another lover hits the universe

"Isn't he the finest sweetest fel-low in the world?" said Dean, punching me in the ribs. "Look at him. Look at him!" And Carlo began his monkey dance in the streets of life as I'd seen him do so many times everywhere in New York. indie rp for allen ginsberg of various text sources. sideblog

[beatenbeat-blog]

                     Another day, another hallucinogenic. 

      The streets of New York are bending and twisting their way through his mind       as he walks between them. Grey walls are suddenly filled with colour, and the       faces of the angry strangers who walk past him on the sidewalk have never       been so lively.

                                    He watches each with awe. 

              With wide eyes and a dopey grin, he strides               up to what he assumes to be a vision of his               addled mind. 

                            "The world wakes and waits for no-one.                              Not even the dead who walk among us."

[beatenbeat-blog]

       "You ever think about how I started off not liking you?                 And now you're all that keeps me going."

[poetvoyant-blog]

    ‘Yea? Have we made progress, Ginsy?’

[beatenbeat-blog]

              "Not about the poem."

   Nothing he's written has been good enough.

[poetvoyant-blog]

         And there was the voice he recognized; a face from the history he had so dutifully buried. His throat closed up— tight with anxiety, thoughts racing. But it couldn’t be. Of all people, it wasn’t Allen. There was no reason for them to cross paths. They shouldn’t. But he couldn’t keep himself from turning in his chair, pen in hand, to follow the echo from his past. And there it was, staring him in the face. 

         And time stopped.

[beatenbeat-blog]

       Time in New York moves fast. He always struggles to keep up with the passing cars and chattering buzz of strangers on the sidewalk. He finds solace in those beautiful substances that he was introduced to by an angel, and uses them to slow time down so he can grasp at the beauty of things. 

       His eyes glazed over and his mouth curled into an odd smile, he looks around the room for the reality of the world. Along the way he finds a man whose soul was ripped from the very womb of the Devil by an angel with hands that glimmered in the sunlight. He knew a man like that, once upon another life, and to be faced with such familiarity throws him off. 

       All he does is stare, skin tingling with almost-excitement, at the strange glory of things he thought he'd left behind.

[therealrashid]

they say that some things once you’ve loved them become yours forever, but that law by right is mine and does not apply to boys who swallow wine fed by men with sunken eyes despite not liking the taste: speak not with haste, but think on these things before you spew forth drivel unworthy of his grace, and earn yourself his scorn. i, my friend, am weary and worn from following, loyal, like a pup, so tilt your head and suckle his cup - just don’t come crying when your time is up. he’s jealous for a fickle man, our dear Lu - he told me that he loved me - what did he tell you?

- i’m a breathing example of why you should run (and leave him all for me)

from David to Allen

S. R.

(via awhoech)

[beatenbeat-blog]

       He's been staring at the cup on the table for half an hour. Neal's been off with LuAnne for a while, and the last words Allen had heard was the ecstatic 'yes!' as Neal left the dingy New York apartment.

[poetvoyant-blog]

Now where was this going.

                        ‘—-And?’

[beatenbeat-blog]

        ‘The general topic... who will miss you after death?           And... how we leave behind virtually nothing?‘

 He has got a point, it's just taking him a while to get there.

[beatenbeat-blog]

      "hey, Lu? I've been thinking..."

[poetvoyant-blog]

                    ‘—-Yea.’

[beatenbeat-blog]

                 He nods. 

           ‘I've, uh. I've been thinking about Is It Far to Go?‘

[poetvoyant-blog]

        ‘Because it means I’m                        not whole on my own.’

[beatenbeat-blog]

    ‘You think you're whole without                                      friends? Family?‘

[poetvoyant-blog]

                ‘—-I don’t.’

[beatenbeat-blog]

         ’Why not?’

[poetvoyant-blog]

             ’—-Do you believe in soul-mates, Ginsy?’

[beatenbeat-blog]

        ’Sure. I mean, everybody does, right?’

[danedehaan]

[beatenbeat-blog]

First thought, best thought.

[beatenbeat-blog]

     "You can't stop the machine!" he yells, eyes bright and misty, recalling an old conversation he and Neal never got to finish. He smiles that odd smile of his, regardless of the odd looks he's getting from the people around him. He's not used to being alone when he's out on the town. Maybe he should head back home...

[beatenbeat-blog]

like for a thing?

[poetvoyant-blog]

      He wanted to be left alone. He never was. It haunted him, even now. Kammerer was dead, but he still had nightmares. Was it lingering fear? Guilt? Lucien killed him. Stared him in the face, seen the light leave his eyes. Left him to sink to the bottom of the Hudson. He was hardly prepared to deal with anyone. Least of all, a face from the past. A face he’d left behind.

      It was as if his heart had stopped. Before he could think that familiar name fell from his lips — natural as breathing.

                              ‘Ginsy.’

[beatenbeat-blog]

     All the running around with his head in the gutter did wonders to rid his mind of the beautiful broken angel that is Lucien Carr. He'd figured that part of his life was over, had almost smiled at the back of it. He'd learnt to let go. 

    And letting go brought an inspiration to his mind he'd never had before. He saw beauty in things he hadn't even considered before, had words flow through his fingers and lips. Mostly, he tried to impress Jack with these new found words, tried to shock him with poems of sex and buggering. He soon found this an impossible task. 

     Then he met Neal Cassady. The light in the dark. Allen fell in love again, only this time sex was part of the equation, and he soon forgot about trying to shock, and wrote about that instead. Neal became the new angel in his life, an angel he was allowed to touch. 

   Sometimes life brings you unexpected relief from pains of the past, and sometimes it throws them in your face when you least expect them. Seeing Lucien, the coveted golden boy, is like opening an ancient wound. 

            ‘I should go. ‘ 

[beatenbeat-blog]

like for a thing?