Insert something self-indulgent and ego-ridden here, probably about how I'm -much- cooler than anyone else you know.
Then insert something like a foot into something like a mouth, and confess that I've wasted all my coolness-saturated-self on drugs and dreams.
I play it cool. I dig all jive, that's the reason I stay alive.
My motto as I live and learn is dig and be dug in return.
S`io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocch giammai di questo fondo
Non torn vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, and all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars'll be out, and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growning old.
I think of Dean Moriarty,
I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found,
I think of Dean Moriarty.
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