Forty years ago today we lost Jack Kerouac. If you have never read "On the Road" or "Dharma Bums" or any of Jack's other works, do yourself a favor a give him a try. I stumbled on him in my late teens as so many young searchers do and his words threw gasoline on the fire of my soul to live, to travel, to make art, to love. As I grew older and read more of Jack's works and biographies on him, I was torn between the largeness of his words and the chaos of his life. I longed for the adventure of the open road and kicks with friends, but cringed at reading of his desperate calls to his Mother for bus fare home. It was his life to live and live it he did and we're all still dazzled by what he left behind. I did this little sketch of Jack to try and get closer to him. To honor the kinship that I feel to him. To keep him alive. I strive to be that "angel-headed hipster" laying out kind and generous acts onto a world that increasingly works against the silly and the weird. The open road is medicine to my spirit and I seek it out as often as I can. In fact, will be embarking on a new adventure tomorrow morning, packing of to the mountains of Virginia for a well-deserved stomp, then onto Cleveland, Ohio to take in a competition between the Browns and the Packers. Never been to Cleveland, but I'm sure I know people there. People who have read Jack and know time. Yes, yes.Sleep well Ti'jean...
OK HW
