Sample: Jack Kerouac’s Dharma Buns
1. Go, go, go! Nod and bob your head when spoken to. Say, “Yes, oh, yes, that’s right. I know exactly what you mean.” Look like Gene Autrey.
2. Preheat the oven.
3. Marry and jump on the couch with a girl with immense ringlets of golden tresses who is dumb as shit and who turns you in to the police on a false trumped up hysterical crazy charge before she whores a few dollars and runs off.
4. Lam. While on the lam, ask a friend to show you how to write. When your friend tells you that you’ve got to stick to writing with the energy of a benny addict, say to him, “What I want is the realization of those factors that should depend on Schopenhauer’s dichotomy.” Really. SAY THAT.
5. Yes, oh, yes! Get all in there with intellectual jargon. Read Nietzsche. Take those bennies!
6. When your friend tries to write with the energy of which he spoke, say, “Come on man. Those girls won’t wait. Make it fast.”
7. The Lincoln Tunnel is phosphorescent on the inside at night, just like you.
8. Yes, oh, yes again! That’s right! Wow. Write it down, man, about the Lincoln Tunnel. Spit out your visions and twinges of hard joy. No hung-up holy lightning carrying books to the pool hall still hiding from the cops crap. No glad I’m not yet torrentially violent chatter chatter blah blah literary restraint. Dance down the street like a dingledodie!
9. Grease an 8-inch pan. Even in a parking lot keen minds need things to do.
10. Here is how you park your car. You back up at 40, squeeze into a tight space, change your mind like a rabid animal, circle at 50, hump, snap the emergency, and fly out. Wonder if you should make your sticky buns the same way.
11. Get on a bus that says Chicago.
12. End up in San Francisco. After a few cold beers become a Buddhist. Let all that dingledodie stuff slide. Sleep outside. Have a rank smell, like the raw body of America itself. Still, look good. The Natural Tailor of Ordinary Joy is your stylist.
13. Meet Gary Snyder. Go all haiku-y on your wash-lined drowsy doorstepped crying babies in the hot sun neighbors. They work in mills. You have a low, serious voice. Speak in the gentlest possible way to them of sticky buns.
in my heart flutter
dreams of sweet crescent roll dough
hot, baked with walnuts
no lost cause, instead
sweetened lemon juice with an
cinammon good, too.
roll all together on dough
then roll dough up tight
the sky remorseful,
hard-pressed anger and dense cold.
I must bake ’till brown
14. Jesus, but some mean girl would feel good right about now. I am eager for real love, saith Ecclesiastes!
15. Big trucks roar. Wham. Innumerable people, twin sisters named Babe, tell you the funniest stories, but voices make you all whoopieish inside. Wonder what “ball that jack” even means. Notice that your eyes are starting to pop. Divine that, years from now, you will look unbelievably bloated on the Steve Allen Show, and Truman Capote will call you a typist.
16. For now, though, best not to worry. Dawdle. Think about Babe. Drop a rose in the Hudson, or is it the Missouri. Kind of like that it doesn’t splash.
17. Just think of all the places the rose will have reached by nightfall.
18. Drizzle with leftover syrup.
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This is from NIETZSCHE’S ANGEL FOOD CAKE: And Other “Recipes” for the Intellectually Famished, a gift book available in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle.