I’ve read a lot about many different people in life and I find a keen interest in the beat literary poet, Jack Kerouac. His strong desire to be a literary legend took him through some hard living, hard-drinking and the infamous journey that became “On the Road”.
As WWII finally came to an end, young people were looking for an escape. They weren’t feeling the nine to five monotonous boredom sweeping over the country. Kerouac led the Beat Generation as a rebel against the post-war established order that was beginning to flourish. These cats were just living, man. Tasting life with original thoughts and ideas. They didn’t strive for security because they knew that would bring death to the soul. They weren’t enslaved to certain geographical localities that most seem to be today. America was their land so they discovered it. They got dirty on it and journeyed through it like ageless poets without any restraints. And they taught a whole generation of American’s how to shed their skin and live fearless and desirous of everything all a the same time.
The Beat’s were a small minority of postmodern renegades who gave a middle finger to the dull conformity of the latter part of 40’s. With an independent fiery, they sought after sex, drugs, jazz, heavy drinking, literature, Eastern mysticism and impulsive bohemian journeys. Kerouac devoured books with a starving ferocity while never satisfying his unquenchable thirst for alcohol. His soul never could find contentment because his desires were so endless. Kerouac voyaged across the land as a drunken prophet determined to find a truth, a satisfaction, a glory. Unfortunately, he never got to see the impact that he really had on the world. Kerouac met his destiny at the young age of 47 in St. Petersburg, Florida in 1969. He belongs to eternity anyways.
Here’s to the crazy ones.
The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers.
The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently.
They’re not fond of rules.
And they have no respect for the status quo