The Metaphysicist (Kill Your Darlings) | Featured

motivating the gays since birth

I haven't been able to focus on my rhyme and meter article when Lucien Carr is the only thing on my mind, and when that's the case, it's extremely difficult to get him out of your mind, because if he's a singular deity in your thoughts, then the thought of removing him is plainly nonexistent, so for the past day I've been living inside of his charm replicated through fuzzy memories.

My readers aren't concerned from what I can tell, because only one has commented about an update that I can't provide them with, because Lucien Carr is stuck in my fucking brain, but I don't update every day anyway, so I still have time before the remainder of my readers are arriving at my doorstep with pitchforks and fire and signs protesting my laziness and my newly found infatuation with a librarian of all people.

I've tried stationing myself by the computer, fingers poised to type something my readers will enjoy -- though they enjoy everything I spew out of my whirring brain -- and I have been ultimately unsuccessful, as all I can do is imagine myself as a schoolgirl who writes their name blended with the name of their crush in their pink unicorn notebook, hoping that no one will see it but hoping that their crush will somehow get the hint from the opposite side of the fucking classroom.

There are certainly benefits to being a schoolchild, however, benefits that I have mentally enhanced since escaping from Columbia University where everything was all or nothing, and it was a high stakes environment where screw ups can send you to the bottom of the food chain, but that's college for you, and middle school was so much better in some way, because I didn't have to fret about producing an article every other day for people who can't do the research themselves and rely on me to bring them knowledge in their cramped schedules, which is becoming increasingly arduous when someone won't fucking leave you alone.

And despite Lucien being the only person on my mind for the past day, I've since then decided that revisiting the library is a sound idea, and I must've been drunk or something, even in my abstinence, because now I'm crossing the street towards the ancient building flooding with books and intellectuals and Lucien Carr, the mysterious writer hiding behind the shelves of things he already knows.

I'm not as nervous as I was yesterday, as I know now what I'm dealing with, however strange he is, so with the minimal reassurance of a full breath gliding into my lungs, I crack the door from its hinges and step into the welcoming library.

Immediately when I enter the facility, the aroma of ink to stamp books and the paired aroma of novel pages are wisps around my head to accompany every other delight of such a magical place. Now that I've acquired a deeper appreciation of libraries, each sight I absorb is more and more magnificent than it had previously been. The shelves scale to grand heights, the books murmur about their designated plots, and the atmosphere buzzes with the life of knowledge.

A huddle of scholars swarms a table in the middle of the room, some completely silent and some giggling to their friends at the absurdity that is none other than Lucien Carr, modeling on the table as a book is pinched between his fingers, with his sonorous speech reverberating against the walls so that every library patron may hear about his oddly fascinating topic about which he was reading when I visited here last: homosexuality in Greek mythology, except now he's including Roman mythology as well.

It's not that I should've expected anything less from someone like Lucien Carr, just that I assumed he wouldn't be this lively at nine o'clock in the morning, when most of the world is either drooling enough to save California, or about to murder someone to steal the energy they themselves don't have. But this is Lucien we're talking about. His bounty is endless.

"I'm not saying you have to like them," Lucien begins, somewhat of a drunken slur to his voice, though his posture suggests that he's absolutely sober and just deceitful, "but you have to admit that Patroclus and Achilles were pretty fucking gay, all right?"