ORP: General & Jack Kerouac part 1

After the arduous journey through Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, I was a ready for a mental break. And since I am addicted to reading, I thought I would move on to some mind-candy or relaxing reading.

I finished Di Filippo’s Steampunk Trilogy with nothing spectacular to report except the three short novels were entertaining and I did increase my vocabulary a bit as he uses some 19th century words in his stories.

Along this same genre, I read a good novel last spring by Jay Lake entitled "Mainspring", which was a good yarn and had an interesting approach.

After I finished the Steampunk Trilogy, I decided to move back into the 20th century, and got started on my copy of the Library of America edition of Jack Kerouac’s “Road Novels”. The first novel in this collection is the beat classic, “On the Road”, which turns out to be a rollicking journey through the seamy underside of post WWII America. I don’t endorse the author’s subject matter, but he did have a relaxed style of prose I enjoyed and that makes the story a bit more readable. His style must have been influential, since I was reminded of this style in some aspects of the one Thomas Pynchon novel I have read so far. The overall mood of the story might be considered depressing by some, but I felt a real sympathy for what the spiritually lost go through in life. The yearning search for meaning, purpose, truth was so compelling especially as I consider how I have been saved from such a meandering life. And even in my halting walk on God’s trail, I have had some acquaintance with the feelings of the author. Perhaps it is my melancholy personality, but I actually enjoyed the novel, and since I grew up as a military brat, I have become accustomed to the wandering. Reading the novel made me want to go on a road trip, but alas the tyranny of responsibility keeps me tied down. Perhaps this is why the protagonists in so many stories tend to be young. If you aren’t killed by wild youthful exuberance, you finally settle down and become enslaved to the matrix.

Here is my prose poem reflecting some of my feelings:

In my gilded cage, safely trapped in space and time, handcuffed to the privilege of responsibility, I can only take comfort in my sacred chains that protect me from my peripatetic desires. In my circumstance of static providence, I still hope for the wonder of wandering the bright paths of mind’s geography. In the way of the word, I will rejoice to travel without moving. Thus will I embrace the dream and thank God for all writers.--JRI 2008

I once cursed the second’s slow pace, now I cry at the unwinding of the years.