If I could turn back time, I’d go on a road trip with Jack Kerouac
This September 5th, Jack Kerouac on the way 65 years old.
I don’t know why I thought it was the craziest road trip of my life, although it was more of a hell road trip, Kerouac was always drug-addicted, short of money, and probably exuded great insecurities sense. After all, in life, as in most of his writing, Kerouac is a sad character, “this deep, lonely, melancholy man,” as Jack Kerouac, an expert at the University of Massachusetts Lowell, says as described.even if successful on the way What makes him sad, if only because what readers find sensational, is not just the excellence and ingenuity of his writing and the virtuosity of his technique, but the wild adventures, the wild characters, the freedom of the road, his protagonist, the narrative All the madness of the author, and the alter ego in this semi-autobiographical work “Saar’s Paradise,” which describes in this sentence “The only people who are crazy for me are crazy people who are crazy about life. , crazy to talk, crazy to be rescued, craving everything.”
oh but on the wayIt was a wild adventure, to be sure, and even wilder the way he wrote it in his manic stream of consciousness. With characters representing Beat Generation writers such as Alan Ginsburg and William S. Burroughs, lifelong friends Kerouac met at Columbia, on the way Captures the spirit of the 1950s eloquently in a way no other writer before him has ever since F. Scott Fitzgerald passed the great gatsbyDepiction of the 1920s.
The beat was Kerouac’s contribution to American literature, and he was later considered a leader of the movement, although it was a New York addict and thief who introduced him to the term beatwhich means both high and low, beat Means “fallen”, bliss or ecstasy, sublime, euphoric, high in Benzedrine. The movement supports breaking with tradition, represented by raw, whimsical and meandering writing. In this style, Kerouac writes about loss, and the search for something greater than life or the self, for meaning or redemption, to counteract the banality of banal existence.
i wish i read on the way On a transcontinental Volkswagen Beetle road trip from San Francisco to New York, but the most I’ve done is the Greyhound bus from San Francisco to Los Angeles, parked in the clouds at a gas station, in the middle of nowhere, when I’m not there, except Most of my Mexican co-passengers. I also took a Mercedes Benz winding the Pacific Highway from San Francisco to Big Sur on the Pacific coast. That’s so cute.
An unforgettable book I read while traveling was Jules Verne’s Around the world in 80 days. I read all 17 chapters in the back seat of a sedan, from Manila to Pagupud, the northernmost tip of mainland Luzon, while on a summer adventure in a tricycle with a friend and his girlfriend. While I don’t recall books on other such excursions, especially now that I’m driving most of the time with my eyes on the road, I’d say everyone on the trip is Jack Kerouac, looking for his own Adventure, search for meaning, for pleasure, for God, who knows? When was your last road trip?
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