writing work,
           are endless however –
This is the return of
       the Will

Just the sight of the “snow”
under the locomotive, brings back
sweet light of the boy soul in
Lowell, the human earnest desire
to revisit Lowell this New Year’s
& soak up the sad hints of
the past in a grateful soul,
  from just ... “snow” – So
    immortal love also hides
    in things – talisman details
     for the temple soul –
      but soul, soul, soul, the
       “details” is the life of
            this thing –
GO NAKED TO THE WHITE.”

Kerouac, Jack. « OCT 31 1952», Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. PageS 228 - 233.

Final Cog

“  The traffic problem is
merely that cars by the
millions enslave us to
new city systems requiring
hours of drivin to & from
  needs, on “congested” arteries,
  naturally – where once
 you’d-a walked – These
   are all conditions pointing
   to the imminent cancerous
   death of American, the
   Final Cog in the Western
    Civ. Machine – the
     supreme end-result of
     early Gothic Phallic forms
     is the skyscraper & the
       oil drill & powered
       compressor & pistons of
       great engines – the Machine
       copulates, men aren’t
         allowed to anymore.
The flesh gets numb
But the soul doesn’t.”

Kerouac, Jack. « MORE SKETCHES CALIFORNIA », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Page 216.

The nerve of yr. being

“You’ve got to put a
superstructure of love
on yr. life or you’ll
just be a skeleton in
  the grave of yr.
mortal days, shuddering
naked against the main
  nerve of yr. being,
unclothed for the
  Raiment Halls of
  Will, Severity of Purpose,
– God is a superaddition
to the frame of Man,
like the flesh & eyes –
Therefore unravel the
drama of yr. soul before
yr. eyes, be strong &
thoughtful, be not naked scared”

Kerouac, Jack. « OCT. 4 », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Page 204.

Security

“  Retirement annuities
that grow out of group
life insurance & hospital
plans & sick benefits, spon-
sored by the modern big
  company, are only an
  attempt to cut out turn-
  over of employees –
  imagine devoting yr. entire
  life, its soul & meaning
to a pineapple company
& accepting its retirement
annuities for reward –
  “Stay with the Machine,
  boys, dont need to run
  away or shift to other
  cogs, you’re just as well
  off in this one – we offer
  YOU SECURITY TILL THE
  GRAVE.”

Kerouac, Jack. « NOTES ON THE MILLENIUM OF THE HIP FELLAHEEN Oct. 1952, Calif. », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Page 188.

Decoration

“Come face to face with
the lonely grave now,
beyond it is Heaven
– the lonely hole you’ll
lie in is the only hole
you’ll have – round it
God has woven golden
 rewards the Fabric
    of His Glory –
 My father only now
is blinking his eyes on
the other side of Light –
       Jesus loved the
Individual –
      America is Decoration
Now – planted palms in
  San Jose –”

Kerouac, Jack. « NOTES ON THE MILLENIUM OF THE HIP FELLAHEEN Oct. 1952, Calif. », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Pages 178-179.

Monsters

“I’m going to excoriate
the cocksucker & save
my heroes from its doom.
It aint no atom
  bomb will blow up
  America, America
  itself is a bomb
  bound to go off
  from within – What
  monsters lurks there, bald
head, fat, 55, youg wife,
millions, Henry J Shmeiser,
out of his pissing cancerous
life will flow (from the
belly) a juice of ex-
   plosions – dowagers
     & young juicy cunts with
     high mannered ways on
     buses will gasp – I
     stick my finger in the cunt.”

Kerouac, Jack. « THE THING I LIKE ABOUT », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Page 148.

Scene

“[...] In any case this
scene is of no interest
to me & is only an
example. A scene
should be selected by
the writer, for haunted-
ness-of-mind interest.
  If you’re not haunted
  by something, as by a
  dream, a vision, or
a memory, which are
  involuntary, you’re not
interested, or even involved.”

Kerouac, Jack. « 1954 Richmond Hill Sketch On Van Wyck Boulevard », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Pages 63-64.

Doom is your name

“[...] across the
road from the
house, in the thicket
woods, rain, rain of the South
washed the sorrow & the
deep & something mourned
 – & something whisp-
ered to Paul: “You were
born in the woods – your
father was a farmer –
son of these rains – this
wilderness – wretched
victim of usurers &
  bitter pain – yr. Wife
  has had yr. heir – you
  sit alone in night –
  dont let yr face hang,
  don’t let yr arms fall –
  Doom is yr name –
  Paul Death is yr name –
Paul Nothingness in the
big wild, wide & empty
world that hates you
is your name – Sit
here glooming all you
want – in debt, dark,
sad – Alone – You’ll
lose this house, you’ll lose
the 5, 6 dollars in yr
pocket – you’ll lose the
car in the yard – you’ll
lose the yard – you’ve
gained a wife & child –
almost lost them? They’ll
be lost eventually – a
grave that sinks from
the foot, that telegraphs
in dirt the sinking of a
manly chest – awaits
  thee – and they – &
thou art an animal
dying in the wilderness –
Groo, groo, poor man
– groo – only the
Heavens & the arcs
Will ac-cept thee –
& Knowledge of heaven
& the arcs is not for
thee – so die, die,
die – & be silent –
Paul Blake in the
night, Paul Blake
in the No Carolina
rainy night ...”

Kerouac, Jack. « First Book : Rocky Mt Aug 7 ’52 », Book of sketches. Penguin Books, 1952-1953, New York. Pages 12-15.

Vesuvius

"Vesuvius
Oh, be kind
It hasn't occurred
No it hasn't been said
Sufjan, follow the path
It leads to an article of imminent death
Sufjan, follow your heart
Follow the flame
Or fall on the floor
Sufjan, the panic inside
The murdering ghost
That you cannot ignore

Vesuvius
Fire of fire
Follow me now
As I favor the ghost"

Vesuvius, The Age of Adz, Sufjan Stevens, 2010. Asthmatic Kitty Records, Lander, Wyoming.

Teddy

“You love your parents, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do – very much,” Teddy said, “but you want to make me use that word to mean what you want it to mean – I can tell.”
“All right. In what sense do you want to use it?"
Teddy thought it over. “You know what the word ‘affinity’ means?” he asked, turning to Nicholson.
“I have a rough idea,” Nicholson said dryly.
“I have a very strong affinity for them. They’re my parents, I mean, and we’re all part of each other’s harmony and everything,” Teddy said. “I want them to have a nice time while they’re alive, because they like having a nice time… But they don’t love me and Booper – that’s my sister – that way. I mean they don’t seem able to love us just the way we are. They don’t seem able to love unless they can keep changing us a little bit. They love their reasons for loving us almost as much as they love us, and most of the time more. It’s not so good, that way.”

Salinger, J.D. “Teddy”, Nine Stories. Little Brown and Company, New York, 1953. Page 187.

Jean-Marc

"J'ai un problème : je ne me souviens pas de mon enfance.

Tout ce que j'en ai retenu, c'est que la bourgeoisie ne fait pas le bonheur."

Beigbeder, Frédéric. Windows on the World. Grasset, Paris, 2003.

North

 "Somehow it seems the evil thing should take care itself, or be rectified in organic tree of things. But these deliberations ah-vail not my old Sprowf Bollnock – listen to me, Jacky, kid, boy that comes with me – though doubts and tears are roused up by the rain, wherein I know the rose is flowing, and it’s more natural I lay me down and make peace with bleak embattled eternity, in my rawer bed of dolors, with eyes of the night and soul shrouds, to keep my balanced fingers in – among the shades of arcade shafts, friends and fellow Evangelians of the Promised North – ever promised, ever-never yielding North shroud ghost of upper snow, rale of snowy singers wailing in the Arctic-speared, solitude night – I go and make my mention, I go and seek my tremble.”


Kerouac, Jack. Doctor Sax. Grove Press, New York, 1959. Pages 218-219

Marbles

“(Go on outside, bad! Hitting your little sister on the head like that! You’ll never be happy being a man like that!)
Doubtful that I ever grew up, too. I’m worried.”

Kerouac, Jack. Doctor Sax. Grove Press, New York, 1959. Page 186

L-I-F-E

“  – Doctor Sax, whirl me no Shrouds – open up your heart and talk to me – in those days he was silent, sardonic, laughed in tall darkness.
    Now I hear him scream from the bed of the brim –
   “The Snake is Rising Inch an Hour to destroy us – yet you sit, you sit, you sit. Aïeee, the horrors of the East – make no fancy up-carves to the Ti-bet wall that a Kangaroo’s mule eared cousin – Frezels! Grawns! Wake to the test in your frails – Snake’s a Dirty Killer – Snake’s a Knife in the Safe – Snake’s a horror – only birds are good – murderous birds are good – murderous snakes, no good."
       Little booble-face laughs, plays in the street, knows no different – Yet my father warned me for years, it’s a dirty snaky deal with a fancy name – called L-I-F-E – more likely H-Y-P-E ... How rotten the walls of life do get – how collapsed the tendon beam ...”

Kerouac, Jack. Doctor Sax. Grove Press, New York, 1959. Page 77.

The Rail

“Bert Desjardins no less eccentric – playing he walked across the Moody Street Bridge with me the first morning I went to St. Joseph brothers school – the rail was on our left, iron, separating us from the 100-foot drop to the roaring foams of the rocks in their grisly eternity (that became white be-maned hysterical horses in the night) – he said “I remember my first day at school, I wasn’t tall enough to look over the thick bar of that rail, you’re going to grow just like I did right over it – in no time!” I couldn’t believe it.”

Kerouac, Jack. Doctor Sax. Grove Press, New York, 1959. Page 73.

Brown

"I’m in my mother’s arms but somehow the chair is not on the floor, it’s up in the air suspended in the voids of sawdust smelling mist blowing from Lajoie’s wood yard, suspended over yard of grass at corner of West Sixth and Boisvert – that daguerreotype gray is all over, but my mother’s robe sends auras of warm brown (the brown of my family) – so now when I bundle my chin in a warm scarf in a wet gale – I think on that comfort in the brown bathrobe – or as when a kitchen door is opened to winter allowing fresh ices of air to interfere with the warm billowy curtain of fragrant heat of cooking stove ... say a vanilla pudding ... I am the pudding, winter is the gray mist. A shudder of joy ran through me – when I read of Proust’s teacup – all those saucers in a crumb – all of History by thumb – all of a city in a tasty crumb – I got all my boyhood in vanilla winter waves around the kitchen stove. It’s exactly like cold milk on hot bread pudding, the melting of hot and cold is a hollow hole between memories of childhood."

Kerouac, Jack. Doctor Sax. Grove Press, New York, 1959. Page 19.

I was born.

"It was in Centralville I was born, in Pawtucketville saw Doctor Sax. Across the wide basin to the hill - on Lupine Road, March 1922, at five o'clock in the afternoon of a red-all-over suppertime, as drowsiliy beers were tapped in Moody and Lakeview saloons and the river rushed with her cargoes of ive over reddened slick rocks, and on the shore the reeds swayed among mattresses and cast-off boots of Time, and lazily pieces of snow dropped plunk from bagging branches of black thorny oily pine in their thaw, and beneath the wet snows of the hillside receiving the sun's lost rays the melts of winter mixed with roars of Merrimac - I was born. Bloody rooftop. Strange deed. All eyes I cam hearing the river's red; I remember that afternoon, I perceived it through beads hanging in a door and through lace curtains and glass of a universal sad lost redness of mortal damnation ... the snow was melting. The snake was coiled in the hill not in my heart."

Kerouac, Jack. Doctor Sax. Grove Press, New York, 1959. Page 17.