The Metaphysicist (Kill Your Darlings) | Featured

o shit farewell

"So, Allen, how have you been holding up?" Edie inquires, her well groomed finger tapping on her teacup to provide the room with its only rhythm when life has been dulled since Lucien's passing, when I have been alone in the apartment.

It's been a month since Lucien willingly stepped in front of an automobile and was thus killed by it, and my grief of earlier times, where I scorned the universe and for David Kammerer in both of their actions that led to this, has now lapsed into a different sort of grief that perhaps wouldn't be considered grief any longer, where I remember Lucien as a pleasant figure in my life, which he was until the hazy lense of mourning was slid overtop of him for as long as it took for me to move on, and all that remains now is appreciation for a watershed idol in my life.

But no matter how forcefully I try to convince myself that I have preserved Lucien the way he would've wanted to be preserved in the minds of his friends, there are still drabbles of melancholy that originate from the fact that he has not been here for over four weeks and will never be back to see me die with him, and I might as well be alone forever, because although so many people will tell you that there is always someone else, no one on this entire planet can compare to the extraordinary Lucien Carr, and even if someone could compare, I would reject them still, because to accept someone more beautiful than Lucien (which may or may not be impossible, depending on if I find this person) would be to deface his spot of prominence and all of its intensity to favor someone who simply does not offer the same things as Lucien when you consider how intricate each and every human being is. Many people will also tell me that Lucien would've wanted me to move on and find happiness in a life that should not be left remote and unexplored, and that may be true, but the answer lies in whether or not I can dig myself out of his indelible legacy to make room for another person, and I'm just not sure I'm prepared for that.

So I'll wash my face in stale water and still feel the sensation of his fingers upon my cheeks, and it's not like I really desire to let go of it anyway, because it reminds me that he is ever present, even in death, that he is the fondling of the curtains against the window as I pound at the keys of my computer to produce something not nearly as beautiful as him in a world where he does not exist anyway, at least not now that he tripped accidentally and was met with the misfortune of his landing spot being a black hole in which he was spaghettified and mutilated yet held hostage forever, and because he's in this black hole, he isn't here with me, even if I expect him to be right around the corner choking on nicotine and thinking it's the most hilarious thing in the world, but he's not, and he won't be ever again, because I saw his casket lowered into the dirt, and I saw his cold dead hands, and I saw everything that I shouldn't have seen but needed to have seen in order to carry on with my life and explore it like Lucien would've ordered me to.

Nevertheless, I can't carry on with my life, because I'm still in this godforsaken apartment that's smelling less and less like the citrus aroma of Lucien Carr and more and more like the sweat and ramen noodle concoction of Allen Ginsberg, and I have no intentions of leaving. Edie would have to fucking drag me out of this place for me to exit permanently anytime soon, because there's something comforting about this place. To leave it (or worse, to see it sold) would be torture, as there would be new owners who know nothing about what transpired here, the late night philosophy, the incessant clicking of Lucien's typewriter that I've preserved right where he deserted it by the window in the living room, the solace we found solely in each other that I refuse to let be broken, especially not by intruders, but Edie is persistent about getting me out of here.

"You could move back in with Jack and me, you know," Edie offers, but I stop her before I get caught up in the same impulsivity of change that occurred when I first met Lucien, a man who was struck down by that impulsivity and serves as a reminder that I should be careful first and foremost.