I just finished Big Surby Jack Kerouac. It was a nice surprise that I loved it so much given that I despised On the Road. I just couldn't get into his self-absorbed rambling, his total lack of sentence structure, his random macho posturing. Big Suris Kerouac 10 years after the fact. He's a more self-reflective, more self-destructive, more depressive Kerouac and I like him that way.
Alrighty so the book in a nutshell: Kerouac parties it up in San Francisco, once again faces his miserable sober self, makes a run for it to an isolated cabin in Big Sur, communes with nature and feels more whole, communes with nature and is confronted with his nihilistic nature, runs off and finds some poor damaged woman who just wants to fix him, drags her back to his cabin, and nearly goes crazy staring into that damned abyss.
Hope I didn't spoil it for you.
Well, I sympathize. Here I am sitting in Mexico City, counting down the days until I can get out. I've made a damn mess of it. I've alienated myself from my boyfriend's family, I haven't made as many friends as I should, I'm developing creeping expat syndrome where everything makes me cranky, and I stay indoors as much as possible to shield myself from its insanity. I don't know what it is--one part depression, one part spending too much time writing by myself, one part total lack of control. I'm waiting for my boyfriend to leave. Not yet.
Who's caging me up? Not Mexico City. Me. ME. Doesn't matter where Kerouac went, he was imprisoned in his own damn mind. You can't flee it. To get over it you have to go through. It's the worst. Kerouac took to drink instead, I'm taking to the bakeries. It's not enough.
Part of the problem has to be sheer narcissism. You're in love with your pet problems. You let them feed on you because they're yours and they're so pretty and special. You flail about, you make a mess--it's what makes you feel like a hero instead of a damn self-absorbed freak. (I'm using damn as much as I can in this post). You're not a freak, you're actually totally normal. That's the worst part.
Kerouac sought solace in nature to know that there was something bigger and more important than himself out there. I miss that. Maybe I'll find that in Belize (September!). Or New York (October?). Or Toronto (November?). Or Thailand???? (November????). Or maybe it's right here, right now and I need to calm the fuck down.
Did I write this all correctly? Is it SEO optimized? Will I make a lot of money from it? Who wants to build a profit-sharing partnership?
I'm sick of it all.
Bangkok it is.Reading List