And the Beat goes on.
Big Sur, Dharma Bums and On The Road…the
perfect trifecta to represent his life work; the beginning, middle
and end of his life, his beat life, his travel life, his highlights
with wives and allocated rights of passage where he cried and wiped
tears, and looked up to breathe a heavy-hearted sigh of loneliness
and loveliness and lasting gladness that he was alive as his blood
was circulating and heart pumping, he was a writer, a sinner, a hopeless lover, a
martyr and he knew how to live. He knew what it meant to be conscious, to gain
eternity from simplicity, to have human every day problems and not
succumb to his fame in that way, but he did lose his life to the
bottle which is a tragic shame. But his novels have remained to shed light
on a way to live a life, maybe not for everyone, but, it was
his. And he never once apologized for it.
