It was warmer today, and we're in the last week of February.
It's a miracle with promises of tulips around the corner.
"I realized that I wanted to enter my life exactly as I had the first time, but with one huge difference: this time I wanted to love my life and myself."And this beautiful line of observation from his poem, "The Last Shift" on the closing of the Detroit Packard plant (Hear in his own voice from the Detroit Free Press here):
"A police car dozed across the street, its motor running. I could see the two of them eating jelly doughnuts as delicately as two elderly women and drinking their coffee from little styrofoam cups."When a writer or poet dies of such import--no, I will say of any import--I visualize their beautiful words, swirling around and within their souls, down into the ground, into the flames, into the sky, forever and always intertwined with their essence of existence and a gift to anyone--that number ever diminishing--who will hear and read them.
"The lost manuscript resurfaced as an entry in the Sotheby's auction catalog in June 2002, fifty-eight years after its disappearance. The manuscript had been willed to the seller by his longtime domestic partner, who claimed to have discovered it decades earlier in the closet of a Columbia University dorm room. ...Kerouac had spent October 1944 living in Allen Ginsberg's dorm room at Columbia..."Tietchen continues:
"While the thought of his manuscript making the rounds of Manhattan's streets in the backseat of a yellow cab probably struck Kerouac as both poignant and romantic, the truth of the matter seems to be that he had left the manuscript in Ginsberg's room after accepting a berth on the merchant vessel Robert Treat Paine (only to jump ship in Virginia and head back to New York). Why he subsequently lost track of the manuscript is impossible to say, though, true to its title, The Haunted Life eventually rematerialized in public sight like an apparition whose business in the world had been cut unexpectedly short."Isn't that last sentence fabulous...rematerialized in public sight? Let's luxuriate in the beauty of words.