Book of Sketches

by Jack Kerouac

under conditions of debt.

  In other words, Debt

  (Neal’s big hassle) is the

  form, financially, the Machine

  creates to enslave the

  individual to It — for

  instance, Sinatra owes taxes,

  back taxes, & is “forbidden”

  to go to Europe, also

  Dick Haymes — The

  collusion of Debt, the

  “Tax,” & “Insurance”

  are tying people closer

  & closer to the great

  Wheel Rack —

  Don’t accept “Loan”

  or “Arm” of Machine —

  it is a deceptive enslavement

  — simple souls mistrust

  offers of loan for no

  idle reason —

  The traffic problem is

  merely that cars by the

  millions enslave us to

  new city systems requiring

  hours of driving to & from

  needs, on “congested” arteries,

  naturally — where once

  you’d-a walked — These

  are all conditions pointing

  to the imminent cancerous

  death of America, the

  Final Cog in the Western

  Civ. Machine — the

  supreme end-result of

  early Gothic Phallic forms

  is the skyscraper & the

  oil drill & powered

  compressor & pistons of

  great engines — the Machine

  copulates, men aren’t

  allowed to any more —

  The flesh gets numb,

  but the soul doesn’t.

  N’s feeling for “Marylou” in

  that pix — her sexual

  pinched pretty face — he

  doesnt realize about flesh

  is numb — till she’d die,

  I say — Candlelight in

  a beat room

  The rat of hunger

  eats at your belly,

  then dies &’s left

  to bloat there —

  WATSONVILLE GRAYMORN,

  a barbershop near park

  is doing big business at 9:45

  AM — gray overcast, raw,

  cool — The park grass

  clip’t to the sward — a

  thin grayhaired fastwalking

  lady in low heels hustling

  towards Main St. of 5&10’s

  (Woolworths), “City Drug

  Store,” Ladies Shoes,

  Stoesser 335 Building,

  with Physician X Ray

  Doctor windows above, &

  “Roberts” Just Nice Things

  (Store) — In the barber

  shop a Brierly-like barber

  in neat glasses & white frock

  lowers little boy from

  littleboy chair — Name

  of shop is “Virg’s” —

  with an Anson Weeks

  band ad in glittering window

  & a few bottles of

  hair lotion — Little boy

  was with mother who

  trots him pushing him

  along across park in her

  big ass gray slacks, bandana

  & crepesoles —

  little boy has wool cap

  over new hair cut —

  Trucks of supermarkets

  & Oakland Towel Co.

  & just pickups without

  lettering grumble around

  park — The palms

  hang dull in bleak

  green bug-specked Void

  — California on a

  gray day is like being

  in a disagreeable room —

  Here is lineup around

  barbershop: “Sodas

  Shakes Sundaes” in old

  fashioned Watsonville

  sidewalk roof corner but

  not Western; solid &

  Victorian, once respectably

  whitewashed, with bas

  relief drape regalcords

  & a “Surgeon” goldpaint

  flecking off a round

  baywindow — “Athletic

  Supplies” — Sharp’s Sporting

  Goods next in same bldg.

  — fancy fishingpoles

  in rich interior basketball

  gloom — then “Ben’s

  Shoe Service” not cluttered

  but prosperous & shiny like

  he sold shoes — then

  the old arched wood

  doorway of old bldg. with

  bas relief sprigs — & a

  doctor plate — Then

  Steve’s Cocktail Bar,

  shuttered with French

  blinds, black tile base

  of wall, cocktail glass

  drawn under “Steve’s”

  — Then City Club

  restaurant, same shuttered,

  but open door, red “Beer”

  neon — (bells ring now)

  — (for Ten) —

  Then barbershop; then

  “Smoke House,” an

  ordinary cigar newspaper

  store — “Pajaro Valley

  Hardware” sandwiches

  in old Colonial Hotel

  bottom of 2 story of

  which is Sporting Goods

  — Then rich creamy

  concrete streamlined

  bank on corner, with

  official Main St. globetype

  (5 globes) streetlamp

  announcing bleak official

  clock district officer

  corner of bus stops

  traffic & stainglass

  doors

  In Pavia, 18 miles south

  of Milan, the ashes of

  St. Augustine, the great

  monastery Certosa di

  Pavia, junction of the

  Ticino & the Po, fortifications

  of Old Ticinum,

  thousand yr. old university,

  manufacture of pipe

  organs, makers of wine,

  silk, oil, and cheese.

  Must go to Pavia

  Taranto for oysters

  San Remo for swimming

  Padua for pictures

  Stone Age village near Terni

  It not to pay is not

  a sin to Jesus

  ON THE ROAD

  BY

  Jack Iroquois

  Billy Caughnawaga

  The “angelic” light

  behind Joan in that

  “radiant angel Mary”

  dream — if so, Edison

  is God because it’s the

  electric light gives her

  her glow — Only in America

  a woman is condoned for

  putting the man out of the house

  Half of mankind is

  Snakelike

  Ah Duluoz, — when you

  left home to go to

  sea in 1942 — that

  was the beginning — then

  you’d sing Old Black Magic

  in the night, & love

  yr. thoughts, & Margaret,

  & yr. good little friends of

  Lowell — Sammy GJ

  Salvey Scotty Daston

  — what have you

  gotten since? Edie in

  the Fall led to Joan

  Adams Summer 43,

  which led to Carr,

  Burroughs, Ginsberg, Chase,

  which led to Neal —

  & Tea — What would

  you have if you hadnt

  written Town & City? —

  NOTHING — At least you

  met Holmes, especially

  Ed, & Tommy (they’ll always

  be yr. friends) —

  & now you know that you

  must depend on yr. self,

  & love the few who love

  you, & try a disinterested

  love of even yr. enemies,


  but must work like

  Joyce now, “silence,

  exile, & cunning” —

  All on your own

  terms, in yr own intelligence

  — Never mind what

  Burroughs, or Ginsberg, have

  to say about anything

  — start by exposing them

  all in your parable about

  America: -

  THE MILLENIUM

  OF THE MEEK FELLAHEEN

  Then work on “Vanity

  of Duluoz” with

  original ms. & all

  new Duluoz memories —

  in Mexico or in Spain —

  in Paris or in Pavia —

  Fish out that old

  “Liverpool Testament” —

  concerning Duluoz —

  For now — we’ll start

  (& remember yr FrenchCanadian

  soul) — Compren tu?

  Bon — commence —

  Oct 28 ’52

  The old cowboys of

  1930’s pulp westerns were

  always in river bottoms

  eavesdropping on the rustlers

  at late afternoon — the

  Pajaro River in dry

  California, brush, sand,

  cow turds, trees —

  ashes of old campfires —

  Nowadays the wino

  there realizes the old cowboy

  must have had that

  canteen of tequila forever

  upended, the way things

  are — Peeking thru

  the brush at the doings

  of other wino-rustlers

  jacking off or cooking

  pork & beans makes you

  realize once & for all

  the world is real &

  pulp & pocketbook B

  Movie magazines are

  unreal — the late sun

  on the cattle tracks, the

  flies, the sad western

  blue —

  The flame of the

  woodfire grows more profound

  & mellow on the first

  November nights, in

  the caboose —

  Remember that picture of

  Edw. G. Robinson, a Bowery

  bum drunk, visiting a

  Class Reunion — saw it

  with Pa — it’s as though

  I, of the Pajaro Riverbottoms,

  should attend the Columbia

  Lou Little Reunion of

  $6 a head & $4 for

  game tickets — in

  poor Halloween! —

  Oh Soul —

  “The trouble with me is that

  outside my mind it seems

  the world hasn’t got no

  ass,” speech to Alumni,

  Dostoeyevskyan, embarrassing,

  significant

  MANTELES PARA LA MESA

  The poor little Mexican

  gal in Calexico, writing

  on Oct 1 1952 to Manuel

  Perez in Watsonville whose

  clothes & belongings I found

  intact on the Pajaro levee

  dump, wants money to

  buy a tablecloth — can

  you picture an American

  woman asking money for

  such a humble, useful

  purpose — “unos manteles

  para la mesa.” “Honey,”

  she says, “dime porque no

  me has escrito” — “tiene

  tan . . . pensamientos para ti.”

  She loves him — I am

  wearing all his clothes not

  knowing whether he’s alive or

  dead - or in the Army?

  I found several of her

  sad letters on that dump,

  in October, — in the dry

  dust, just before the rainy

  Season, —

  Me: a man made to

  stand before God —

  Who is the Montgomery

  Clift Stanford kid

  reading Shakespeare in

  the 12:30 local on

  Oct 31 AM 1952

  — what ignu? what

  sonnets of his own?

  does he realize Kerouac

  is writing the Millenium

  next to him, in workclothes?

  OCT 31 1952

  Evil dies, but good

  lives forever —

  The evil in you will die,

  & your flesh with it, but

  the good in yr heart &

  soul will live forever —

  Evil can’t live, good

  can’t die —

  Your angrinesses, impatience,

  hassels, even that & your

  shit, all — will die, cannot,

  wills not to live; but the

  flashes of sweet light will

  never die, the love, the

  kindness of hope, the

  true work, joy of belief —

  As for reforming others,

  let them reform themselves,

  if they can’t they were

  meant to die; they

  are barely alive now if they

  can’t reform themselves tomorrow;

  better a cleaner

  of cesspools than a reformer.

  Let every man

  make himself pure as

  I have done — that’s

  the “reform” —

  Work on your own soul —

  experiment to see if one

  man can be saved, as

  the whole lot en masse

  can apparently not —

  on yr own soul first,

  then the angels of

  your soul, yr mother, your

  wife (a new, good wife),

  your children. If a son

  or a daughter is bad,

  throw it in the sea —

  Your few good friends.

  Cultivate yourself like a

  flower; pull out weeds

  like Cassady, Ginsberg,

  Burroughs; accept the

  nourishment of White,

  Holmes: — water yrself

  carefully — & keep your

  flesh fit so as not to

  burden the soul with

  temporal strains & remove

  that much energy

  for its prime consideration

  & meditation —

  God, & Good — Direct

  contact between you &

  God means no church,

  no society, no reform,

  & almost no relationships,

  & almost no hope in

  relationships — but

  kindness of hope inherent

  in that what is good,

  shall live, & what is

  bad, dies — Your

  flesh will be a husk,

  but yr. soul a star —

  The greatest & only

  final form of “good”

  is human —

  Because intellectual

  & intellectually willed

  good & so conceptual

  good is only a word —

  “Almost” no hope in

  relationships, means,

  no foolish hope, but

  true hope —

  Everyone to his own

  true work — There

  is no good in work

  which does no good.

  Railroads, factories,

  solve & give nobody

  nothing, serve the

  flesh only, at great

  time & sacrifice, are

  evil —

  The true work is on

  belief; true belief

  in immortal good;

  the continual human

  struggle against

  linguistic religious

  abstraction; recognition

  of the soul beneath

  everything, & humor, —

  Lights in the foggy

  night are not necessarilyr />
  bleak & friendless, but

  just lights (in fact to

  light yr. way), & fog

  from the necessary sea —

  Stupid, fatuous men

  are not necessarily

  all stupid & fatuous,

  nor all on the horizon,

  nor completely devoid of

  good, or hope — The evil

  in them will die, the

  good will live — Bleak

  & friendless universe is

  only one of several

  illusions, the greatest &

  only immortal one of

  which is good —

  Enough, the words to

  this “idea,” or belief,

  are limited, the combinations

  to describe it

  almost exhausted already

  — Manifestations

  of this in humanity, therefore

  in your writing work,

  are endless however —

  This is the return of

  the Will

  Just the sight of the “snow”

  under the locomotive, brings back

  sweet light of the boy soul in

  Lowell, the human earnest desire

  to revisit Lowell this New Year’s

  & soak up the sad hints of

  the past in a grateful soul,

  from just . . . “snow” — So

  immortal love also hides

  in things — talisman details

  for the temple soul —

  but soul, soul, soul, the

  “details” is the life of

  this thing —

  GO NAKED TO THE WHITE

  (End of SK 3)

  EN ROUTE MONTREAL BUS Mar 20 ’53

  I keep thinking of the

  acorn trees outside Lowell

  on that gray day Mike

  & I hiked to the quarry —

  Kirouac will be like

  that, gray, fated —

  MONTREAL (in “taverne”)

  Montreal is my

  Paradise — &

  they almost didnt

  let me in —

  Railroad restaurant Frisco

  combined with Mexico

  Fellaheen girls taverns

  & Lowell — O

  thanks Lord

  N.Y.State

  Crows are insane in

  the mist — America

  is thrilling on a gray

  day, Quebec non —

  America has histories

  of wood & Robert