Up late. . .
Big Sur Travel Blog› entry 4 of 4 › view all entries
May 6th, 2008 – by: phoenix86
Here, the sky is filled with so many stars that I feel small. It smells like pine trees and woodburning fires. The air is crisp and cold, a coyote is howling. The first time I come here, I go to the Henry Miller Library and buy a copy of Jack Kerouac's Big Sur and read it cover to cover in a day. He slowly goes mad and I enjoy my escape from the city. The next time I drive here, I imagine him hitching by the side of the road or treking the long way down from Monterey. I almost hit him tearing around a corner. Then I come down for Easter and the family's here, all celebrating the death of the lord with big bottles of expensive wine and walks on the beach. Finally, now, I see in these calm trees things that would drive a man wild. It is a place to be alone, where the placement of a rock or the home of a raccoon is comforting since it is in the same place you left it. But you bring another person and they talk about existentialism or Nietzsche as you pass the rock, and you want to throw them off a cliff for making so much noise. Nothing could be better than sitting naked in a hot tub, staring at the stars, thinking about the future.
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