I'll love you when you're dead

Promise. Leave my phone number with one of your contacts. Have them call me after you're dead and buried. I'll love and admire you like you've never been loved and admired. I'll write praise of your brilliance, and of my passion for you I could never deliver in person.

I'm near the conclusion this is the only way I can love anymore. When I think of past rendezvous, I feel terrible. Awful. I wish they never happened. No. Not regret. Just dumb ideas. I'm filled with dumb ideas. Sadly, I have even more dumb ideas, than good ones. It's not you. It's me. I'm mad at myself. This is how/why people go crazy and then fall into deep depressions. We know what we're doing is stupid, but we keep doing it anyway because it feels good, at the time, or so we/I think. Live in the moment. That's my credo.

Be that as it may, I think I'm learning (something).

I haven't done anything stupid in a while.

From in between the pages of SATORI IN PARIS

"Well this old gal was the wildest lay imaginable. How can I go into such detail about toilet matters. She really made me blush at one point. I shoulda told her to stick her head in the "poizette" but of course (that's old French for toilette) she was too delightful for words. I met her at an afterhours Montparnasse gangster bar with no gangsters around. She took me over. She also wants to marry me, naturally, as I am a great natural bed mate and nice guy. I gave her $120 for her son's education, or some new-old parochial shoes. She really done my budget in. I still had enough money the next day to go on and buy William Makepeace Thackeray's Livres des Snobs at Gare St.-Lazare. It isn't a question of money but of souls having a good time. In the old church of St.-Germain-des-Pres that following afternoon I saw several Parisian Frenchwomen practically weeping as they prayed under an old bloodstained and rainroiled wall. I said, "Ah ha, les femmes de Paris" and I saw the greatness of Paris that it can weep for the follies of the Revolution and at the same time rejoice that they got rid of all those long nosed nobles, of which I am a descendant (Prince of Brittany)."

- Jack Kerouac