dr_con Posted April 7, 2020 Share Posted April 7, 2020 Paper Bag 4/7/YoPCon/Jur/d You couldn’t write your way out of a paper bag he sd I sd I always admired Kerouac his commitment to the craft mounting a spool of Butcher Paper he was able to write an entire novel without break the writing became his life his life became what was written blurring distinctions between Map and Territory and yes the novel could be folded could transcend and include the language his story I’ve heard The Teacher sd after it was copied He made a giant packet and crawled inside like he was a giant steak worn down from benzedrine and caffeine sure but what drained him was glossolalia tapped and tamed for his art and he was trying to get something back the sound of a solo horn the clack clack clack of rails or the hallucinatory flash of jazz just before he fell asleep and met Mara and began His career as We know this story she sd OK OK alone beneath a tree just shy of the Border when Ol’ Bill who was chasing Fireflies with his scythe Along the hedgerow came across Jack truced up ready to go daddy go and in his nasal- gravel he sd What do we have here? A story or something real? and the artist sd OOOOH I’m so very very tired Ol’ Bill recognizes Jack and decides to play a little trick on him Hey Jack he sd How do you get out of a paper grave which is locked from the outside? And Jack Screams and Screams and Kicks and Kicks reducing the paper-bag back to its original pulp standing up from the shreds on the Edge of the field Between dry rocks and scrub pines he sd Thank you! Thank You Now I’m the poet I always was meant to be having finally learned how to write my way out. 1 Quote thegateless.org Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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