From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Elevate form over function to get at less easily articulable truths.

From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Meno_ » Sat Nov 11, 2017 12:56 am

That crazy Horace Mann Jewish kid-a great wit-in my dream past it seems I knew him-he was very wild and interesting-I was at a girls , a Jewish girl’s rich New York apartment-he came to woo her sister—she didn’t want him—but he smiled
—amazing the things he said—I got a few#letters from him—I knew his funny father—but so i many things were happening in those days I hardly had time to answer& him and afterawhile abandoned his correspondence and friendship in the presss of events —in real life I never knew him in the press of events —I. Real life I never knew him —except a composite of Mussleman in the nuthouse.


A segment from Jack Kerouac”s Book of Dreams.
Last edited by Meno_ on Sat Nov 11, 2017 2:14 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Meno_ » Sat Nov 11, 2017 1:10 am

Had some kind psychic connection with him , went to see his grave in Massachusetts where Ginsburg was seen praying for him, and went to the church he was alatar boy in, and my wife Eleanor was with me to attest, an organ started to play, and there was no organist, that was sometime before the thing happened in the Washington mountains, where he was working ALONE as a fire lookout, and there was no organist, yet the music was like on a Sunday morning, and at Mount Desolation something vastly more every happened, where he was lookout too long to describe.

Ginsburg was sceptical, but I wrote it down as him not being in that loop.

So much for possible transmigration, .
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Re: From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Meno_ » Sat Nov 11, 2017 1:24 am

Now I wouldn’t have brought this up and wouldn’t have glanced at book of dreams if I hadn’t had a nightmare yesterday dreaming of nuclear war.

This is second or third time this occurred and I posted this here, and by now you may see me exceptional to the degree, for instance I came in about the same time some other psychicly endowed gentlemen went out all I know is he had 11111 posts don’t remember his name. But the dream last night went somewhat like this:

Was in Vegas and saw not one but four or five mushroom clouds, and we were in some hotel far away and outside scenes of horrific description past along like sorry animals horribly in a despaired painful situation, and thoughts of why so many shrooms came to mind, maybe this is a trip?

But in same dream remembered two other like this one, and was greatly perturbed this was not merely a dream, and waking up had to log in to I love philosophy describe the horror of it all, and the thought that maybe this is some kind of warning.

please folks please, do not think this is anything to make my post outstanding or interesting, but the thought occurred that perhaps we are all in denial.
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Re: From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Meno_ » Sat Nov 11, 2017 6:18 pm

Another crazy day dream.


Is everything becoming unglued?


What a week. Started for him with the kind of nausea which preamble his intro into phil.101, with Sartre precursing in his veins like it was meant to, and came as sublime comfort at a time when, the equally wild and turbulent 60’s leveled all the craziness into an acceptable norm.

Sorry, she is phoning now, can I put you on hold?

Hi, again. She was asking me why Hertz didn’t lift the hold on my deposit on the car we took to Vegas can you call them?

I will I will I promise, he desperately and slowly whispered these words knowing the kid was asleep with a cold in bed.

So going back on the other line, he tried to tell him ALL about it and he knew it was a desperate attempt at soul cleansing, while seeking some merit in it.

The third, no the second blow up or break came about the same time and the trigger was about the time Big Sur developed another layer on Lonesome Traveler, when Kerouac started his job with the Department of Forestry , heading up the coastline from Los Angeles with the Washington Cascades as the final destination.

The put upon layer was Henry Miller’s “Big Sur and the Oranges of Hyranimus Boch” and that overlay took him by a storm.

They knew about him in the navy for that year he got discharged in north Hollywood similarly to the escapade that Jack K went through, very similar and oddly after 4 years a slap in the face.

He gasped as if, trying to get this out knowing the catharsis effect of such outpouring.

And than last night. The urologist calls needs to do another biopsy, because the psa spiked to unprecedented levels.

The mystery listener on the other end didn’t know quite how to respond, saying calmly, and distinctively, with a sort of bemused , understated understanding, that he thought quietly to himself, may mean one among other things , to whom such seemingly end game scenarios are not completely a waste of time. So he went on.


You know what this may mean the doctor said. It may mean surgery, drastic prostatectomy, you do have options you understand.


Now she is coming over to talk about the rented car, and why they didn't release the hold on the deposit.
He failed to tell her the real reason, and it was a made up story about he parked near the court house where he parked it and somehow got hit on the front end by a guy , while backing into the parking lot. No he wasn't going to tell her the real story , she would never believe it.

Well, going on, I could always check myself into the bug house, but nowadays they are keen on recognizing Munchhausen,they may think.

These dreams of nukes going off, well they’re just exist in a shadow world buried somewhere in a deep recess. But, they could happen, and why 6 of them going off in Vegas? A bit of self analysis knew the answer only too well, some of which for the sake of modesty he would not or could not reveal, but others being less constraining he may delve into.


It’s a symbol of finality, at least of letting go of the Great Fear, of whether the idea of a community of souls, composed of those who left him behind, will meet him at the pearly gates. Yes, that’s it, and that they will meet him there, the seen and the unseen he recited mantra like.

What if she digs deeper about the rental car? What if this is the one breaking the camels back ? What if what if?

Then he will loose her too along with everything else, and the unbearable sadness returned with a vengeance.His friend , tom still on the other end may be , or could someone else who knows, his breathing indicated an unprepared untimacy, but oh no, he couldn’t be that sure.

What could he do other then the said bughouse which was totally excluded from consciousness , visualizing himself in an Iron Maiden which unlookers could regard with spite and aversion, practically glaring their vicious teeth and hissing with a repulsiveness that only the disbelieving and disappointed faces of his grandchildren’s looks could have mitigated. The guilt of self absorbed idiocy runs deep, he thought.

So added to this mix, the latest, he forgot to put the oil cap back on after running to Target to taking advantage of their half price sale on synthetic oil, and now his son , gleefully knowing the despicable story,expressing a hidden gladness of a payback for supposed acts of omission ,such as not going to work to go to his job, missing a school play or something.

Hey Tom, she may be coming over, and played the invisible but relaxing classic old school tune: love potion #9 in his head:
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Re: From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Meno_ » Sat Nov 11, 2017 7:02 pm

I took my troubles down to Madame Ruth
You know that gypsy with the gold-capped tooth
She’s got a pad down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine
Selling little bottles of love potion number nine

I told her I was a flop with chicks
I’ve been this way since 1956
She looked at my palm and she made a magic sign
She said What You need is love potion number nine

She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink
She said I’m gonna make it up tight here in the sink
It smelled like turpentine ,it looked like Indian ink
I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink

I didn’t know if it was day or night
I started kissing everything in sight
But when I kissed a cop down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine
He broke my little bottle of Love Potion Number Nine
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Re: From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Ierrellus » Sun Nov 12, 2017 3:07 pm

Meno_ wrote:I took my troubles down to Madame Ruth
You know that gypsy with the gold-capped tooth
She’s got a pad down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine
Selling little bottles of love potion number nine

I told her I was a flop with chicks
I’ve been this way since 1956
She looked at my palm and she made a magic sign
She said What You need is love potion number nine

She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink
She said I’m gonna make it up tight here in the sink
It smelled like turpentine ,it looked like Indian ink
I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink

I didn’t know if it was day or night
I started kissing everything in sight
But when I kissed a cop down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine
He broke my little bottle of Love Potion Number Nine

One of my favorite oldies. Taught it to my son. He has the singing voice. I did guitar backup. Never found the potion so far in this life. Thought it was alcohol, but I was mistsaken.
"We must love one another or die." W.H.Auden
I admit I'm an asshole. Now, can we get back to the conversation?
From the mad poet of McKinley Ave.
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Re: From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Meno_ » Sun Nov 12, 2017 8:41 pm

Sorry to hear that Irrellus. How is Your son doing , how old is he, happily married, he sings?

If some of that turns out to be yes, then , some love potion must be flowing in his veins.

As for You,feelings flow out of verses which describe some longing that can transcend the immediate sense of disappointment with memory of some mad, wild, inabriated moments.

Even if, it was a one way ticket.

I remember a former conversation where I don’t remember the context but the reply posed by you was something to the effect of sitting in the interior of a cavernous bar, animal like trying to stare through the darkness. It’s been years In a different
incarnation, but the effect set me thinking of a Your female friend, to whom you were devoted, and were descriptively down due to the f@c5 that she was not improving.

Is she still alive and is she doing better?

Love is so much part of our life, generally speakin*, that if it was not for the potions veracity, life may, even as alluded to, would have little meaning if any.
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Re: From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Ierrellus » Mon Nov 13, 2017 2:39 pm

The lady has been placed in a nursing home. She still suffers from schizophrenia; but, from what her daughters say, she is doing well and is happy.
The son is 39, unmarried and claims he is old. He has had two songs on YouTube-- he wrote and sang them.
My muse is AWOL; perhaps, always perhaps tomorrow.
I've gone over a year without cigarettes and alcohol.
Thanks for remembering.

Still looking for verbs in a hay stack of nouns.
Squeezing meaning from words
That end in I Am.
I am not dead yet.
And you exist. That's good to know.
Keep on keeping on.
"We must love one another or die." W.H.Auden
I admit I'm an asshole. Now, can we get back to the conversation?
From the mad poet of McKinley Ave.
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Re: From book of dreams, jack kerouac

Postby Meno_ » Mon Nov 13, 2017 9:30 pm

Yes, that’s it, my good friend sui marinus must nderstand, as we were gently conversing the other day, his real name josh, Joshua for short, I loved him almost as a brother, reversely him, but for slight misunderstanding as if sharing a drink from a vessel into which each others s blood mixed for paeternus eterna,

He must understand the expression it all comes out in the wash, but aside from that,not suffering any signs of auditory hearing issues (not yet),and well versed in discretion, promise to hold absolutely no misgivings apart to his own inclination to revert to either This or that.

As far as I can gather, any misgiving is delicately sliced by occham slicing it clear down the middle.

Pray be well, if I had not lost you in my word salad, of which I canon,y say one thing, with Kerouac, I could not dispense with it for style reasons. Other then I left it at the doorstep where ego doesent enter.

Your poetry is good, admittedly, and haven’t seen, sorrily, too much of it lately.

That it may be too Arc ane tell it to the spirits that guide you, should be relieved,

As Always.
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