"They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles..."
Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 1, Ch. 1
Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 1, Ch. 1
Eliza loaned me her copy of On the Road by Jack Kerouac shortly before I left for New York a couple weeks ago, and I am just now getting around to reading it. I've not gotten very far . . . only the first little bit of the first chapter, really, but having read the introduction and those scant few pages, I'm finding myself identifying a lot with the stand-in for Kerouac, Sal Paradise. That excerpt in particular resonates with me. While I'm not one of those roman candles, I find myself being drawn to them like moths to a flame, flitting about their perimeter, trying to warm and find myself in their ocherous glow.
