calling it early and before seeing it, movie of 2013. In a weird twist (even though it's autobiographical) has Michael C Hall playing his two characters in one, a murderous gay guy, so it's like david fisher meets dexter morgan and of course my main bro Daniel Racliffe as ginsberg, anything will be better than the disaster that was on the road tho
It’s not that I can’t fall in love. It’s really that I can’t help falling in love with too many things all at once So, you must understand why I can’t distinguish between what’s platonic and what isn’t, because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
Jack Kerouac
As far as young women are concerned I can’t look at them unless I tear off their clothes one by one including this last girl (with her Ma) wearing a green bandana and cute little face and long newlook coat, and low heels, walks throwing her thighs loosely as though floppy and not as much control as her youth would indicate, and the big coat hides her figure lines but I figure her cunt is sweet, you get to it via white lace panties, and she be fine. This is almost all I can say about almost all girls and only further refinement is their cunts and will do.”
Jack Kerouac, visions of cody
So long and take it easy, because if you start taking things seriously, it is the end of you.
Jack Kerouac
I’ll write long sad tales about people in the legend of my life. This part is my part of the movie, let’s hear yours
Tritessa,Jack Kerouac.
The one thing that we yearn for in our living days, that makes us sigh and groan and undergo sweet nauseas of all kinds, is the remembrance of some lost bliss that was probably experienced in the womb and can only be reproduced (though we hate to admit it) in death. But who wants to die?
sal paradise, on the road
he saw that all the struggles of life were incessant, laborious, painful, that nothing was done quickly, without labor, that it had to undergo a thousand fondlings, revisings, moldings, addings, removings, graftings, tearings, correctings, smoothings, rebuildings, reconsiderings, nailings, tackings, chippings, hammerings, hoistings, connectings — all the poor fumbling uncertain incompletions of human endeavor. they went on forever and were forever incomplete, far from perfect, refined, or smooth, full of terrible memories of failure and fears of failure, yet, in the way of things, somehow noble, complete, and shining in the end. this he could sense even from the old house they lived in, with it’s solidly built walls and floors that held together like rock: some man, possibly an angry pessimistic man, had built the house long ago, but the house stood, and his anger and pessimism and irritable laborious sweats were forgotten; the house stood, and other men lived in it and were sheltered well in it.”
the town and the city, jack kerouac.
And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?
The town and the city, Jack Kerouac.
moochingwarwidows reblogged
Anybody who's never done this is crazy.
Nobody ever dares to write the true story of love.
moochingwarwidows reblogged
stateofreverie-deactivated20130
Source: Flickr / tillfabriken
It seems, at times, I have designed too well this vision of you. I cannot survive your eyes, when they are scarred with a need for some lesser form of love. I admit to this conceit. And though you will not accept it, you love it nonetheless. It is just like you. Our desires will always be kept sharp by a kind of perversity. A need to be each forever alone
Jack Kerouac
We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when He made life so sad.
Sal Paradise, on the road.