Currently reading 'The Dharma Bums,' by Jack Kerouac. Some observations.
-I've read all his other books, and this is probably my third favorite behind 'On the Road,' and 'Big Sur.'
-Funny that as a writer/poet who was making decent money, he was blowing it all on wine and liqour. Wasn't the first, wasn't the last.
-Also funny that his only source of new clothing were the .50 cent flannel shirts he bought from goodwill. In fact, it seems like his entire wardrobe was from there. If that didn't solidify him as cost-efficient, hopping rides up and down the west coast on freight trains sure did. He was a winner.
-Kerouac never over-galmour-izes California, because he never needs to. Instead of bragging about great weather and gorgeous women, he shows the reader the beauty of climbing mountains and camping in log cabins with friends. No TV, no radio, and hardly ever any music. Just him, his wine, and his friends.
-To me, he seems like the anti-Hunter S. Thompson. Whereas Thompson (secretly and not so secretly) loved the attention his drug use and gonzo journalistic bravado brought him, Kerouac never seemed to embrace any of the fame that came his way while he was alive. They are from two different times, styles, and locations, but both hold basically the same spot in literary respect and style.
-Which brings me to my last point...how were these two legends able to capture so much? To be more specific, were they bringing along tape recorders everywhere they went? In this day and age it'd be a lot easier, but it seems like (and I'm too lazy to do exact research) they recaptured all their stories from memories. Or from Ralph Steadman's illustrations which he supposedly doodled whilst trying to keep up with Thompsons maniacal drug bingings. If I had money, and lots of it, I would be buying some of his originals.
"THE EDGE, there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over"
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