"This can't go on all the time -- all this franticness and jumping around. We've got to go some place, find something."

Jack Kerouac wrote a few great books, and in those books, he had a few really good lines. Last summer I went to a used book shop about fifteen minutes from where I live to see what treasures were nestled amongst the stained and tattered classics (Thank God for second hand bookstores, by the way). I stumbled upon a copy of Jack Kerouac's claim to fame, On the Road. The summer before was when I first discovered Kerouac. Back then I was more so emersed into my vagabond dreams, so finding Kerouac was like finding a lost love. I picked up Dharma Bums skimmed a few pages, and realized this Kerouac fellow and I were going to get along nicely. Anyway, I found a lightly used copy of On the Road with some bends in the corners and some ink outlining the O of On. Nothing much, still in rather fine condition, and I only had to spend $6 rather than the $15 it was originally priced when it was new (See why second hand bookstores are fantastic?) Anyway, I grabbed it with a certain glee because I loved Dharma Bums and this book, On the Road, is his Stairway to Heaven to his Led Zeppelin, or his Star Wars to his George Lucas. If that made any sense.

So I spend some of the summer reading it (I have my hand in some other books at the time as well...which has become a habit since I've been in this English Major gig. It used to be sacrilege to me to start another book while I was reading another. Now I just don't care.) As I read it, I still have that childish mentality that comes with almost anyone who reads Kerouac: I want to leave and go west to, live off the road, no home, loose friendships, and a destination as uncertain as the Second Coming of Christ. That seemed to be the life for me, and that's why I read ol' Jack.

I finish the book sometime in October, and all the time I had spent reading it (And a commentary along with it called Why Kerouac Matters: Lessons from On the Road by John Leland) I tried to reconcile the true message of the book with that of my previous notions and wild, insane dreams. It couldn't be done. Truth is, the book isn't necessarily about being a vagabond, rucksack wanderer traveling from one place to the next with no end in sight; "We've got to find some place, find something."

I don't really know what prompted this post, or if this is really what I had originally intended when I signed into the site. All the same, I'll keep going. I've got this far.

Maybe what prompted this is the "franticness". Things have felt crazy the last month. Things have felt crazy for a long time. Such is life. For me, I don't see an end, a beginning, and part of me still wants to go on that big vagabond journey. There has to be some big to do in which I'm finally propelled from the nest. I'm waiting for it. Trying to find it. Maybe I've just read too many stories, like The Odyssey, The Hobbit, Neverwhere, Stardust, ect. ect., where the main character has to go on this great quest. Leave the home, prove himself (or herself...sorry ladies), grow, gather a broader understanding of the world around them, and come back changed. Then settle down. What's the end to every action movie (or almost every)? Love.

Here is the quote that I used in the title with a bit more context:
"'I want to marry a girl,' I told them, 'so I can rest my soul with her till we both get old. This can't go on all the time -- all this franticness and jumping around. We've got to go some place, find something.'"

Yeah. There's an end. Making a home and family is at the end. We take all we learned from the world and adventuring so we can know how to raise kids and take care of the wife.

Unfortunately, Kerouac didn't have this in his life. Sal Paradise, the literary representation of Kerouac in On the Road, made it to the end with someone to potentially settle down with. As a matter of fact he chooses her over Dean Moriarity, the character who pulls him onto the road, and not just once but several times. Sal makes the decision to finally rest his soul with Laura, and ceases the madness with Dean. Kerouac did find a girl, Joan Haverty, but this was very short lived and tragic. As a matter of fact the rest of his life was rather tragic, and in the introduction to his novel Desolation Angels Joyce Johnson writes, "'A quiet life' became his stated goal, but he couldn't imagine how to achieve it."

When I first read this, I laughed, as Phil and I have joked about "The Quiet Life" which seems to be exactly what Kerouac was aiming for: a life without a woman. After reading the intro to Desolation Angels I felt I would rather not take Jack's path. At times I really admire his free spirit, go wherever the road takes ya sort of attitude. Even the "Crap man, I don't need a woman" seems rational. But it only takes you so far. And you have to find home sometime.

Still, I don't know what I was getting at. I rambled for too long. In conclusion, I love Jack Kerouac and all of his Dharma bummin', beatnik novels. But there's a lesson to be learned, and I wish I could've said it in a more concise manner and a bit more poignatly, but this was the best I could do. Its 3:23 in the morning. Lay off.

But one day I've got to find my road. And then, hopefully, rest my soul with another soul who's willing.

Goodnight followers. I leave you with this:

"It was remarkable how Dean could go mad and then suddenly continue with his soul -- which I think is wrapped up in a fast car, a coast to reach, and a woman at the end of the road -- calmly and sanely as though nothing had happened" - Once again, from Kerouac's On the Road

To Be Honest, I Don't Know Who or What This Blog Is Avenging...

Well, if you're a very observant individual and take inventory of your surroundings, then you may have noticed the new title. Really, I don't know what sort of theme I'm going for here. If we go simply by the title, the blog centers around horror. It doesn't. I don't even know what I was getting at when I made the title, "Revenge of the Living Blog". Blob sort of sounded like Blog, so I went with the '50's B horror movie. If you came on here yesterday, you would've noticed (if you had your keen sense of observation then as well) that I drew a very, very, childish looking blob thing. With palm trees around it. It made complete sense at the time. So, really I'm trying to gather a sort of B movie horror theme. Why, I'm not sure. That's pretty much my reason for anything you ask me about my life.

"Mike, why do you like pancakes?"

"I'm not sure."

"Mike, why did you paint your toenails with sparkly blue nail polish over at Tabbatha's appartment that one time?"

"I'm not sure."

"Mike, why did you go to Webster University to get a degree in Creative Writing?"

"I'm not sure."

"Mike, why are you smashing your face in with a ball peen hammer?"

"Because my life is a sham...and I'm not entirely sure."

I really think we could end this post with that. I mean, what more needs to be said, other than that chest pain in my left pectoral has finally..."left". Haha, get it? Ah, such a wit Michael. Such a wit. Anyway, you can calm down. You can stop all of the fundrasing to save me. I think I'm going to do all right, and to prove it I'm going to raise a barn in my backyard.

"Why?"

"Ugh...I'm not sure."

And there's the start of my children's book, "I'm Not Sure". It's about little girl named Sage. Her entire life is devoted to one thing, and she's never really sure why. Nothing she does she is ever really sure of. And so on. That's all I got right now. Just made it up on the spot.

I'm done for today. Something lapped up my entire shallow puddle of creativity somewhere along the way. Sometime when I had my back turned. I don't remember turning my back on my creativity, but I am vulnerable to distraction. It's my only weakness. But sally forth readers. Tomorrow is a new day.

War Wages On

My stomach seems to have used his charisma effectively. I now have a mysterious sharp pain under my left pectoral. Possible organ failure. Either heart or right lung's twin brother left lung. I guess now its only a matter of time. Well done stomach. Us brain cells didn't think you were capable of such savagery with the potential to gather the will of the other organs. As much as I don't like to, I commend your efforts. Your power to sway the rest of my anatomical structure into full rebellion is impressive as well as terrifying. Perhaps you'll agree to some sort of treaty, yes? I'll stop eating so much, and you'll get increased pay with 2 months paid vacation? I simply want to keep breathing and have blood circulating at all times. You may not care stomach, but I need those. Real bad.

The Headphone Jack Is Not The Same As The Microphone Jack.

Yeah, basically I had my music up really loud on my speakers, in a public place, and I thought the music was still coming in through my goofy green headphones, it was just really quiet. Wrong again Michael. You honorably recieve the stupid award. And by honorably, I meant shamefully. With the exact same shame of farting really loud when having dinner with your wife's/girlfriend's/fiancee's/significant something or another's parents. I don't have any experience in that sort of situation, but I could only imagine. And ladies, it's not that I've been a lonely young man all these years, never to experience the goofiness that is "love", its just, I've never farted in front of ANYONE'S parents. To my recollection. Just because I have action figures on my bookshelf and small collection of comic books underneath my bed DOES NOT mean I'm some creepy nerdy guy. I'm like a Don Quioxte.

"Don Juan"

"Who?"

"Don Juan. He's the ladies man. Don Quioxte was just some psycho Spaniard"

"Oh. Yeah."

"Windmills"

"Right. Windmills."

Actually, you know what? Yeah, I'm the creepy nerdy guy. So...just leave me to my Super Nintendo games. Okay?

Well, here I am, at Bread Co. on Watson. Again. Sans the 30-year-old woman. Maybe she got my note.

I'm here because the laptop's wireless capabilities are having marital issues with the router at our house. For what reason I do not know. Desktop in my room is also having difficulties connecting. Maybe its a love triangle. I thought computers in wireless networks had to be Mormon. And my father has declared martial law. There is a yellow Post-it on the monitor of our front room/dining area computer that reads, "DO NOT mess with this computer!" I think it has something to do with me turning it off yesterday. So if you ever think that you can just go all willy nilly and shut off a computer, you better think twice. The next time you turn off that computer, you could destroy everything in that magic box and really piss some people off. No more internet, or Microsoft Word, or solitaire. Or Mine Sweeper! God have mercy on our souls on the day when the human race loses the only free computer game that has become dear to them.

Anyway, so that's why I'm here. And I've noticed one out of every one person brings a laptop. The 2010 coffee shop is a beatnik cyberpunk world. We're all here to drink coffee and blog!

'Hey everybody! We're having a blog party!"

"...."

Okay. Maybe some other time.

There's really not a whole lot to mention. Yesterday I was going to scoop out some chicken salad from a Tupperware bowl and instead I chased the cat with the spoon raised in the air yelling. Like a savage. Which was similar to the kid who was running around on the hill behind my house with a stick. Those were the good old days. I don't know about the rest of you, but as an only child, there was a lot of chasing imaginary things with a stick. Or a pop gun. I remember right after we moved into the house we're living in now, I got this pop gun rifle. It had this lever underneath the trigger to cock the gun and then when you pulled the trigger it would make a loud pop sound. It was great. Somedays I would grab some beef jerky and run around in the yard with the beef jerky and the rifle and pretend I was roaming the frontier and the jerky was my only means of survival.

My point is, that part of my life was awesome. And seeing that kid running around enjoying his life reminded me of my own youth. I remember after Jurassic Park came out, I would run around in the backyard of our old house in Louisville (which was much, much larger than the yard we have now) with a Nerf bow and arrow and shoot dinosaurs. My life was pretty cool. I would much rather worry about defending my home from a very unexpected dinosaur invasion than say, hunt for a job. But hey, C'est la vie.

I think my real point of all this is, I was envious of that kid. I wanted the best for him. I wanted him to fully enjoy life. But, I also wanted to run around like a lunatic, and throw sticks at bushes as if I were throwing hand grenades at stationary, square-like robots. Problem with me doing that is, I would look like a lunatic. At least the kid looks fairly sane, running around alone, defending our neighborhood from who knows what. Thanks kid.

I only hope to have kids of my own to do that with. My only excuse. But they'll grow up too. And on goes the course.

Yeah. That's pretty much it. I'm going to get some more coffee.

The Famous Networking Site Once Again Silently Murders My Muse.

Hello again. If you haven't gathered by looking at the time stamp, its about 12:35 in the am on Saturday, January 9. Yeah, We're already that far. We just celebrated Christmas. And then time and life continued its lightspeed journey to the end. Thanks time, my mortal enemy. One of these days I'll defeat you. Until then, enjoy yourself. *Sneer*

I turned on my laptop to come on here and post something. Then I got distracted by Facebook for about 30 minutes. Facebook, also an enemy. "Hey Mike, log onto Facebook to check your updates and messages. It should only take five minutes"

"You sure Facebook? You generally..."

"JUST SIGN ON...please?" So I do. We hang out. Facebook tells me my friend commented on a photo of me. Then I look at my friends photo album. Make some comments. Change my status. Watch 20 videos my friend Dave sent me. Next thing I know, 3 hours of my life are gone. I'll remember this on my death bed. Sure, I could have enjoyed life, but instead I relived the past AGAIN by looking at photos and looking at Facebook pages of people whom I have not spoken to in at least 4 years, just so I know what's going on in their lives without actually talking to them.

Does anyboy else like the irony in that? A network to help us stay in touch with people we lost touch with, only to keep them still at arm's length, and that arm is hundreds of miles long? I thought it was good irony.

Anyway, Facebook ruined my life. So now I kinda forgot what I was going to write about. Oh, I was reading poetry and I thought about my professor and advisor David Clewell and how he said something along the lines of "Poetry is bigger than the poet". And I had this moment of satori, but its long since gone.

So, since I don't have anything to really write about, I'm going to bed.

Hey! Look At What I Wrote!

The underlining business of the blog post title, unnecessary. Too formal. I honestly don't feel like this is worthy enough of an underline. I don't even use the underline when I mention books in a paper. I use the italics. Yeah, italicize it. That's an answer. Calm down and give me italics. Underlining is too much. Makes me look prententous. Like I really think what I'm typing is great. Its trash. A sham. And if you think of it as being worthy of a thick line lying underneath the title, giving the title the right to step all over that respectable line, then you are a fool. I say free thick line. He deserves rights and is worth much more than the words who try to step on his beautiful face. Go on line, go on a vacation. You deserve it.

Other than that, I've been vomiting lately. And by lately I mean last night. Vomiting is the single most terrible of bodily functions, at least for dude. I hate it, especially when there is no reason for it. I don't know why I threw up three times last night. It just happened. Stomach must have got fed up.

"Hey! Hey you up there! You think you can just throw whatever you want down here?! I'll give you what for! Have your stupid lunch back! I'm going on strike!"

Aaannndd...hurl.

Profusely.

What the crap stomach? Really? I don't have time for your silly rebellions. You don't see colon freaking out. Or lungs. Heart has been pumping strong for 23 years. But you, you lazy stomach, you just feel like stopping your job right in the middle and sending it back to esophogas and mouth.

"I don't care what Mike says Essie and Mouth. We should have thrown him out a long time ago. What's that? OOOHH, Brain says! You know brain says a lot, but I think he's a jerk! He doesn't even do anything! Its that stem that tells us what to do! All brain does is sit in that comfy skull and think. I wish I could get paid to sit around and think. I'm on strike! You in liver?"

"Not really, man."

"Screw you guys! I've been trying to tell Appendix for years to pop his poisonous jucies so we can finally bust this joint, but no! I guess I'm the only one with some back bone."

"Actually, I have back bone. I am the back bone"

"Shut up spine! Nobody asked you!"

Stomach will finally stop rebelling though. That's what always happens. Sure, he thinks he can over throw the place, but after awhile he calms down. Get's it together. His wife, Small Intestine, finally talks him out of it. Reminds him he's supporting his children, Pancreas and Gall Bladder. Then he shuts up and does his job.

Until then, he's going to be throwing everything everywhere.

Thrilling Times Ahead

Happy New Year to whoever is reading this (probably just me *depression*).

We made it. Most of us did. I can't account for every last human being. But I can account for myself. And I'm pretty sure I'm right here, right now, which is fantastic. Congrats Mike. We're all proud. We're also proud you made it to your 23rd birthday.

Really, this New Year is terrifying. I just finished college and now I'm out to hunt for work. It's a new decade. A whole new world is ahead and I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. But I'm a genius, so I should get by alright.

That's right. Hire me. I'm a genius. I'll bring in the big bucks for your company.

You know what New Years Day is great for? Naps. I think this should be National Nap Day. Is there already such a thing? If its a whole day, and you nap the whole day, is that really a nap? A nap is rather short, a sleep is several more hours, but day would be a quasi-coma. Hmm. Either way, nobody does anything on New Years. Its just lazy day. So, a National Nap Day seems appropriate. Don't steal my idea. I want to be the one who has the claim to National Nap Day.

"Michael, as President of the United States, I award you with the Awesome Award. You're a stinkin' genius. Everyone loves Nap Day. I don't think there is a better a person in all the land."

"Why thanks Barry (That's what I call him, because we're buddies and he's cool with it). I mean, I might be one of the single greatest Americans of this generation"

"I know. You invented freakin' Nap Day. Who else is going to get his or herself together and think of something so incredibly awesome"

"Yep. Well, I'm going to go home and put this next to my Nobel Peace Prize. Still down for playing Mario Kart later?"

"Of course, of course"

Yep. That would be pretty sweet. But with New Years Day, people might forget about Nap Day, since it will always be overshadowed by New Years. Crap. Apparently I'm not as intelligent as I once presupposed.

Speaking of naps, I need one.