The Metaphysicist (Kill Your Darlings) | Featured

fling me into the sun

Overall, we had a great time at Jack and Edie's house, besides the occasional nuance in their disposition towards each other, but that's to be expected from dinner parties, events meant to draw people together or divide them as if there's a valley of lava between two guests, but thankfully we did not part so thoroughly, and I think it's safe to say that Lucien, Edie, Jack, and I are all on good terms after that meal.

It's also safe to say that Edie won't be knocking on my door (not ringing the doorbell, of course) at any point in the future, unless it's to deposit kind hearted gifts and not use them as a way to investigate what I've been doing in my new life of metaphysics and falling in love with a fucking librarian, which is beneficial to my raging paranoia who always assumes that people are out to get me and nothing else, but it will be quieted at least a bit by the slack Edie will provide me with after her dinner party, and I will no longer have to worry about cleaning up the apartment for her arrival, allowing it to grow as messy as it needs before it snaps at the borders of a trail to the necessary places like the kitchen or the bedroom or the front door.

So I really think that we gained some benefits by showing up at Jack and Edie's dinner party, whether Lucien can see that or not, and I am so glad that I was able to go without putting up a fight as my companion did in sometimes the subtlest of fashion so as to replicate the politeness of the hosts almost in his trademarked satirical way, and though there's no fruit to be harvested from returning to Jack and Edie's home for another dinner party, their first one was perfect for rebuilding our friendship, and I hope that it will stay like that, in the trees of sweet harmony.

However, Lucien Carr is a man to complain about almost everything, despite professing his love for the universe on a daily basis, and this time his complaint is that the politeness of Jack and Edie's house is clogging up his senses, and returning to a slightly less stuffy place won't help at all, because it's still a confined area where nothing can escape, and I really have no idea what he means by any of this, but he has suggested visiting the park, so if that works for him, than I'm all for it, I guess.

The nature is extremely pleasant as well, with the birds still flitting around the park like they're greeting every guest who stops by, even in the sharp wintertime of Paterson, New Jersey and rather all of New England, the patrons strolling along without a care in the world, those worries having been put off until they reach their home again and slump to the door in realization like Lucien and I eventually will, the crunch of crimson and vermilion and canary leaves dried by the fine china of a November chill under our sneakered feet, the weave of our fingers together as they swing through the density of winter with smiles digested by our reddened faces, and whether that's from the sharp air or from the embarrassment of being so close to one another, I have no idea, but it's lovely to be in this environment nevertheless.

I have noticed throughout our friendship that Lucien is absolutely convivial when he's outside at a time when he chooses to be outside. For example, when we walked to the library to find a book for an article whose topic I didn't know but was about to discover, Lucien was twirling across the sidewalk and giggling like the little kid that he is. The location of his travels wasn't all that pleasant, a place where monotony strides through the walls upon walls of knowledge in paper form without a single riot against it, yet Lucien was terribly jovial when he was venturing there. As people preach in their car commercials in order to sound inspirational, it's not the destination but the journey along the way that matters the most, which is only true for humans who believe that one option is absolute and the other option is inherently inferior to the alternate, but Lucien strives to be apart from the masses of humans, so he of course enjoys both the journey and the destination, absorbing it all as they come to him and as they wind through the pristinely golden threads upon his head like they're meant to be there, and Lucien views them as such.