....from one of Kerry's challenges at the WC where we were challenged to write in the style of or about the beatnik generation. I took a quote from Kerouac about being Catholic and ran with it in the style I thought he wrote On the Road in, he taped pages together in one long sheet and kept typing not minding punctuation or grammar much, thought that was kinda cool.
It’s hard to be taken seriously as a Catholic when the rhythm of the city and tempering of my thoughts into long steel words flows through people’s veins because they are searching for the point of disembarkation from that littered life to one that is perceived as peaceful and fulfilling. But that jumping off point is fraught with just as many demons each trying to store a little bit of your ass in a tin cup for the winter months when the sun refuses to sell you even a sliver of hope and your friends are clamoring to borrow a dollar after you already bought the last round. When the slick mahogany surface of the barstool on the second floor of Vesuvio feels like your mothers breast and soothes the beasts that grow like hair inside your chest pounding to get a crack at one of your Benzedrine dreams realized you may be doomed to ride the bus of life forever searching for that g-spot. My friend if they will not publish your poem then we will copy it on the bathroom walls of our own bookstore a vessel for all of the so called shit and minutia that will one day be gospel and make other men famous beyond recognition with their utter and complete understanding of our mind because they tell people that they know where our hearts lay. But how can that be when I don’t know where my own heart beats? This haze kills the public specter after nine and I relax and think not of the past but if I can live up to the avatar created in my likeness or if that is even necessary. One more time for those who weren’t listening…..I am not a beatnik I am Catholic.
© 2011 Crowley