You're my sweet charade

i like Jack Krouac a lottttt and i needed to write something like he did as though it were a just-found long-lost piece of a potential novel that was never published. how'd i do?

So he looked up at the bright night sky and man did he feel it. It's expansiveness almost pushed him to the ground, it's deep solidity pressed down on him and all he could do was look away to reduce the swelling he felt so urgently in his chest. How is it possible for one to feel so claustrophobic in the middle of a giant sand and air filled desert? Maybe it's the too-huge idea that that's all there is. Maybe its the sudden realization that this is what you are being offered, that right here right now you're being pressured to live and lead the kind of life you've always wanted too and that if you don't then you've wasted a day and in the end you're going to go home and think to yourself "Man, all i did was look at the stars today." But maybe that's ok. Maybe looking at the stars, and laying down next to old friends in the middle of a road that you know hasn't been driven on for days because you haven't seen a single car pass by, maybe doing that's all you're really suppose to do. Sometimes, the twinkling is too much for me, sometimes i need to close my eyes because i just can't in all the information at once, each bright speck telling me a different story, every new speck that appears when a could i didn't realize was there disperses. After a while everything starts blending together, the paint from the sky mixes with the edges of the mountians and enentually the deep blue of the lake bleeds into the tops of the trees on the very tops of the mountians and all i can do is marvel at the Almighty's masterpiece. I just think to myself of all the reasons I'm seeing such a sight, and I think about all the new colors that are being created right before my eyes. It's all a Watercolor and I dig it.