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I first met Dean, not long after my father died.
I was a young writer trying to take off.
But Dean just raced in society.
He had just married a sixteen year-old chick, named Marylou.
Where do you find such absolutely wonderful people.
I've never seen anyone like them.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Becoming a Dean Moriarty began part of my life
you could call my life on the road.
Finally got on that old road.
Dean does not feel responsiblity towards others.
I think he's having a damn good time just being himself.
Gives illusions, tricks.
I never want to see you again.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
I do all these dumb things, thinking in all these distorted ways.
Now I'm burning up.
And I shamble laughter as usual as I have done my whole life
after the people that interested me.
Because the only people that interest me are the mad ones.
The one's who are mad to live, mad to talk,
desires everything at the same time, the one's that never yawn
or say a commonplace thing.
But burn, burn, burn, like roman candles across the night.