Beat Me, Daddy, Five To The Bar 10:06am Jack: Hey Neal, whaddya wanna do, man? Neal: I dunno, Jack, Whaddya wanna do? J: Geez, I dunno. N: It seems, you know, like we oughta be doing somethin'! J: Right. Like creating some whole kinda new way of- N: How about we take off our clothes? Get naked to the world. J: Ah, I dunno. N: Come on, man. Direct contact. It’s a start. Let's jump! J: It's too cold, man. Besides, my aunt could come home at any time. N: Hey, it’s all right. It’s cool. And I know how to warm things up. J: Aw, Neal. N: Friction, baby. Like rubbin’ two sticks together. To build a fire. J: Cut that out. N: I'm smokin’! J: Neal. N: Catch this beboop rhythm here, daddy. J: Come on, Neal. At least get a cup. N: Wha didda wha didda wha didda doo! J: Not on my aunt's- N: Yahoo! J: Floor. 11:22am N: You gotta show me how to write, Jack. J: You don’t wanna write like me, Neal. N: Yeah, okay, I can dig that. But I need you to show me how to take everything, you know what I’m saying, the whole burning churning yearning panorama of it, leaving nothing out, no elimination or limitation or definition, and compress it, get it down-no no, get it up, yeah, that’s right, get it up, elevate it into words that are no different than what it was. You dig? J: The consummation. N: Yeah, that’s right. The all-consuming. J: Without modification. N: Just the purity. The purification. J: No inhibition. N: Ixnay. Absolutely none. J: All exhibition. N: Hang it out there for everyone to see. Like this here wild and woddly wing wang is my pen. Dipped in the inkiness of life. J: No gammer to it. N: Mightier than the sword, man. I dub thee Lance-A-Lot! J: Just whatever falls on the page, like the rain or pain or tears or blood or-Christ, Neal! N: Yahoo! 12:31pm J: Where you been, man? N: Went to see that Sally. Silly silky sultry Sal. What a sweet gone gal she is. J: How’d you get there? N: I ran. J: It’s gotta be six miles. N: Got there in under half an hour. In my bare feet. J: You’ve only been gone an hour! N: Did her, then swiped a car. J: Aha!, You were tired. N: Nah. Just wanted to swipe a car, man. 1:52pm N: Listen, Jack: I am the prophet who brings the word and the word is Wow! J: You are a prophet, Neal. You’re a saint, an American saint. N: The word is: Crazy, baby. The word is: Gone. J: I’m Jack the Baptist, and I dub thee Saint Neal, the patron saint of energy. The gospel is Going. N: I'm going going J: The gospel is Gone. N: And you gotta be gone. 3:06pm J: Man, like fill me in, daddy. What have we done? N: Bennies, tea, beer, tequila, whiskey, morphine. J: I'm gone, man. Like, I'm there. I'm nowhere. It's like a mystic state. Complete annihilation combined with total awareness. N: Gotta be feelin’ somewhere. J: Neal. N: Hey Jack, listen to this. J: Neal. N: Dig it, man. The sound of one hand clapping! J: Try no-hands, Neal. N: Yahoo! 4:23pm N: Okay, man, let me tell you, here's the agenda. Are you ready? J: Go. N: First we do everything. J: OK. N: We dig everything. Deeply, man. Then we write it all down. I mean up. We write it up, okay? J: Up, down. N: Up, man. It’s a huge difference. J: OK. N: This is down. This is up. J: It’s your call, Neal. N: We gotta be up. Up and hard. J: Hard up. N: You’re playing with words again, Jack. J: Well you’re playing with yerself. N: I ain't playin'! J: Jesus, Neal. You’re gonna get, like, permanent abrasions, man. N: Yahoo! 5:55pm N: We got to get naked, man. Get back to the condition of birth. J: We are naked, Neal. We’ve been naked all day. N: That’s cool. J: Not if my aunt comes home. N: I could do her. J: Come on, Neal. My aunt? N: Every soul is like a possibility, right? J: I guess so. N: You’re not gonna deny her, are you? J: You’re not really gonna do my aunt, are you, Neal? N: Just thinking about it, man. Gets me goin’. Pumpin'. Thumpin'. J: Aw, Neal. N: Yahoo! J: Man, you’re making a mess on the floor. You should at least spread papers or something. 6:16pm N: Yahoo! 8:08pm N: Here’s what I wish, man. I wish the world was flat, all right? Not round, man, because if it’s round, the best you can do is go around and around in circles and that’s crazy, man. You dig? It’s just total insanity. It’s just spinnin’ your wheels. You never get anywhere, tied to that rock. But if the world is flat, man, there you are, you get up to speed, man, you get far, far out, and yazoo! You go shootin’ off the edge, man. Out into the great wild far-out wide-open spaces. That’s what I want to do, Jack. To go shootin’-out-off-into-the-freakin’-Yahoo! 9:30pm N: Broken angels, man. Yeah. Broken angels. J: You gotta stop that, Neal. You’re gonna get warts or hairy palms or a dementa something or other. N: There is a God, man. Listen to me. He definitely exists. J: OK. N: And God doesn’t want us to get too hung up on anything. J: You can dig it, but you don’t get hung up. N: That’s right. You dig the difference? Like I’m diggin’ myself now, but I’m not hung up. J: Neal… N: What? J: God or no God, you gotta stop this jackin’ off. N: I’m not jackin’ off. You jack off. I neal off. I’m nealin’ off. Come on, man. You jack off and I’ll neal off. J: I can’t, man. I’m too full a that wine spo-dee-o-dee. I- N: Yahoo! 10:01pm N: Man, the sky look funny to you? J: It’s night, Neal. N: Aw, man, when did that happen? 11:19pm J: Neal, you think we should, you know, do it? You ever think about that? N: What’s that? J: Doin’ it. With each other. To each other. Do it. N: You mean, as a part of everything? J: Yeah. N: I dunno, Jack. I mean, I can dig you, but do I have to do you to really dig you? You dig? J: I do. N: I dunno. J: So? N: We’ll see. 12:25am N: Hipsters, poets, hepcats, musicians, madmen, goofs, gone daddies, masters of jive. We are all in search of the new soul. And the new soul, dig this now, is the old soul. The new soul is the same old never-changing soul of life. J: We gotta get resouled. We’re looking for a spiritual cobbler. N: You are diggin’ me, man. 2:11am N: Dig this, man. If there was just one star in the sky at night, everything would be all right. You know what I mean? As it is, man, too many to choose from. That’s infinity out there. I can’t do it, baby. Now in the day time, that’s clear, just the one gorgeous glowing orb of the solid-gold sun. I’m hip! But the night. See the problem? All those stars. Drving us crazy. And I’m a night person, man. Jack? Hey man, you awake? Jack? 4:34am N: You got anything to eat in the fridge? J: What? N: Is there anything to eat in the fridge? J: I dunno. You’ll have to look. N: It’s empty , man. Just this stick of butter. What am I gonna do with this? You got any bread? J: No bread. We ate everything, man. We should go. Split this pad. And hit the road. N: This butter’s greasy, man. Hey, will you dig this. J: Come on, Neal. You butterfucker. N: Watch your mouth, son. J: OK. You’re a masterbutter. N: Masterbaster, baby. Spiritual exercises on the o-le-o. J: Neal. N: Yahoo! J: Man. N: Hey Jack! Your aunt got any salad dressing? Miricle Whip? Mayo? 6:06am J: Dig this, Neal. The world is endlessly high and deep and sweet. It’s life that’s such a howling, stinking mess. N: Parched souls, man. Dried-up creek beds. Sand dunes. Mirages. That’s all they see. Empty churches. J: Souls. Holes. Moles. N: Goals? J: Dig this, Neal. You gotta go down. N: Man, I like bein’ up. J: Think down, Neal. Way, way down. You wanna climb the ladder to success? You wanna rise up and go to heaven? OK. But dig this: There’s another way. A secret entrance. A trap door. Down low. N: Oh man, I know what you’re talkin’ about! Pussy! Sweetness! J: No, Neal. Another way. Into heaven. For those of us low-down subterrenean cats. The desendants, dig? We go in the back way. N: Yahoo! J: Are you listening to me, Neal? N: I’m rapt, daddy. And I’m goin’ for another. Back-to-back. A doubleheader. Double dip. Twin bill. Two-timer. Twice an nice. J: The catechumens. That’s us, Neal. Cave people. Primitive types. N: Yahoo! That’s two! J: Way to go, Neal. 7:12am J: You know, the sun never comes up, the sun never goes down. The earth does it all. Sun gets all the credit. You know that, Neal? N: Hey, I don’t care if the sun goes up and down. Get with it, Jack. Without the sun, no beer. Chicks don’t get tanned. I’m all for the sun. I’m a sun worshiper. A son of the sun. A sonny boy. 8:27am J: Waddya wanna do, Neal? I mean seriously. N: Beat off. J: Come on, Neal. I’m not goofing now. N: Neither am I. J: I mean, what do we really want to do? Most of anything. N: I wanna beat off. J: Shouldn’t we go? Isn’t it finally time to hit the road? N: You hit the road, baby. I’m beatin’ the meat. J: Neal, we’re the sainted crazy far-out long-gone hipsters of America! We’ve got work to do! We’re supposed to be burning red and gold fiery comets across this nation and in the sky and out of our poor sacred miserable minds. It’s time for us to scream the hypersonic note of freedom, like Paul Revere, throughout the land. Revere. Revere. Everything is sacred, see? All we need is a ride! N: I’ll swipe a car. J: And a name. We need a name! We need an identity, Neal! The coalescence! You dig? What will it be? N: I’m coalescing, baby. I’m almost there. J: Neal! A name! N: Yahoo! J: The Yahoos? N: What? J: Help me with this, Neal. N: Beats me, man. I’m beat. J: The B- Aunt: Hello! Is anybody home? J: It’s my aunt! Aunt: My goodness! What are you boys up to? J: I can explain aunty. Aunt: Get out of my home this instant, Jack Kerouac! You perverts! You-Ah! 9:44am J: Man, hospitals are such a drag. N: Hey, no hospitals, no nurses, dig? 10:35am N: I'm sorry about your aunt, man. J: She'll be okay. N: I know it's my fault. She never would have broken her hip if she hadn’t slipped on all that- J: I said it was OK, Neal. The question is, what do we do now? We’ve got no place to stay, no clothes, no money. What do we do? N: Let's hit the road, Jack. J: Yahoo!