In Search of: Kerouac
On Saturday, having a few hours to kill before Mandrew woke up, Rich and I tried to find Jack Kerouac. He lives very near Rich, being in Edson Cemetery. He had been there before, but I had not. We drove around, and unable to spot the marker, Rich parked, and we started to wander. We paced back and forth in the section he believed Jack was located. Rich kept calling him a bastard, and I kept saying not to speak ill of the dead. At one point, re-approaching his vehicle, I stated that he probably parked right in front of it. Not quite, but almost.
This is Jack's headstone.
Here lies Kerouac. Note the lack of grass in front, and the abundance of cigarette butts. Apparently, it gets shrine-like, but at the time of my visit, there were no offerings, nor bad poetry. You could see many marks left from where stuff had been placed, and chipped at the stone. For reference, this is how close we actually were. Ridiculously so, right? Once we got there, we kinda stood around and stared. In retrospect, the lack of grass was a giveaway. The lack of offerings was disappointing, but it was a crappy week weather-wise. I ended up telling him that I tried to like his writing, but couldn't. It took me four tries to finish On the Road. I read Maggie Cassidy for the Lowell-factor, but was put off by the Jock-factor.
So this was Saturday's adventure. I suppose it makes me kind of a jerk.
This is Jack's headstone.
Here lies Kerouac. Note the lack of grass in front, and the abundance of cigarette butts. Apparently, it gets shrine-like, but at the time of my visit, there were no offerings, nor bad poetry. You could see many marks left from where stuff had been placed, and chipped at the stone. For reference, this is how close we actually were. Ridiculously so, right? Once we got there, we kinda stood around and stared. In retrospect, the lack of grass was a giveaway. The lack of offerings was disappointing, but it was a crappy week weather-wise. I ended up telling him that I tried to like his writing, but couldn't. It took me four tries to finish On the Road. I read Maggie Cassidy for the Lowell-factor, but was put off by the Jock-factor.
So this was Saturday's adventure. I suppose it makes me kind of a jerk.