Mark moriarty dating
On The Road is a terrible book about terrible people.
Kerouac and his terrible friends drive across the US about seven zillion times for no particular reason, getting in car accidents and stealing stuff and screwing women whom they promise to marry and then don’t. Their vision is to use the words “holy”, “ecstatic”, and “angelic” at least three times to describe every object between Toledo and Bakersfield.
I don’t know if it’s the time period or merely their personal charm, but Kerouac et al’s ability to do anything (and anyone) and get away with it is astounding.
Several of their titular cross-country trips are performed entirely by hitch-hiking, with their drivers often willing to buy them food along the way.
Care to defend him with overwrought religious adjectives? But of course getting a life – in the sense of a home, a stable relationship, a steady job, et cetera – is exactly what all the characters in On The Road are desperately trying to avoid.
That’s what Dean was, the HOLY GOOF…he was BEAT, the root, the soul of beatific. He tried all in his power to tell me what he was knowing, and they envied that about me, my position at his side, defending him and drinking him in as they once tried to do Right. People are just jealous, because holy ecstatic angelic Dean Moriarty likes you more than he likes them. “Beat” has many meanings, but one of them is supposed to be “beaten down”.
The only place it is ever made explicit is page 185, when Galatea (who has since found her way back to San Francisco) confronts Dean about the trail of broken lives he’s left behind him, saying: You have absolutely no regard for anybody but yourself and your damned kicks.
All you think about is what’s hanging between your legs and how much money or fun you can get out of people and then you just throw them aside. It never occurs to you that life is serious and there are people trying to make something decent out of it instead of just goofing all the time.” This, 185 pages in, is the first and last time anyone seriously tries to criticize Dean. He has married one woman, had an affair with another, played the two of them off against each other, divorced the first, married the second, deserted the second with a young child whom she has no money to support, gone back to the first, dumped the first again so suddenly she has to become a prostitute to make ends meet.
Obviously he is “holy” and “ecstatic” and “angelic” and “mad” and “visionary”, but for Dean, Kerouac pulls out all the stops.
There’s a story about a TV guide that summarized The Wizard of Oz as “Transported to a surreal landscape, a young girl kills the first woman she meets, then teams up with three complete strangers to kill again.” It’s funny because it mistakes a tale of wonder and adventure for a crime spree.
Jack Kerouac’s On the Road is the opposite; a crime spree that gets mistaken for a tale of wonder and adventure.
Ed cajoled and pleaded; she wouldn’t go unless he married her.
In a whirlwind few days Ed Dunkel married Galatea, with Dean rushing around to get the necessary papers, and a few days before Christmas they rolled out of San Francisco at seventy miles per, headed for LA and the snowless southern road.