The post by @carlosfandango here reminded me that Kerouac was also a poet. I love the fluidity of his writing and the contrast between the active and engaging language and the serene subject matter, but once again regret attempting to format poetry in Markdown.

How to Meditate by Jack Kerouac       -lights out- fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine, the gland inside of my brain discharging the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as i hap-down and hold all my body parts down to a deadstop trance-Healing all my sicknesses-erasing all-not even the shred of a "I-hope-you" or a Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought comes a-springing from afar with its held- forth figure of image, you spoof it out, you spuff it off, you fake it, and it fades, and thought never comes-and with joy you realize for the first time "thinking's just like not thinking- So I don't have to think   any   more"