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Saturday, April 12, 2008

beat




Colorado men are we

From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,

from the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,

Pioneers! O Pioneers!



(excerpt from Pioneers! O Pioneers! by Walt Whitman)


neal cassady

i am posting an excerpt from an article i found while googling "neal cassady" last night. when i was in golden last week, i came across a bookstore that was featuring many beat generation books, including several either by or about neal. he was an inspiration for jack kerouac. i didn't know then that mr. cassady hailed from denver. you can read the rest of the article here

It was late 1941 that Neal met the man who would mentor him and be a

bridge to the group that would become the New York beats. Justin

Briarly was born on 3 September 1905 in the house his grandfather,

Denver pioneer John Walters had built. Justin had attended Columbia

University and briefly run a talent agency in New York before returning

to Colorado to practice law and teach school at East High, the most

affluent school in Denver, serving the prosperous families living around

the capitol. Justin has been described as a

turn-of-the-century-gentleman. He effected a style of dress and speech

that was archaic for those modern times, with language so influenced by

the movies and popular records. He was thin with impeccable posture and

a pencil thin moustache, and he was very properly gay. Neal was

shirtless and 15 when they met at the house of Justin’s uncle. Justin

was impressed with young Neal’s intelligence and bearing, and arranged

to get him into East High School.


1 comment:

Java said...

I don't get Beat. Hippy I dig. Beat is rebellion dressed as intellectual. Joe Cool.


One of the other clips, offered at the bottom of the box there after the Neil Cassidy song is done, is a recording of Jack Kerouac reading from his book of poems Book of Blues. I listen, and my ears send messages to my brain which mixes them like cake batter and cooks them in the thought oven. Out through my fingers pop muffin words, stacked strangly within the parameters of this HTML.

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