On the road

I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up. I had just gotten over a serious illness that I won't bother to talk about, except that it had something to do with the miserably weary split-up and my feeling that everything was dead. With the coming of Dean Moriarty began the part of my life you could call my life on the road.

Set anys de vivències va necessitar Jack Kerouac per escriure l'obra d'art que encapçala la seva bibliografia. Set anys de viatges, de camins eterns, de propines i favors, de nits al ras o en llits desconeguts, d'amics que mai se n'havien d'anar, de somnis que mai s'havien d'esquinçar. Set anys per inflar el globus que acabaria esclatant i esquitxant d'una nostalgia cruel tot el que un dia el va envoltar.

But then they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are 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.