Visions of Cody by Jack Kerouac

Author:Jack Kerouac [Kerouac, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Literary, United States, Contemporary Fiction, American
ISBN: 9780141198224
Google: s0lyygAACAAJ
Amazon: B00C1KW9BK
Barnesnoble: B00C1KW9BK
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 1993-08-01T05:00:00+00:00

Composition………by Jackie Duluoz.…. 6-B

“Now up yonder in Suskahooty,” said Dead Eye Dick—no, I exaggerate, his name was Black Dan—“up yonder in Saskahoty,” said Dead Eye Dick Black Dan, “we used to catch suckers every day on Main Street down by the bank, you know the one with the red bricks, that I was standin in front of when—but you introduced (ain’t that right?) me to them two suckers from Edmonton or somethin—yeh, that’s right (just when you said that you reminded me—“This was in Muscadoodle, Wyo., many years ago, had a circus there, we was makin the line from around Ogallala, Nebraska, clear to the Willamette Valley—my old lady got sawdust on her dress in Ohio that year—shucks and god-damn, I’m gonna go to Charleston, West Virginia Saturday night, or jump in the river, one.”

But no, wait in here, don’t you know I’m serious? you think I’m?—damn you, you made, you make, the most, m—I guess—but now wait a minute, till Il—but no I’ll jump on in, I meant to say, w—about whatever—well, I swear, I swow—whar’s home just like that little character with Barney Google or that used to be Barney Google the hillbilly, the little bald guy with the jug always yellin “Lowizie whar do you put my—corncorb pireper? or (English almost wasn’t it?)—hee hee hee—what? No, I wandered that time, on peyotl which is total I’ll tell all. Baby won’t you laff?—I had to stop and th—it really is almost impossible to go on w—and yet so deciduously silent or something, my dear says the British Noble like James Mason at the moon, but now I forgot what he’d say and go on with my p—so stoned in Boston the time I had my suit pressed in a little tailor shop on Beacon Hill before I went to my—nor can I ever forget the young fellow with me—Ladies and Gentlemen, move aside please, let me introduce, ascertain and try to keep accumulating—meet the one and only Roger Buttock, descended from the Buttock Bank Indians. Too, there was a movie house (what? house?) around the (wah? corner?) of the Strand Theater not to be confused with hair strand, in my dreams: this perfect little B- or C-movie full of Sunday afternoon children—a dream! See? Never no hassles there, (they had a toilet. I go down to it in the dream and hang around and drink rotgut when I get too old to enjoy the picture), nothing, no hassles, I love my sweet dreams, they sustain me, I see—I see—what! Wake up to reality my boy! Howk? Signed, for today, for now—no we’ll continued right along the monologo.

The newspaper lengthens, but ever without true dimensions within the lyre, the gyre, the—oh—the—the—oh—well, grier. (Laughter). Wait a—how they skirl the edges of Endeemion! O brassuges! Oh peyotl total bongoola, Oh mogul rogal portals! Mawrdegras; fine too…with an s but never…(pause)…jungled…(dared); first, voodoo, written by Bud Powell and Miles Davis; well and so I said to him “Hey sweetiepie lay off my

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