Kerouac's Quote = My Inspiration

"I've been reading Whitman, know what he says, Cheer up slaves, and horrify foreign despots, he means that's the attitude for the Bard, the Zen Lunacy bard of old desert paths, see the whole thing is a world full of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn't want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deodorants and general junk you always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to the mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of 'em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason..." (The Dharma Bums, pg. 77-78)

Work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, and nothing has changed. That was from Dharma Bums, the most influential body of work that motivated all of this, and if Kerouac was still alive (is he still alive?) he would see that nothing has really changed. For the most part American's work, produce, and consume more. If God is the machine and we are all soldiers in God's eyes then we work for him for life, but God does not bleed and life has no meaning and neither do I. I sit and write I let the ink dry black and I write, black pen, black sweater, black day and black night. All is black and I wonder will color ever come back into my life. Will this world be filled to the brim with hues and not just shades of grey. The world is stale and I sit, I sit and rot, because life doesn't age like the timeless world, life rots and rots and stinks and I rot and I wonder what ray of light will come to bring me back to life. What will nurish my veins-roots and lift me up so that I can breath. Live, work, produce, consume, repeat, die. wake up! Live, work, produce, consume, repeat, die. WAKE UP!! Live, work, wake up, snap out of it. What will wake me up? What will free me as I sit in front of my personal screen typing out to all the other screens in the dark that I hate to love, what will wake me up? I write about a bag. thats it. a bag.

In the end, there will be light. And I crouch, arms stretched fingers banging on the alter to tell me what to do, because I am lost and looking for direction. Lunacy without the peace of zen (piece of zen) in my hungry stomach. I sit and wait for schemes to hatch and life to be worth living but all i do is sit and wait for life to be worth living when life is right outside my window living, and when i join that life, i still sit and wait for another life. stale is the word now. before it was beat, but now that beat existence has been torn at, hackneyed, repeated, refreshed in the browser so many times that now even the colors on the screen have faded and we have moved from beat to stale. ennui... look it up. It's a GRE word that should be taught to little monochrome first graders because they don't know it, but they are already gone. so wake up before the sun, burn petrolium that you worked so hard for just so that it can take you and me to jobs so that we can work and produce and consume till my new god, the screen i pray to 12 hours a day stops and so do I.