See the whole thing is a world full of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn't really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of 'em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures.
letter to a friend
...wonder what you're doing now your job it's finished? - Tried to call a week or so ago - only got the answer machine - - - - I sit here now, in this so very small wooden house - in this so very still woodland - S... up on the loft reading whilst the stars above they twinkle as brightly as perhaps they twinkle anywhere in this whole world. Moved into this place a couple of days ago and when I stepped out onto the small wooden balcony and was absorbed into the sweet meditation of the trees I remembered all those years ago with Ringstead wanderings and words a wibbling and the whole future up to now yet to happen, laid out waiting, a road to be walked, a river to be ridden. Peace and joy to you my friends. Here's a quote from Kerouac, his Dharma Bums tale, eternally etched in ink on paper and dots on screens
