The thing with Jack Kerouac is, he's all...look, let me be clear, here. I've got no problem with you if you want to chuck all the rules, and come up with something better. But get it straight: the second part of that is the only part that counts. Chucking all the rules is a snap. Nobody gets any damn credit just for doing that. Any moron can do that.
Jack Kerouac comes across all, he's a one-man clash of straw-man opposites that he rigged up himself while he wasn't looking, he's reason's broken knuckle cracked and dislocated by a vehement finger-snap, a rhythmic flow of words that sound sense but mean gibberish, a struggle of the superficially this versus the histrionically that, a vicious insistence on meaningless extremes, and congealing underneath it all - a thin layer of cooling fat, glistening whitely upon a righteously underbaked casserole of anger at things that in most ages and places, children have no problem reconciling themselves to by age eleven or so.
I just can't respect the guy. He's the voice of self-pity projected across the cosmos - sorry, Jack, whining doesn't carry in a vacuum. And you done sucked up all the air.
I can't read him. I've never read a damn thing he's done. I wouldn't read a book of his if it was on fire. And it was the last copy. I still wouldn't.
I'd probably put it out, though. There's no reason to descend into barbarism, just because it's been made fashionable.
Jack Kerouac comes across all, he's a one-man clash of straw-man opposites that he rigged up himself while he wasn't looking, he's reason's broken knuckle cracked and dislocated by a vehement finger-snap, a rhythmic flow of words that sound sense but mean gibberish, a struggle of the superficially this versus the histrionically that, a vicious insistence on meaningless extremes, and congealing underneath it all - a thin layer of cooling fat, glistening whitely upon a righteously underbaked casserole of anger at things that in most ages and places, children have no problem reconciling themselves to by age eleven or so.
I just can't respect the guy. He's the voice of self-pity projected across the cosmos - sorry, Jack, whining doesn't carry in a vacuum. And you done sucked up all the air.
I can't read him. I've never read a damn thing he's done. I wouldn't read a book of his if it was on fire. And it was the last copy. I still wouldn't.
I'd probably put it out, though. There's no reason to descend into barbarism, just because it's been made fashionable.
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But as I said, I really haven't read him enough to speak intelligently on his work. So one could easily charge that I'm just showcasing my ignorance, here.
But then, they wouldn't need this post to be able to make that claim!
From how you describe it, he should have been an emcee. Him and Ginsy, takin' it on the road as MC Beat and DJ Howl!