beatnik.

the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or a say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'aww!'
[jack kerouac]

recent epiphanies have led me to believe that this - that these people - are the ones i am addicted to.

there is this insatiable need to be on fire for something, to be always searching for something, to never let a mind be at peace. it's been discovered in my life over and over again.

i wonder what it would like to not deny that.

i'd probably be on the streets, huh?