don't listen to ian's bullshit and his list of pussified books ^^ the only book really worth reading now is by jack kerouac, entitled 'on the road'. jonny recommended it to me: its an american classic, and goddamnit it's brilliant. the guy wrote the original manuscript in a feverish 3 weeks of rapid typing, fuelled by a drugged-up high of benzedrine. apparently he felt that stopping to change pages would interrupt his 'kick-typing' style of flowing writing, so he taped a roll of paper together. after 3 weeks, he had a 120 foot long manuscript. this guy clearly is da man. he lived a life of travelling, drugs, sex, and jazz. life and language infused with the pulsating rhythms of fifties underground America and jazz - a exhilrating ride and read. here's a quote from the book to whet your appetites

the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centrelight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

oh and by the way, kerouac perished at the grand old age of 47 ^^