Kill Your Darlings Page #2

So the pattern of our lives holds.

But who knows?

Under the right circumstances,

even he might change the world.

In the distance I heard a sound

The sound of marching men

So you met Lucien in the lunch line,

and now he's all that you can see.

Why don't you like me?

Because David was in the

same godforsaken line.

And then

Some ear job at the

bar just called me kid,

so I stole his drink.

That's Ogden Nash.

Who's Ogden Nash? - The

best-selling poet in the country.

Perhaps you've heard this one.

"The girl who is bespectacled

she may not get her nectacled

"But safety pins and bassinets... "

"Await the girl who fassinets. "

And that's what he's

selling? I'll kill him.

Aim for the throat.

No. We're not going to kill him.

Even better, we're going to

make sure nobody remembers him.

How many men started the Renaissance?

- Two.

- And the Romantics?

More, I suspect, than

this theory accommodates.

We're sending millions to Europe to

fight the fascists, but they're here.

- Metre and rhyme...

- And Professor Steeves.

Yes!

They're all guards in some prison.

Let's make the prisoners

come out and play.

Let's come up with

new words, new rhythms.

We need a name.

How did they come up with "Dada"?

Tristan Tzara jabbed a

knife into a dictionary.

Sh*t. So that's been done.

A literary revolution

without writing a word.

- Neat trick, Lu.

- Well, I'm listening.

What about Yeats?

The New Vision.

Harlem soldiers on the ground

Ginsy.

You're hired.

On parade

Keep it moving, gentlemen.

Stay in line.

F***ing perverts.

"In the dawn, armed

with a burning patience

"we shall enter the splendid city. "

- Sh*t.

- It's Rimbaud.

It's overwritten, I know. He's allowed.

No. My mother.

This is bad. This is very bad.

What is?

She's gonna be furious.

- Don't go then.

- You don't understand. I have to.

- Why?

- It's complicated.

Perfect.

I love complicated.

- Dad?

- Sign here. Greystone will alert you...

What's going on?

Your mother needs her rest.

Ma.

You can't do this.

Where were you?

I was outwith a friend.

- I called you.

- I know.

- It's time to go, Mrs Ginsberg.

- No, you're not leaving.

- He's already signed the papers.

- Dad, don't.

- It's for the best, son.

- Your best.

You know... it's for her best.

It's not for my best. It's

for her best. Look at her.

- No.

- Listen to her.

- He's not gonna...

- I know it's not. Don't...

Mom. Mom. Mom. Get off.

This is your fault.

Complicated enough?

At least you have her.

My father left me when I was four.

I've been thinking

about what Yeats said.

To be reborn, you have to die first.

What do you suggest?

I spent my entire life

making other people happy.

It's time I find happiness

the only way I see possible.

Oh, please.

Die already.

Where's the verve? The brio?

If it be that I am indulging

my self-consciousness

in justifying myself or if it be...

- That's a run-on.

- Don't edit me.

- The New Vision declares...

- "Proclaims. " It's better.

Proclaims the death of morality.

The expression of self.

The true, uninhibited,

uncensored expression of the self.

Words, boys. Empty words.

- Well, what do you suggest?

- The derangement of the senses.

What do you hate from

the pit of your gut?

- Institutions. Paterson, New Jersey.

- My father.

- Bingo.

And the Shakespeare...

All right.

Extraordinary men

propel society forward.

It is our duty to break the law.

- Really?

- It's how we make the world wider.

- You are an extraordinary man.

- Well, thank you.

Return of the Native.

Leviathan.

Tear 'em up, boys. Destroy

the old and build the new.

Chaucer. Gibbon.

Watch this.

Go.

What the hell is this?

Time slows down

as you drift deeper and

deeper into your cave.

We are exploring the

avenues of Allen's mind.

Dimly lit, I'm sure. What

have you done to my apartment?

Don't touch anything. We

need to write it all down.

Grab a pair of scissors. Get

this man a pair of scissors.

This is not your

revolution. This is my life.

What kind of life is it, David?

It's mine.

Not everyone gets an allowance.

Leave.

Just get out.

I need to speak with you.

Alone.

It only has to be five pages.

You make me too smart, they're

gonna suspect somethings up.

And get you sent back

to your mother again?

That would just be the end of you.

F*** you.

Kill your darlings,

your crushes, your juvenile metaphysics.

None of them belong on the page.

It is the first principle

of good creative work,

a work of fiction you will

deliver as your final exam.

Look.

Whitman Junior graced us

with his presence today.

"The New Vision.

"Extraordinary men propel us forward.

"It is our duty to break the law. "

Fantastic.

There's more life in those five pages

than in the dozens of bad

sonnets we've read in this class.

You want life?

You want the world on fire?

The war awaits.

What will it be?

"The rose that scents the summer air

"grows from my beloveds hair. "

Keep going. That's

my sonnet for Steeves.

We have the map.

We have the manifesto.

We need the work.

I was wrong.

Maybe you're not up for this after all.

- Show me your f***ing map.

- Stop.

No, there's nothing here because

Davids not hereto write it for you.

- It's complicated.

- I love complicated.

He is a professor working as a janitor

so he can be near his precious Lu-Lu.

He is a goddamn fruit

who won't let me go.

A fruit?

A queer.

Then...

You know, let's get rid of him.

Right now' I just need you to

write us something beautiful.

First thought, best thought.

Allen in Wonderland.

Pervitin.

The Germans called it

the "Wunderdroge. "

Prescribed for superhuman feats.

But beware of the side effects

which include sudden bouts of blindness,

diarrhea, heart palpitations

and a severe decline in moral standards.

Unbloomed stalwart.

Come out and play.

What the hell are you doing?

Writing.

But the words...

Oh, the words.

Yeah.

Lu, it's very rough.

The vision at last.

Can I see'?

- Where's Lu?

- He's out.

With a senior football player.

A writer.

And handsome, too.

James?

Jack. There it is.

Jack.

You're not allowed to be here.

That's odd since I'm the

only thing keeping him here.

Not any more.

Piece of advice.

You don't know Lu.

As soon as you think you

do, he'll find someone else.

Maybe he already has.

What, are you moving in?

Where have you been?

I found a real writer.

Already a million words under

his belt before Columbia.

You mean Jack?

Why didn't you tell me?

What, am I supposed to do newsreels?

What's that?

Oh, nothing.

If you're going to stay,

don't hog the blanket.

Why is Jack a real writer?

Once you meet him,

you'll see what I mean.

- Hey, Al.

- No.

- Come on.

- No.

No.

Fumble.

- Jack, what was that?

- The damn cat.

She painted it. Say nothing.

- Hey, when did this come?

- Today.

It's from Sammy. Where is he now'?

I don't know. Some battleship.

What do you think?

It's brilliant, no?

It's missing some periods and commas.

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