More Jack Kerouac riffs (in case you’re not getting enough) this one from the mighty Jerry Garcia
“I can’t separate who I am now from what I got from Kerouac. I don’t know if I would ever have had the courage or the vision to do something outside with my life – or even suspected the possibilities existed – if it weren’t for Kerouac opening those doors.”
Jerry Garcia, remembering Jack Kerouac who was born in Lowell, MA on March 12, 1922
Making and finishing and doing *so much* so can’t stay up with sharing… limiting screentime and can’t pause to organize… but so much things (along with baby) coming… you can always catch stuff which doesn’t make it to this channel (and/or sequestered by the machines) at “creative life archive” (note: you are here).
Note: This snap is me at Lafcadio Hearn’s writing desk (international writer who came to Japan and settled in deep countryside… Married a Japanese lady and took Japanese name, wrote in Japanese, had bad eyes so made this desk to help).
Dude is remarkably interesting. Ergo: when the most/only foreigners in Japan were missionaries, diplomats, traders all trying to change Japan, he showed and let Japan change him. His home in Matsue (home of the holy Izumo Taisha) is near (relatively) to where i was first at the mushroom farm (same San-in coast). Ryoko and I visited his house and museum summer of 2018 on our first adventure together.
PS i saw his white linen suit, battered leather suitcase, hat, cane, pipe and glasses and realized that “yes, I might be him reincarnated”
Related, from Trevor:
Down the hall Logan house Mom’s bedroom was on the left Morning routine sit on bedside and check-in At the end of the hall was the computer Window behind Dave sat keying in his word flow Friend watched Inspired
“Humans can’t live in the present, like animals do. Humans are always thinking about the future or the past. So it’s a veil of tears, man. I don’t know anything that’s going to benefit me now, except love. I just need an overwhelming amount of love. And a nap. Mostly a nap.”
“As a young child I wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and famous. They lounged around Singapore and Rangoon smoking opium in a yellow pongee silk suit. They sniffed cocaine in Mayfair and they penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful native boy and lived in the native quarter of Tangier smoking hashish and languidly caressing a pet gazelle.”
William S. Burroughs, The Adding Machine: Selected Essays
he (L. Cohen) always imagined himself as a writer,…
“rain-coated, battered hat pulled low above intense eyes, a history of injustice in his heart, a face too noble for revenge, walking the night along some wet boulevard, followed by the sympathy of countless audiences . . . loved by two or three beautiful women who could never have him.”
Only took since 1997, but finally listed HempenRoad 1997 feature documentary film on IMdb. Have a variety of info, posters, stills and whatnot there. Kinda laborious but want to be thorough (especially out of respect for Eiji Masuda – rip).
There are now IMDB listings for:
Ian Hunter (rip)
Dennis Peron (rip)
D. Paul Stanford
with more to come (be patient &/or diy, its all the same process)
& links to where you can view the film (Reelhouse, Vimeo, Youtube – thanks to Brad Rees).
Explaining the obvious: I fill notebooks/journals of poetry, notes and musings (as well as scrapjournals which contain paper ephemera) and then transcribe (which no editing), then stash them into old-timey suitcase, which usually live in a storage locker faraway from where i physically exist.
I snap lil snaps of the covers before their hibernation to remind myself of these tomes which in turn remind me of where i was when the words were scribbled.
To prevent the snaps from vanishing into a folder (digital shoebox as it were), compilations ensue -placed into the this archive for my reference, and for you to peek at if you have a notion.