Book of Sketches - Jack Kerouac [53]
SELF
by
FOOL
be the name of yr
lifework
And forget thyself
to tell the word of
the world
“Watch yr. thoughts!”
False humbleness, false
self-depreciation, leads
to useless explanation.
At the end of a
meaning is a tangent
of brain noises,
avoid them &
finish where you
finish
The brain noises belong
only in the paragraph
of brain noises
Canuck, dont pile
up reasons for yr
activities
IN VAIN
The stars in the sky
In vain
The tragedy of Hamlet
In vain
The key in the lock
In vain
The sleeping mother
In vain
The lamp in the corner
In vain
The lamp in the corner unlit
In vain
Abraham Lincoln
In vain
The Aztec empire
In vain
The writing hand: in vain
(The shoetrees in the shoes
In vain
The windowshade string upon
the hand bible
In vain —
The glitter of the greenglass
ashtray
In vain
The bear in the woods
In vain
The Life of Buddha
In vain)
FIRST OF THE NEW SKETCHES
2 ineffectual old men
standing in the wilderness
they created but not by
their own hand, their innocence
& stupidity rather, &
all the Devil had to do
was the rest — Both in
hats, topcoats, infinitesimal
differences of brown hat
vs. gray hat (felt, the
mold of custom), pale
blue vs. dark blue coat,
both hands apockets in
the same lost way — pants
of 2 shades shading same
size & color shanks
(white stick variety,
as befits old men sedentary
& corrupt with
property, fear of death
& arrogant sons) — The
wilderness of their making
is the children’s park
with gigantic knee-abrasing
concrete, concrete benches,
brick double shithouse
for boys’ & girls’ different
shameful peepees, &
over the sooty brown football
field Atlantic Ave
with its blank vehicular
passers & the huge LIRR
carshop yards with
a dozen Diesels
throbbing & exhaling bad
gas in the gray chill
December afternoon,
all around the bleak
deserted rooftops of suburban
homes, bare trees with
boles & half dead because
hemmed at base by
concrete groundworks —
the old men earnestly
discuss some ineffectual
absurdity, pointing, taking
turns, both have glasses
because they were taught
to be myopic — good
old fellows nevertheless
as harmless as children
(children throw rocks at
beggars)
only more culpable & a
shade less intelligent — discussing
eagerfaced in their
concrete horror & scraggle
of iron machines & air-
stinks some unimportant
sub problem among
the problems of the
Problem of the West
— neckties, collars,
stamping their bloodless
feet now & ready to
go back in the hot
parlor to paper &
TV
— glancing at wrist
watches, waiting for
gut fattening shame-
obesity-making supper
— slaves of the bleak
without hope
without actual earnestness
but momentary profitable
appearance of so —
contemptuous of the
older fool is the old
fool — Their double
chinned cigaret smoking
women call the children
to home thru the
prison of iron fences
— The older man holds
to his point, he’ll soon
be mush to a new
monument in Long Island
City Cemetery — his
hat is battereder than
the younger oldster’s,
his mouth more twisted
pathetically — too late
now he knows he’s
got his last body —
“Paragon” is written
on the oil truck delivering
fuel to useless
furnaces — Clouds of
soot rise from an
old locomotive
in the yard, harking
to memories of old
America as the Diesel
gives 4 blasts — The
2 old men part, one
homeward, the other
toiletward, hobbling,
lost, tired, hopeless,
looking linefaced &
worried around the gray
park for nothing or
for a temporary unimportant
direction —
the sight of them reminds
me of the white light in
the shiny wax of the
corridor of the hosp. morgue
To drive out Angry Thoughts
Whatever anyone does,
anyone says, in the
past, now, everything, let
it bounce off the rock
of yr gladness (yr mirror)
Guys talking you down
about girls
Novelists publishing big
Towns & Cities
Writers saying nothing
about your new writings
Really let it bounce off
the rock of yr gladness,
because you are
innocent
(Free)