i was sitting here la dee da at the computer listening to wonderful music discovering sensible rhythms when i stumbled onto a kerouac poem. now me and kerouac aren’t too familiar with one another. i’ve heard a few of his ramblings, i’ve read some of on the road and i generally know the spirit of the guy, but sitting here i stumbled onto “october in the railroad earth”, which i clicked on the stereo and i was in love. this man made my rambles look terse straight to the point, dishonest even. i clicked it on and he started talking about san francisco, a recent lover of mine, and i could have misinterpreted but i think he predicted in the piece that rich men would come and take over the city, which they did. don’t get me wrong, there’s still something about san francisco, i learned that during my time out there, but kerouac was on the ball. steven allen behind him kicking those white keys just as hard as the black ones, all live, all real, all viral and not sterile and megalithic and true. jazz. duh, it was jazz. i was enamoured and it went on and on and on and i followed along with the text and then the text came to an end. but it went on and on and on and i was still in love with jack kerouac and i understood a little better what ginsberg said when he said he fell in love with jack kerouac. everything was making sense. the walls were falling down and just when i thought i was on the trip back from hearing and discovering every great poet there was that there’s ever been here came jack like a good, solid nineteen fifties jazz bar punch in the face to wake me up. cold whiskey thrown at me. punch drunk and rawly starstruck it kept going and then it ended. and then a commercial for mcdonalds holiday smoothies came on the speakers and ruined a perfectly good moment.
COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012