Bless The Water Drop

They rushed down the street together, digging everything in the early way they did, which later became sadder and perceptive and blank. But then they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because 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 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 "Awww!"

I had given up the thought of ever finding this book here in Egypt, until I casually walk into a second hand book store because I have some 20 minutes to spare, and right before I grab the door knob and confuse pulling with pushing as always, my eyes fall upon a light green cardboard slip glued on to a book and titled "Jack Kerouac On The Road".
Anyhow, I gladly deleted the un-entertaining e-copy that I downloaded as means of settling but never got past the second chapter even at my eagerness to read this book, and I started reading into the physical version. Due to the on-and-off then once-and-for-all routine that I had gotten used to with reading, I still am getting towards the first third of the book. That didn't get me to notice what makes Kerouac great, though. My very own kind of great.
And I knew it, because, why yes I choose to believe in the "Our books find us not the other way round" case. It adds a lot more to the ride. A very personal value. And might as well, some answers, or magic signs, or whatever. I would like to end this paragraph because that's when I start losing words describing how words mean to me.

And this has got to be pretty much the most intense song I have ever come across.

I started doing something that I didn't notice when it became habitual, but I'm glad it did anyway. I crack the shutters wide open the minute I wake up, before doing anything at all, and I stand for a few minutes under the sun. I love how it feels when the warmth starts transferring from the fabric of my clothes into the skin on my shoulders. I also like the crisp I get when I change these clothes and then the cold fabric meets that warmth. This morning I saw the sun breaking in from between two little round siding clouds right as it was about to stop raining. This is the second time since winter officially started that I wake up to find it raining outside. The winter stories in my head always have this paradoxical course, but I won't try to fix that, as long as the sun manages to squeeze in from behind the clouds at some point.

So, I'll take it, as long as it makes the streets smell like they do in the early morning hours when it'd been raining at dawn, when it falls upon the dust lurking all over the under-construction road that is initially intended to connect me with that lost other side. The one where winter runs all year long and it's never boring, where it regularly storms but the sound of thunder never scares you.

I'll take it because it stuns me with genuine power to smile at nothing.