Jesus was a strange hobo who walked on water—
Jack KerouacMy work comprises one vast book like Proust's except that my remembrances are written on the run instead of afterwards in a sick bed.
Jack KerouacBecoming acquainted and swallowing fears and settling down to life in the little cabin with its warm glow of woodstove and kerosene lamp and let the ghosts fly their asses off
Jack KerouacI didn’t know what to say. I felt like crying, Goddamit everybody in the world wants an explanation for your acts and for your very being.
Jack KerouacBack in the cabin I light the fire and sit sighing and there are leaves skittering on the tin roof, it's August in Big Sur --- I fall asleep in the chair and when I wake up I'm facing the thick little tangled woods outside the door and I suddenly remember them from long ago
Jack KerouacI was going to grow up to walk in sleet in fields...
Jack KerouacSomewhere in the vast jewelry of the Long Island night we walked, in wind and rain...
Jack KerouacCan I make you happier with powder on my chest? Do you need a thousand movie shows? Sixteen million people to ride the bus with, hit the stop—I shoulda never let you go away from home—“ Rich lips brooded in my deaf ear. “The fog’ll fall all over you, Jacky, you’ll wait in fields—You’ll let me die—you wont come save me—I wont even know where your grave is—remember what you were like, where your house, what your life—you’ll die without knowing what happened to my face—my love—my youth—You’ll burn yourself out like a moth jumping in a locomotive boiler looking for light—Jacky—and you’ll be dead—and lose yourself from yourself—and forget—and sink—and me too—and what is all this then?”
“I dont know—“
“Then come back to our porch of the river the night time the trees and you love stars—I hear the bus on the corner—where you’re getting off—no more, boy, no more—I saw, had visions and idees of you handsome my husband walking across the top of the America with your lantern...
Out of her eyes I saw smoldering I’d like to rip this damn dress off and never see it again!
Hell! I’m glad I did it. It’s going to be a change. I
call this life!
Y es así como, una vez obtenida la esencia de su amor, ahora erijo grandes construcciones verbales, y de ese modo en realidad lo traiciono, repitiendo calumnias como quien tiende las sábanas sucias al mundo; y las suyas, las nuestras, durante los dos meses de nuestro amor (así lo creí) sólo fueron lavadas una vez, porque ella era una subterránea solitaria que se pasaba los días abstraída y decidida a llevarlas al lavadero, pero de pronto se descubre que ya es casi de noche y demasiado tarde, y las sábanas ya están grises, hermosas para mí porque así son más suaves.
Jack KerouacTags: jack-kerouac anagrama los-subterráneos the-subterraneans
« first previous
Page 64 of 70.
next last »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.