Jack Kerouac was a big ball of affects ever threatening to dissolve in that sovereign soul-solvent, alcohol. One day he did, and died. The date was 21 October 1969. Today is the 42nd anniversary of his release from the wheel of the quivering meat conception and the granting of his wish:
The wheel of the quivering meat conception . . .
. . . I wish I was free of that slaving meat wheel
and safe in heaven dead. (Mexico City Blues, 1959, 211th Chorus)
Apparently, he took his last drink at the Flamingo Sports Bar in St. Petersburg.
The bar has become the area's de facto gathering spot for Kerouac aficionados to swap stories. Sitting on the patio, Alan Sansotta, who shot pool with Kerouac every week in the late 1960s, said he understands why the connection still matters.
"The first time you read On The Road, you think, 'What the hell am I doing with my life? I need to open my head up and see what's going on in the world,' " said Sansotta. "His literature really did change my life. It changed my life. And I thank God for that, because no doubt, geez, I'd have led a pretty boring life without Jack."
Yep, it would have been a lot less interesting without Jack.
The picture below is of Neal Cassady. The inscription on the gravestone reads: "He honored life."
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