That kerouac flow

 Kerouac humms along. Jack tells me of his old high hip adventures.
His words just flow over the mind and through it. A colorful river that veers suddenly off and carries the rest of you, that stops every ten minutes or so, to give you the awes inspiring scenery.
Then another rapid attack of internal reflections opinions and speculations.
But the way he observes others is probably his hottest volcanic literary power.

The flow of words like tyres on a road rolling on and over new terrain painting it and moving on.
Yes there is a flux and all rhyme and rhythm follows, onomatopeia rhapsodizing boosting upward and diving.
Sharing a parallel insight then moving on back into the theme, with all the permission of spontaneiety.
The kind of creativity that hinders structuralist poets, with swarms of wasp like envy stinging and repeating.
Rules can be learned, tolerance to literary chaos compromises the rule

Kerouac spends the kind of refined positivity that kept himself and his friends in good credit with the universe.
Was it just the beatnik swagger you ask? Brands and idealogies are sheeny glosses for a day shine only,
they can never replace the inner radiance of those who practice what they preach.
kerouac had the instinct and perhaps privilege to practice what he preached.

How Ol Kerouac could turn a landscape into a moving breathing animation. His own vitality and illnesses as ruthless elaborate games. For which he knows not of the rules, just pure curveballs and kickers, moments that land in that present out of the blue.
That keep the reader below the surface gasping for air. Extracting just enough oxygen from the underlying skill he has at comic relief.
Relieving you further when he openly flirts with top shelf irony.

So what does "A life on the road" or "Big sur" do to a poet's mind? They can season the creative mind, not in wealth of experience.
But in creative flavor. For the dullards, obsessed with structure, maybe it can loosen you up and get you salivating over a metaphor, or aroused by a bombastic similie.
It will certainly have you chop your critical mind down a gear, unless of course your logical mind induces a kind of cognitive salmonella, in which case, stick to percieved safety of grammar and structure and straightforward use of language. Direct, bland and flavorless.
Kerouac teaches me that my one ability to play with words makes me limitless. Why would I force myself to fully understanding the arbitrary rules of the English language instead of hone my one sweet talent?

The irony here is that I am an English teacher. Though through emotion (When possible) we can memorize the most mundane lexical terms. It works a thousand times better than a comparison or rule. People find it difficult to forget feelings, less so with the overly abundant clauses and exceptions to the rule. Kerouac inspires me to focus more on flow, just let it pour out. And consider the editing and recognition as lower down on the list of priorities. With the exception of Jack, most of us will be long dead and buried when they finally decide to publish our collages of fancy words.