I wrote last week about the commonplace book, and writing out passages that mean something. Here’s the one I referenced:
“…and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones are are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a common place thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes, ‘Aaaww.'” – Jack Kerouac, On the Road
Right then, it was likely about wanting to live a life like that of Neal Cassidy. To be “mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time.” And as I think on it now, nearly nine years after that reading, I wonder exactly how far I’ve progressed, and how much distance I’ve actually given up.