Good SunDay

I’m not certain Good Friday’s all that Good.

Love’s preacher died, right?

Now, buzzing electric wires at every turn.

Congested traffic crowding out courtesy.

Television anoints leaders, the worst of them.

Lurking doom in the room where the elephant patiently sits.

But there’s good in Us victims of the grave.

This is our Heaven if we let it.



Standing on my head before bedtime on that rock roof of the moonlight I could indeed see that the earth was truly upsidedown and man a weird vain beetle full of  ideas walking around upsidedown and boasting, and I could realize that man remembered why this dream of planets and plants and Plantagenets was built out of the primordial essence. Sometimes I’d get mad because things didn’t work out well, I’d spoil a flapjack, or slip in the snowfield while getting water, or one time my shovel went sailing down into the gorge, and I’d be so mad I’d want to bite the mountaintops and would come in the shack and kick the cupboard and hurt my toe. But let the mind beware, that though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.

Excerpt From: Kerouac, Jack. “The Dharma Bums.” Penguin Group, Inc., 1958. iBooks.