Dear Mr. Jack Kerouac,
You have been named “The King of the Beats” and so before even opening my first Kerouac book I was excited. I had no idea what a beat was or how to be the king of one but I was excited. My expectations were never left unfulfilled. As I turned the first page open eagerly I was instantly intrigued by the frank but detailed language. That first page was a fine cocktail of dry humor, longing and pure bitter-sweet composure. Everything about “On the Road” engaged me.
The motif of freedom and restlessness spoke to me, a bored teenage boy. What could be greater than leaving all responsibility behind you and seeing the world with your best friends? In the midst of the glorious 1950’s where “The American Dream” conquered the minds of the masses your character, Sal, decided that he frankly didn’t give a damn. He rejected the ideals of society at the time which was to acquire a huge monstrosity of a house in the suburbs, settle down with your beautiful blond wife and father several happy white children. Sal joined the hobos, the socialists and the bohemians with pride. But enough about Sal, I admire YOU, Jack Kerouac.
My admiration for you comes from my love of all that is indie. You, the founding father of “The Beat Generation”, have inspired me as a writer and I would imagine that you were good friends with Bob Dylan himself. If you were a folk singer I would buy every album promptly in vinyl form. That’s just how dedicated I am to you. I could only imagine that you lived a lifestyle similar to Sal’s and yet you say “I am no beatnik. I am a Catholic”. I don’t know of many devout Catholic Benzedrine junkies. You wrote “On The Road” in twenty days while high on speed the whole time. Although it did inspire masterpieces of literature such a crazy lifestyle was ultimately your downfall. “It’s better to burn out then to fade away. The king is gone but he’s not forgotten” says Neil Young, but dying of cirrhosis at the age of forty-seven does not seem quite as glorious. Where else could you get such substance and detail in your stories if not real life? Do words simply flow from your mind to the paper without troubles or do you strain over every inch of ink? I struggle with these things daily with my own writing. Your masterpieces are almost discouraging to me. I’ll never be as great as you and I often wonder what the point is. Is that a silly thing to think? It must be. I’d imagine that you need someone to pass the baton to and I’m right here. I hope you don’t mind passing some wisdom to me as well as the baton because I sure can’t do it on my own. I’m assuming that is where the Benzedrine comes into play... that was a joke.
Sincerely,
William Toler Marsh
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Dear Mr. Jack Kerouac
Dear Mr. Jack Kerouac,
Before even starting to read your book “On the Road” I was immediately struck by your name. Just the fact that your first and last name rhymed made me think of you in a greater esteem. A man with such a name must be some great poet, philosopher or at least a talented novelist. My expectations were never left unfulfilled. As I turned the first page open eagerly I was instantly intrigued by the frank but detailed language. That first page was a fine cocktail of dry humor, longing and pure bitter-sweet composure. Everything about “On the Road” engaged me.
The motif of freedom and restlessness spoke to me, the bored teenage boy. What could be greater than leaving all responsibility behind you and seeing the world with your best friends? In the midst of the glorious 1950’s where “The American Dream” conquered the minds of the masses your character, Sal, decided that he frankly didn’t give a damn. He rejected the ideals of society at the time; acquire a huge monstrosity of a house in the suburbs, settle down with your beautiful blond wife and father several happy white children. Sal joined the hobos, the socialists and the bohemians with pride. But enough about Sal, I admire YOU, Jack Kerouac.
My admiration for you comes from my love of all that is indie. You, the founding father of “The Beat Generation”, have inspired me as a writer and I would imagine that you were good friends with Bob Dylan himself. If you were a folk singer I would buy every album promptly in vinyl form even IF that was more expensive than CD. That’s just how dedicated I am to you. I could only imagine that you lived a lifestyle similar to Sal’s. Where else could you get such substance and detail in your stories? Do words simply flow from your mind to the paper without troubles or do you strain over every inch of ink? I struggle with these things daily with my own writing. Your masterpieces are almost discouraging to me. I’ll never be as great as you and I often what the point is. Is that a silly thing to think? It must be. I’d imagine that you need someone to pass the baton to and I’m right here. I hope you don’t mind passing some wisdom to me as well as the baton because I sure can’t do it on my own.
I want people to think of me and say “Man, he sure is going to do great things. He doesn’t even seem to try. He sleeps in class and everything. How is he so doggone brilliant if he sleeps in class?”. I’m quite POSITIVE you slept in class too. I bet you didn’t even go to college. Who needs college when you’ve got the whole world to teach you? I don’t see the point of sitting in some seminar in a steamy university building when you could be burning through Joshua Tree with folk rock on the radio and windows down. There is more inspiration and soul in the deserts of ole California then any smug college town. I still have one more question: do you wear flannel?
Sincerely,
William Toler Marsh
Before even starting to read your book “On the Road” I was immediately struck by your name. Just the fact that your first and last name rhymed made me think of you in a greater esteem. A man with such a name must be some great poet, philosopher or at least a talented novelist. My expectations were never left unfulfilled. As I turned the first page open eagerly I was instantly intrigued by the frank but detailed language. That first page was a fine cocktail of dry humor, longing and pure bitter-sweet composure. Everything about “On the Road” engaged me.
The motif of freedom and restlessness spoke to me, the bored teenage boy. What could be greater than leaving all responsibility behind you and seeing the world with your best friends? In the midst of the glorious 1950’s where “The American Dream” conquered the minds of the masses your character, Sal, decided that he frankly didn’t give a damn. He rejected the ideals of society at the time; acquire a huge monstrosity of a house in the suburbs, settle down with your beautiful blond wife and father several happy white children. Sal joined the hobos, the socialists and the bohemians with pride. But enough about Sal, I admire YOU, Jack Kerouac.
My admiration for you comes from my love of all that is indie. You, the founding father of “The Beat Generation”, have inspired me as a writer and I would imagine that you were good friends with Bob Dylan himself. If you were a folk singer I would buy every album promptly in vinyl form even IF that was more expensive than CD. That’s just how dedicated I am to you. I could only imagine that you lived a lifestyle similar to Sal’s. Where else could you get such substance and detail in your stories? Do words simply flow from your mind to the paper without troubles or do you strain over every inch of ink? I struggle with these things daily with my own writing. Your masterpieces are almost discouraging to me. I’ll never be as great as you and I often what the point is. Is that a silly thing to think? It must be. I’d imagine that you need someone to pass the baton to and I’m right here. I hope you don’t mind passing some wisdom to me as well as the baton because I sure can’t do it on my own.
I want people to think of me and say “Man, he sure is going to do great things. He doesn’t even seem to try. He sleeps in class and everything. How is he so doggone brilliant if he sleeps in class?”. I’m quite POSITIVE you slept in class too. I bet you didn’t even go to college. Who needs college when you’ve got the whole world to teach you? I don’t see the point of sitting in some seminar in a steamy university building when you could be burning through Joshua Tree with folk rock on the radio and windows down. There is more inspiration and soul in the deserts of ole California then any smug college town. I still have one more question: do you wear flannel?
Sincerely,
William Toler Marsh
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)