Oct 05, 2009 16:33
I came back from school today to find that the neighbours downstairs are renovating their floors. I can practically feel the vibrations travelling through the floors and onto the desk, along with this wall of sound that goes past the ears and right into the skull.
Went downstairs to read, past the park (because the benches are slick with rain) and to the coffeeshop. Its actually a great place to read - home is forever noisy because there are two construction sites nearby and a buddhist funeral downstairs - the only sound is a nondescript bustle. I have been delaying reading Kerouac's On the Road, because frankly it looked pretentious and boring; and I would still rather read Terry Pratchett than the beat poets. Theres something hypnotic about Kerouac's writing though. For one thing, hes fucking crazy, for another, everyone else around him is even crazier. Its just lines laid on lines, not even stopping for the punctuation, into one thick swirling mess.
Come to think of it, Kerouac is like the father of blogging! One continuous stream-of-conciousness: everything spilling out from the brain, in between the keyboards and all over the screen. And people like xiaxue dont even need LSD.