It feels like Jack hates commas. He avoids then like a madman. Or he is really a madman? Not yet. Not on the road with Neil or in mountains with Harry or in pubs with Lucien or alone in the forest. He is one of the most educated beatniks and if he needs, no single mistake will be done, no single comma will be missed, but he is like V.V., he hates, hates, hates this little devils that separate thoughts, `cause Kerouac is too spontaneous, too fast, too energetic and too close too himself and his thoughts are so intimate (I mean, between each other), they are so friendly, that they can`t even think of splitting up, no!
The last sentence was the kind of sweet stuff little (nearly forty in the 60-s) Jack can make you listen for hours. And you look at him like you look at a child of four when he tells you about his friend Robby from another world and pretend serious and then believe him and talk to Robby and forget that you are supposed to be healthy in all aspects. And I always beieve Jack`s stories, though I`ve started teasing him a bit when he tries to make me think thaht everything is God, everything is Heaven and we`ll see Paradise if we think a bit more about tasty food and cosy drinks and old clothes and simple stuff that we`ve known when we were children. Merlin, I still believe him! But I can`t help making very hermionish (too my, not hermionish, haven`t you got used to?) remarks like "You`ve missed another comma here, Jackie, and here and look! you`ve missed four commas in this short sentence! You`re supposed to be a clever man!" And laught at him and he will not get offended, because he knows that I love him, really love and I love the reason and the way he misses commas and his stupid cute remarks and his nice stories about him thinking of how fascinating is the process of washing the dishes.
By the way, you know, cooking men, aren`t they Gold? Jackie loves cooking and does it!
Hey! Sonya, you`re supposed to be sane.