Category Archives: Kerouac

Hanging Myself

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Not funny really in this time of Infinite Jests, but maybe it is really exactly how I feel. I mean in the sense of eternal return, or Metampsychosis, or however you spell it and whatever Joyce was talking about…. I’m hanging the show. I feel like a worker… in the Marxist sense of that word: working on the ladders with the back into it. I mean to say that hanging a book is a physical act. I’ve been training for it like a boxer at the gym.. but my fucking thumbs are still weak for the push pins and the map pins and the pins and needles and needles and pins…..feel like a carpenter… feel like Christ crucified… stigmata on my thumb. LOL. music here is some odd Brian Wilson post Smile mid mad period song. Fucking lovely and perfect fit for my raw time lapse. More to come…

Sense and Sensuality

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I made a few drawings after reading in Kerouac:
….I’d gone through an entire year of celibacy based on my feeling that lust was the direct cause of birth which was the direct cause of suffering and death and I had really no lie come to a point where I regarded lust as offensive and even cruel. “Pretty girls make graves,” was my saying…

Beat It

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Here is a shot of the On The Road scroll where Jack Kerouac wrote the novel in one long Benzedrine fueled act of typing. It’s really a fantastic sculpture as well as being a great book. Belongs in a museum as much as a Library. I’d like to see it next to Rauchenberg’s tire print scroll just as one idea. I’ve heard the story of Kerouac writing on long rolls for years, but it was only recently that The New York Public Library put a few on display, with On The Road as the center line down the Liway. It got me reading Kerouac again. The drawing is mine with a page torn out of Dharma Bums, the photo is from Ben Vershbow.