|Jack Kerouac reading at the Village Vanguard jazz club in NYC, December 1957|
I don't know what that haiku means. But it means something, if not everything, if not blue resonant human. Someone may pick up on that. I furthermore don't know why I posted that particular picture of Jack, or why it magically placed itself mid-blog instead of where I thought I put it (the beginning). Mysteries....
As I often say, what does this have to do with Jack Kerouac (the raison d'être for this blog)?
To wit, it's writing. Jack was a writer. It was the reason he was put on this earth, the reason beyond reasons, beyond relationships, fame, accomplishments, joy, kicks, darkness. Beyond fatherhood.
And it's my writing. No one else's. It may be read and it may not. But it made its way into existence by force of will and a few calories expended at the keyboard.
I wonder...what happens to a blog when the author dies? Or one's book on Amazon? I wonder these things not because I think I'm going to die anytime soon, but it is definitely the fourth quarter of the game and one thinks about such things. Was Jack thinking about his legacy as an author during his last conscious moments? Or was he thinking about the things most people think about at that juncture such as words left unspoken to loved ones, worries about those left behind, or regrets over wrongs unatoned?
I've often said we regret opportunities not taken more than past actions. Maybe that's idiosyncratic. I don't know. I do know I hope that on Wednesday you don't regret what you did or didn't do with your vote in tomorrow's Presidential election in the U.S. I hope you deliberated and then chose wisely.
And with that brief noncommittal foray into politics, I will take my leave on this autumn Monday in Maine, golden leaves blowing and the sky a cerulean blessing.
God help us all....