Tag Archives: jack kerouac
When I was a young man, a budding scribe eager to blossom white fire, and scabbed lotuses, you meant the world to me. You exposed me to velocity bop and piggyback rhythms, to applepie windowsill jazz and summerlight porchswings, to … Continue reading
One man’s boyish scroll as the road map for parched throats– Long-running well-spring.
The sea of white noise fathoming secret wavelengths– scribe tuned to angels.
(In honor of Jack Kerouac’s birthday, March 12th, an excerpt from my Greyhound travelogue, “Stray Passages”) I discovered Kerouac, by chance, when I was nineteen and as a wide-eyed babe greedily suckling Kerouac’s vision-engorged tit, that which he had … Continue reading
It took place in an amnesiac haze and fury, numberless nights of lightningspeak and opiate rabble, rocketfuel and anti-freeze, bright ribbons of noise amounting to worry stones indenting the soft pink center of palms, on and on and on, fugitive … Continue reading
Jack Kerouac scrolling his Facebook page– detours on the road.