Neal Cassady’s long-lost ‘Joan Anderson Letter’

Ken Babbs shared this on FB today, fun read!!!

<<Legend of Neal Cassady’s long-lost ‘Joan Anderson Letter’ finally comes to life>>

https://datebook.sfchronicle.com/books/legend-of-neal-cassadys-long-lost...

<<As a Beat historian and Kerouac biographer, Dennis McNally was surprised to receive in the mail a paperback-size hardcover book he did not know was in production. It was the moment everyone who studies the Beats has been awaiting for 70 years — publication of the Joan Anderson Letter, a legendary 18-page, single-spaced, typed manuscript mailed from Neal Cassady to Jack Kerouac in 1950 and presumably lost to the ages.>>

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An excerpt of ‘The Joan Anderson Letter’

Dear Jack,
To hell with the dirty lousy s—, I’ve had enough horses—. I got my own pure little bangtail mind and the confines of its binding please me yet. I wake to more horrors than Céline, not a vain statement for now I’ve passed thru just repetitious shudderings and nightmare twitches. I have discovered new sure doom, but this is my secret, and if I’m to find the pleasure of its deviousness in recognizable form I must tighten my grip while abiding the weight of years. The exquisite twists of this self-wrought
terror rival Fleur de Mal in that they are hopeless. Aha! I am well beyond help, though, and my helplessness has only tiny Action to dominate. I am fettered by cobwebs, countless fine creases indelibly etched on the brain. There are no unexplored paths in my mind and few that are not entangled in the weave of my misery mists. It is but gentle fog thru which I navigate and make friendly by constant intimate communion. Within the hour from arising from the suffer-couch, each sleep I’ve gained anew the daily grease for the bearings on which I roll. I embrace to its exhaustion the night’s gleanings with the sure calm now maintained by my dry brittle soul. This calls for strength, you bums, all jump off the gravy-train of stupidity.
Fall to the game of your inheritance and shove to the hilt for salvation. I’m
within my rights, for deep are the roots and deeper its nourishment. Lovely life, where is thy sting? Dark facts I put to you; I’ve been cut off. I had to go to San Luis O. for the last 10 days. I earned but 180 bucks in the
last 5 weeks. The fixing of the car for east trip is proving well nigh impossible. If I must travel by train, transportation of tape recorder big problem, but on the soul of death I vow to have you and this
fragile instrument wedded within the month. I must tomorrow find job here in SF to get money for trip. Carolyn is about to starve, as is Diana. Poverty looms big, to be even solvent by May will entail huge effort and larger luck. If I can’t have car in NY for our winter tour of sad Galloway I shall surely shed tears for first time since mother’s death in 1936. There are 27 separate items I must attend before Jan.1, this is but SF, too, Booming south may prove necessary with loss of time and more of plans,
there is yet hope all can be made well, actually the whole thing hinges on car and money. So, bah! Enfolded in bleak Obispo and blank Hinkle’s household for the second time in less than 2 months, 3 weeks and 10
days respectively, I had nothing to blast but Melville and Céline.