The Titans of Imaginary Baseball Going Head to Head
Jack Kerouac had his Cosmic Baseball Association, and I was king of my own imaginary baseball league as a kid. Fifteen years after a reader of mine read Kerouac’s “the only people for me are the mad ones” for the first time, she came across a passage of mine that was her most re-readable since, possibly on equal footing, and this is not it:
A few little tufts around the bellybutton was how it all began, and from that point I would take to proudly examining the new hairs on my chest with avid fascination. Watching as my plumage ascended up the middle of my rib cage, reaching to a point between my bosoms and finally blossoming outward like the trail of a firework rising, the one spark traveling ever higher and exploding at the top of my chest.
— Tommy Walker
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, burn, burn like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!”
— Jack Kerouac
What I have shared with you is my personal favorite from Monstrous, which was rated I think a 4.6 on a scale of 10 at the now-defunct “Am I a Hack or Not” site. I may or may not have ranked my reader’s favorite in my top 100 before she told me this, though now of course it’s way up there because I know it made a reader so happy.
God, I hated On the Road, though I appreciated Kerouac’s writing. All that gorgeous writing in the service of an exercise in pointlessness if you ask me.
Besides Kerouac, my literary comps are Charles Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson, one vote apiece. But as small as the sample size is, I believe it, because each of them are super close to one another on the Literature Map.
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