Daily Archives: February 7, 2014

Kerouac Rules For Spontaneous Prose #29

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You’re a Genius all the time

I know you have pain but let me spin something at you, just to see if you can relate.

So– I sat there once– in some blackhole– thinking of a time when I was running through a meadow—Not a real meadow—A nostalgic meadow– like the one in some axiomatic scene in some powerfully wild cinematic film where the camera does that crazy-ass zoom in thing at the same time that the camera trucks out— you know that scene–that one that feels like the moment you realise what you just inhaled was the real thing and not a waste of money—That fluuuuuuuueeeee-better than being on some rollercoaster ride moment. Or that moment when all eyes are on you and everyone is smiling and nodding in agreement. Yeah, that moment when you realise the simple fact: You got this thing down, Ace.

Those moments are like that bit of God that touches you through someone else’s lyrics on the radio. The lyrics that make you ejaculate “TUNE!” before you collapse into the cushions in that softie-sound-afterglow.

That’s where you need to be right now, yo?

Don’t be coy. Don’t be calm. Don’t be sedate. Don’t be humble. Just go. Go with it and have faith that you are absolutely fantastic–the power–the key–the foretold. You are the man with a plan–whether the plan is immediately obvious or not is of no consequence at this time. Time is but a name to what we have loads of–honest.

Think about it–that last time you were all freaking out about “stuff not happening” or “stuff being a bit of a bummer”–who knew you would be right here, right now? The accomplishments achieved thus far are a far cry more rock and roll than the accomplishments made over a year ago.

So The Man said “no” today. Maybe that is for the best. That “no” probably gives you the freedom to not worry about getting untangled from regret at a later date—like that a narrow escape I had in Mexico with not being able to find that street with that burrito man. The one that was cooking up his neighbour’s dogs, it turned out—the one that was responsible for all those people getting sick and dying. That was a wild time. Remember how much I kept whinging about not being able to have that burrito and how hungry I was. But then we went back to Raul’s mom’s house and we had home-cooked menudo instead and we woke up all copasetic and with no hangover.

But I digress.

I will not be sitting here regurgitating proverbs and conventional greeting card sayings to get you through your shit. Just remember, You are going places. Rock and roll, fool! Rock and roll! Fire up that great, massive, cerebral riff and shred that bad ass tune.

Oh yeah. Keep the beard and don’t go bald.

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Kerouac Rules For Spontaneous Prose #28

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Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better

At The Globe Inn, Dumfries 2:15pm

Johno MacDougal talking to Prissey

It’s all down to chance, really. If you think of everything that has ever come into your life…it’s all chance. Them Frenchies– what do they call it? Le bon chance. The good luck. The roll of the almighty dice (albeit sometimes they feel loaded) but a chance thrown and odds and sods are it. Either you is or you is not someone’s baby at that point in time.

And all of life’s scary monsters. What of them? How do they figure, mate?

Ah, them. They are just thrown in for shits and giggles, hen. You didnae think any of it was ever planned, did ye? Even though you think you plan it down to the last thing–roll of the dice–it all goes tits up, ken?

Ah right…so nothing is anything you ever really worked on then?

No. Not as such. Because what you are working on depended on another die you rolled or coin you tossed when you were deciding if that is what you were going to go for in the first place, ken?

Aye, I ken. Mind you, what if you have always known what you wanted. Surely, that is something that is not up to chance. You are the master of your own destiny. The captain of your own proverbial ship, right?

That’s a myth, hen. That really never happens.

Oh?

Think about it. Your very existence was a chance. Your Da’s sperm either gets there or will not. So you sitting here was just down to luck. Then your thought process is never absolute. Whether you do it aloud or inside your heid, it’s always flip-flopping. You have no clue what you want for sure– Will I? Will I not?–You are given all the options ever thought of—past present future—all of it just floating about around your head—

Like in orbit.

Aye, in orbit around your heid. Only some of us mask it better than you do, hen, with all your indecision. Aye, it’s cute, I’ll give you that but even when you make a decision, there is always that wee moment of regret that you didnea go “the road less travelled”, ken?

I guess it’s all down to wondering if you made the right choice.

It matters not since each choice comes with all its negatives and positives. There is never a completely right choice or a completely wrong choice. Mainly because what you decide to do and the repercussions that follow may be either good or bad for you but will be either good or bad for those around you. At the end of the day, you do what you do–decide what you decide–live with what happens after and make more decisions based on chance to either improve or rectify what happened on the last turn.

Ok.

Have you made your decision then, hen? What did you decide on?

I’ll just have a Tennent’s lager, mate.

Right.


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