Kerouac's famous passage from Desolation Angels ("it's the beat of the heart, it's being beat and low...") gets spliced with the music, and the rest of the song is majestic.
Going to take my portable Jack out into the world and write some haikus. Cheers, all.
Oh, and another thing. I gave ChatGPT a task: "Write a 250-word short story about Eskimos in the 19th century, in the style of Jack Kerouac". It failed dismally. You really don't want to see what it produced.
Thanks very much appreciated in this house devoted to the celebration of music. Turn up that music everyone and Happy Sunday. To “Dharma Bums” and “Earth House Hold.”
Nobody "lived their life" in the real, not-cliched sense of that phrase more than Kerouac. I have yet to hear of someone who eclipses him. I guess today's as good a time as ever to start reading Big Sur.
One of the greats. I own everything he's written, that's published at least. I routinely pick up a book, open it at random, and read a few pages. Not with a view to finishing anything, just to enter his world. It's magical, and reminds me of an unmoored boat, just bumping along, beautifully.
In all my years of teaching, I ended up framing a thank you note a student gave me with that JK quote, ending it with “thanks for a great semester, and thanks for being mad. Here’s the quote again:
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…”
It's almost impossible to post anything about Kerouac without somebody feeling the need to toss in "alcoholic" grenade. This post is about his birth and his amazing whimsical life. Leave all that other stuff for something else.
Feel a deep kinship to this man. To get into morning writing, I often listen to this track: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTlT1p9eNrw
Kerouac's famous passage from Desolation Angels ("it's the beat of the heart, it's being beat and low...") gets spliced with the music, and the rest of the song is majestic.
Going to take my portable Jack out into the world and write some haikus. Cheers, all.
Oh, and another thing. I gave ChatGPT a task: "Write a 250-word short story about Eskimos in the 19th century, in the style of Jack Kerouac". It failed dismally. You really don't want to see what it produced.
Thanks very much appreciated in this house devoted to the celebration of music. Turn up that music everyone and Happy Sunday. To “Dharma Bums” and “Earth House Hold.”
dharma bums is a classic Xx
Nobody "lived their life" in the real, not-cliched sense of that phrase more than Kerouac. I have yet to hear of someone who eclipses him. I guess today's as good a time as ever to start reading Big Sur.
INdeed, friend!
Fine poem. On the Road changed my life, and lately I've been digging on Kerouac's poems, which are underrated.
Thank you for this beautiful post. Let’s honor his life and work!
Beatitude)
Racing through the bop-soaked night
They got high
With words so many words to feed the
Minds of "angel headed hipsters" Allen Ginsberg
To mountaintops clinging to earthly
Rocks under a puff pillow sky
Summoning the Buddhas of the past
Present and future
None of which exist in the railroad riding world of flesh and craggy old bones
Sitting in jump seat of speeding cars Down Russian Hill
To north shore
To sit in the jazz aura of Bird Parker
Who like the Bodhidharma came from the east with solemn eyes
To sit in wall gazing wonder at it all
From a perch in a Berkley cottage
Where he hid his marijuana and with
Wide peyotl grin chased poems out to sea
And howled at gallery windows
Drunk in china town
Eyeballing exotic food with magic sticks
Pouring from the brown paper bag in every glass until empty
Yet it's all empty really
No real you no real me
Just the starry night above
And worn old shoes below
There's nothing to do
A nothing so sweet can be nothing but
Virtue and merit rolled into the next life
And so they went
Beat - saintly and haggard......
That is a damn fine post. Thank you.
a madman may have slept in this bed
a reptile too cold-
blooded to move
the grey night
came and went
something of him
still sleeps there
owls hooted at the window
a sudden storm
then the aftermath
a dirge seemed to play
at the foot
and underneath it
a foul smell
heard to crackle
like lightning
then the air became
pure as the back
of an unbridled mare
in moonlight
like scrolls
the sheets told his story
pillows forever marked
by the shift of his head
the circumference
of an asteroid
heading for earth
he may have slept
though his eyes
were always open
fearful a snake
for good or bad
would settle in his belly
it followed him
to a black river
along the outskirts
of the earth's camp
at the edge of the fabled
refuge only dreamt of
by madmen
Here's to you, Jack! Happy Birthday!
Here hear
wail on jack!
One of the greats. I own everything he's written, that's published at least. I routinely pick up a book, open it at random, and read a few pages. Not with a view to finishing anything, just to enter his world. It's magical, and reminds me of an unmoored boat, just bumping along, beautifully.
loved this reading, love Jack's words and spirit, happy birthday Kerouac!
In all my years of teaching, I ended up framing a thank you note a student gave me with that JK quote, ending it with “thanks for a great semester, and thanks for being mad. Here’s the quote again:
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…”
Best gift I ever could’ve gotten for teaching.
It's almost impossible to post anything about Kerouac without somebody feeling the need to toss in "alcoholic" grenade. This post is about his birth and his amazing whimsical life. Leave all that other stuff for something else.
well said, jack inspired millions through his words, this is his lasting memory