It completely amazes me that a blizzard tore through town the other day and it hardly phased me. I recall waking up around dawn to hear a car outside struggling to get up the slight hill in front of my building. With the pedal more than likely to the floor, it took him nearly five whole minutes to travel about one hundred feet. Looking out the window, it was obvious that we had more ice, but I did not fail to notice the blur of white just beyond said vehicle. Working with George and Scottie today at KRUI, they were telling all sorts of stories about how bad things were. Hmm… I guess it was pretty bad.
Jack Kerouac is a man that I had often only heard of and read slightly about. A beat poet. That’s all I really knew until Friday night when the museum show was focused on him in its entirety. It took me back to my times of lit classes in high school and college. I would take such different interpretations to things that I was forced to read only to have those thoughts deemed academically incorrect. It would always confound me how the intellectual property I was assigned to create my own ideas and concepts about for papers and discussion were not the norm of the group think that went on in those classes.
It’s because of this reason that I have been so amazed by what I have learned about Jack Kerouac. You take what he does as it is. There’s not much to interpret or explore deeper meaning to. It is what it is, and that is so much of the greatness. And to see The Scroll is something I now rank up there with seeing such things as Starry Night or Juan Diego’s Cape.
I have a problem. I love feeding my brain.