Back with Jack

I’ve been back with my old buddy Jack for two or three days now.  We parted company for a while so I could hang with Burroughs and HST.

I’m very grateful fellas – but now it’s back to Jack.

It’s been an awkward couple of days, revisiting Desolation Ridge, but a few minutes ago Kerouac walked straight out of the page and grabbed me – just as I always knew he would.

Autobiographical? 

Yeah! 

What’s your problem?

Kerouac’s sharing everything – touching my soul and the soul of anyone who reads him and is open to sharing the experience.

The experience?

Being spat from a vagina, man. 

Finding yourself here among all this shit. 

Dealing with it. 

Not dealing with it. 

Moving among it and knowing it and sharing it and just being a-fucking-ware!

Gettit?

This is good.  This is really good.  From Sartre on through God-knows what. 

No.  Forget God. 

You’re on your own. 

Except you’re not. 

You’re with everyone else.

Dig?

Dig.