just some writing.

I’ve written an autobiography. Just, I didnt much care for my name, and so changed it to some Jack Kerouac. Nice rhythmic name.

besides which Lucille would never understand me, because I like too many things and get all confunsed and hung up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.


God was gone; it was the silence of his departure. It was a rainy night. It was the myth of the rainy night.


Kerouac wrote the above stuff. I thought it.


~ by Shashank Kumar on July 26, 2008.

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