sometimes late at night, i want to write and pretend im super deep and meaningful, what better way to use kill your darlings (film) as an outlet? All of these r from Lucien’s perspective because it means i get to use my fancy words, but at the same i cant hold a candle to his thoughts so if it gets weird, just hang on mate :P im probably using ; wrong lmao and a lot of grammatical errors i repeat stuff a lot too there is no order to this, its all just random bits of writing put together (1) Their complicated relationship taunted Lucien from a distance, because he was ever-present in the notion that Allen was intrigued in him in the wrong way. It was inappropriate for what the two of them were, maybe in different circumstances, in a different life, maybe he would've. If he weren't so spontaneous and abhorred even the slightest hint of being forced to be chained down by something so, permanent and that it didn't resemble a certain someone; then maybe, just maybe, he could love himself enough and return the same favour. While Lucien was always one for venturing long past the societal subject to normalcy, this was the exception that haunted him. A heavy drum in his heart that weighted him down, the notion that he could ever be seen in a light that glorified him into some sort of benevolent heaven sent was dreadful. It confused him, how Allen could somehow wade through his labyrinth of bullshit layered upon alter ego after another. He still sought out the beauty in this sewage, it was a skill Lucien himself lacked, and envied. Allen Ginsberg was in love with him, a queer. He'd used Allen's dangerous comfort by him against the other on occasions, primarily as pivoting points to tease him when the opportunity arose. However, he was unsure if Allen was aware, that he was too. He had already surpassed the thin line they often teetered on, and now Lucien could only kick himself for not seeing the signs earlier, preventing this whole dysfunctional relationship. This was not a fickle love story, this was a parasitic weed choking the plants beneath it to survive. He could only pretend as if he were completely unacknowledged about the state of their bloody and bruised romantics for so long. "Queer." He begun, the first word in what felt like decades of silence, a blessing to cut through the uncomfortable tension developing; and not particularly in the way he lived off of. "Aren't you? "Lucien's eyes never diverged off of the passing ocean in front of them, the breeze had crept down his spine but the bottling ball of nervousness was keeping him far more occupied than the chill of the wind ever could. He didn't know why that was the first word he uttered, why he would confront the elephant in the room that they both had to be so aware of and never mentioned. They could've lived in that silent acknowledgement for the rest of their days, Allen was a homosexual and did little to hide his attraction to Lucien. He would've had to be an idiot to not figure that out. Those three words was all he would allow himself to say for tonight, refusing to elaborate on how much he knew. Like how it was deliberately obvious that Allen was pining and Lucien didn't know how to go on about it without resorting to drastic measures. It was one thing to sneak off away with him one night past curfew to drink a little, it was another to so easily toss away his lively hood and any chance of success for someone like him. How could Allen ever love someone like him and consciously feel good about it too? He felt guilty, that was new and he quickly found a distaste to the new emotion. Lucien wished Allen could hate him in the way he did to David, maybe then he would leave, allow Lucien to rot and fester in the manifestations of his poor decisions. Hate him while he still could, before he sank too deep and got choked by the weeds, perhaps Allen would be able to return back to Columbia, write little poems that would conform to the rules of rhyme and meter. How was Allen simultaneously the most brilliant man he'd ever met and yet so reckless. How could he ever find the heart in himself to love Lucien Carr? Lucien's head hung low, miserable, but now with the absence of sobriety, his eyes swelled up, god he fucking regretted a lot and had dragged someone like Allen; wonderful Allen Ginsberg who had so much potential, into the dirt and stomped on his legs so he could never run again. "I'm sorry." (2) Lucien unable to place a label on what he and Allen were, lingered not too far from Jack; his mind half stuck on the leftover scraps of their previous moment where they'd just held each other. The more he kept Allen around, the more the line that was their friendship began to blur. He made friends spontaneously, he wasn't a long-term man, dropping people as he went along with the motions of life. Even better yet, if they resigned from the friendship first, beating Lucien to the inevitable separation he would've done anyways. Faces he'd met along the years began to blur a long time ago, the only ever prominent one being David. But pray as he might, no matter how much he drank or befriended, dropped, he could still see him as clear as day when he closed his eyes. At least that was how it was before meeting Allen, now he could see beyond the distance, past the mosaic blur. Perhaps it was the fresh abandonment, the lacking of support that had caused him to act so sporadically. Because he wanted to follow Allen to the edge of the Earth too, blindly; he wanted to trust again. The cold persevered, Lucien glanced at Allen manoeuvring through the crowd to the best of his abilities. Jack stood out, practically towered, he was like a light-house of sorts and that notion made him grin, just a little. As far as the eye could see, the ocean kissed the star-filled sky, without the lights around, it was easier to see the constellations. He was never an astronomy man, but he still found appreciation, perhaps more metaphysically. Lucien turned to look at Allen, just managing to make him through the dark and the dimly lit lanterns scattered across the boat. He didn't utter a word, just staring at the other. It was supposed to be a glance of reassurance, or at least a cry for one without the messy combination of loosely fitted words. It had yet to occur to him why Allen had kept around him so long with an undeterred devotion. It ached him, that Allen yearned for him so similarly. (3) "Christ Allen, you're not gonna make me say it are you? "There was that half-hearted attempted to make his voice appear as if it weren't cracking at the seams with all the loose threads coming undone. He inhaled a deep breath, shuddering as it exhaled past his lips and for Allen to hear just how low Lucien had finally descended, now he knew who he truly was; An imposter of an angel, feeding off of the whims of life for as long as his legs could still move and his mind could still rummage through the slums. "You shouldn't be here, or at least besides me. "It came out quieter than he'd preferred, he knew he sounded antagonistic with the way he was wording his sentences. But if it meant that this was the very last gift he could provide Allen, past the whirlwind of late night escapades and hungover mornings, through the poem recitations, he would do it. Allen would be safer else where, perhaps happier too, and it ached him to admit that he was finding himself developing an attachment of sorts. This would end badly, both of them knew it and yet they continued to light the flame on all their matches, waiting for it to burn their finger tips. He sniffed, still quite unsure how he was supposed to go on about with Allen's infatuation with him. To fall in love with Lucien Carr was a sin of its own, the many people that had came before Ginsberg had met unfortunate fates as a by product of hanging around him. Once they'd tasted the freedom he was able to provide at the sacrifice of all stability, the moment he diverged from them, they were no longer able to function on their own; always striving to try achieve that same feeling. Like David trying to revive their long overdue relationship that had ended the moment he'd left the state, resorting to desperate measures to glue onto him like a parasite. (4) Lucien was stuck, he had clung deep to the old habits of his past self, refusing to change in favour for an fruitless ambition that if he persevered for long enough, he may just be rewarded. His present self, the one enduring the brunt of it all and ever so aware of how Allen's fingers snuck around his back and pressed into him, thawing the chill that was beginning to bite at his skin. He knew he himself was aching for the fresh abandonment, a clean white slate after he'd so recklessly treated the last one. Without hesitation, he brought his own hand back up trying to desperately hide from the swimming memories still haunting him. How Allen tolerated him was a feat of its own. He wonders what Allen thinks of him too, after his grandiose displays of artificial knowledge that border on the line of pretentiousness to the common eye and could only be understood by someone who had bared in the same footsteps he'd followed to a path of misery. Because he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't actively aware of what he did had its share of consequences, he'd taught himself to strand all glimpses of attachment just so he could continue preserving his unhealthy habits. His conviviality is lost and he hopes Allen will still continue to stick around despite that, once realising his personality is made up of loosely threaded bits of false truths constantly spewing out of his lips. (5) Allen is a patient soul that has spent too much time for him, and it gets his deserted hopes, the ones he'd purposely buried under thick layers of impulsivity and the clumsy gambling of his life, running. He's shaky in his arms, the material of his coat is cheap and itchy against his cheek, the obvious signs of coming from a lower middle class, and he yet he still continues to caress himself into the embrace despite that. Ironically as a self proclaimed writer, he has yet to develop the skills to properly come up with the words to communicate his exact thoughts without masking it in some vague metaphor. He hopes Allen's brilliant mind can crack this puzzle, and understand Lucien's appreciation in more ways than one. His companion is generally standard in terms of physical aesthetics, he could see how some girls may lean into him, being more the type to bring back home to your parents. Lucien recognises Allen's partial-innocence is attractive to others, it was what drew him in the first place, a victim to Ginsberg's charms it seems; an untainted soul yet infected by the old verses of a generation blinded by their false intellectual merits. (Technically, he's dressed in the same traits as the generation he so abhorred, but the difference between him and them were that they were old bigoted fucks rooted in their own cages of confliction that only they may be right).  Their library heist had only continued to backed up his claim with the librarian being ever so inclined because of his inexperience. But Allen has now been grounded with a dozen experiences under his belt, and Lucien enjoys that his participation has now become a big contribution for the other's new mindset, for the better or worse. No longer an unbloomed stalwart, he loves how Allen thinks, how it almost mimics his and yet deviates in the best possible ways, enough to keep him on his toes, still enough space left to argue for a point. (6) Lucien parted his mouth, getting ready to spill the poetic injustices that he just so abhorred, that would eventually pivot into a vessel of knowledge in his own self-righteousness and inserting his own opinions into them regardless if they're relevant. A rhythmic knocking instead places itself where Lucien's voice should've been, it echoes from behind them and it sends chills down his spine. There's a beat of silence that remains between him and Allen, eyeing the door in hopes it was potentially the hall monitor or some lost freshman trying to find their way. "Lucien, please, I know you're in there.” It's David, pitiful and no longer sounding like the same man he did just a few weeks ago; when he was imbibing on the cups of egotism because he held all the strings to Lucien's feeble fate, regardless of where the gazelle escaped, the lion would follow until the prey felt weary. It was in his weakest moments would David present himself as a last resort, like some Guardian Angel. Lucien bats an eye at Allen, freezing up and looking for the next best thing to do. He's about half-way through packing and if he rushes to grab the remnants of his soul scattered around his dingy dormitory, then he might have a chance of escaping the circle. "I know I messed up, I'm really really sorry. Let me in, and we can talk about it, we can be just like we used to.” It's a leverage David uses often because he understands that's all that Lucien yearns, is for someone to rely on. David expects him to be sympathetic, attempting to twist the narrative of their bitter past into some lost-love story meant to fate in a happy ending. There's still a part of Lucien clinging onto what they used to have, this is what the result of their relationship was; still expecting sugar when given salt.

adding vocabulary in their writing that literally no one i promise no one will ever use irl but will still use it cuz pretentious is apparently our middle name

Literally the reason I wanna go to my top choice school summarized in a picture :/

I don’t either 🤡