Kerouac

The only people for me are the mad ones,
the ones who 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 commonplace thing, but burn, burn,
burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles
exploding like spiders across the stars...

The Group

Excerpt from Mary McCarthy's The Group:

"You and your social friends," he continued, "have a finer functional adaption. Full, low-slung breasts" -he stared about the room- "fashioned to carry pearls and boucle sweaters and faggoting and tucked crepe de Chine blouses. Narrow waists. Tapering legs. As a man of the last decade, I prefer the boyish figure myself: a girl in a bathing cap poised to jackknife on a diving board. Marblehead summer memories; Betty is a marvelous swimmer. Thin women are more sensual; scientific fact- the nerve ends are closer to the surface." His grey eyes narrowed, heavy-lidded, as though he were drifting off to sleep. "I like the fat one, though," he said abruptly, singling out Pokey Prothero. "She has a thermal look. Nacreous skin, plumped with oysters. Yum, yum, yum; money, money. My sexual problems are economic. I loathe under-privileged women, but my own outlook is bohemian. Impossible combination."

Two of a Kind, They Met

Two of a kind, they met in the vast array of the non-fiction aisle. Only Dorothy Parker was to blame, for she drew them close, magnetized and confounded. Why would anyone else want to read Laments for the Living? How utterly peculiar. They thought their weirdness strictly a solitary quality -not shared with an attractive other. Once she spied the romance and he the comics, each literary taste went wayward.

Let's Sue California

Excerpt from Buy Now, Pay Later, by Adam M. Bright, featured in GOOD Magazine.

While it was promoting Greener Miles, Ford was already at work on another initiative: to slow down change. The company, represented by its trade association, was suing the state of California for attempting to pass the nation’s first law capping automobile carbon-dioxide emissions. The automakers claimed that California was passing legislation that only the federal government had the right to demand. Then, this June, when Congress looked as if it was finally ready to raise national fuel-economy standards (they have been virtually frozen since 1985). Ford’s president and CEO, Alan Mulally—along with other auto industry leaders—flew to Washington for a day of closed-door lobbying. Automakers built up to the showdown with an ad blitz warning voters that an increase in fuel-efficiency standards would “take your pickup truck away.” In his public statements, Mulally reminded everyone that the industry had already made “tremendous progress” and was “absolutely committed to increasing fuel efficiency.”

Where is this "tremendous progress" from Ford and why on earth would you want to slow energy emissions when that is a main concern of the nation? (besides losing profits, of course) Will companies ever have a heart or respect for themselves when the world as we know it starts to deteriorate? No, not even then.

Play In Repeat

The taste, savory-
bitter, the kiss.

Eyes lock,
though behold, there is no key.

All is asked,
One moment, please?

To feel and receive
the brush of feet,

Airs colliding,
two faces deep.

Smokeless Cigarettes

I was deep in sleep, submerged for fifteen minutes or so in pure bliss. It was nothing special; no flying from rooftops, no hopping freight trains to India - no. I was indulging in something my mind has often said “stay away from, they will kill you, those dirty cigarettes.” Yes, I was in a room all to myself, and I lit up.

My conscience followed me partly: Just this one, enjoy it while you are young, every breath of it, for you’ll be gone some way or another. The cigarette, the thing I fought against oh so strongly, happened to be most terribly satisfying.

I sat atop a desk in a dark, dated office situated near the ocean. The view, blocked by the closed shutters, allotted only the sound of crashing waves. Air melted into a soft texture I could wrap myself around, as if inside a painting. I imagined this scene akin to one of the 1930s, where a sex bomb journalist angles herself beside a desk and smokes in the darkness of black and white. Her red lips staining the roll of the cigarette with each touch; slowly melting the hearts of men…

The best part of my indulgence was that it never occurred, and yet I felt ecstasy the whole way through.

Imagine-

Just think what this could behold for the future for smokers and nonsmokers alike.

Pure Nature of Life

Jaques Prevert, a French surrealist poet, paints the end of a relationship in bare, simplistic language over a cup of coffee, without the subject ever speaking a word.

Déjeuner du matin
Par Jaques Prevert

Il a mis le café
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et il a reposé la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allumé
Une cigarette Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleuré.