Oct 22 130AM 1969
Two watches ticking in the dark, fly buzz at the black window, telephone calls all day to Florida and Old Saybrook,1 Lucien, Creeley, Louis,2 —“drinking heavily” and “your letter made him feel bad,” said Stella.3
All last nite (as talking on farm4 w/ Creeley day before) in bed brooding re Kerouac’s “After Me, the Deluge”5 at middle of morning watch I woke realizing he was right, that the meat suffering in the middle of existence was a sensitive pain greater than any political anger or hope, as I also lay in bed dying
Walking with Gregory6 in bare treed October ash woods—winds blowing brown sere leafs at feet—talking of dead Jack—the sky an old familiar place with fragrant eyebrow clouds passing overhead in Fall Current—
He saw them stand on the moon7 too.
At dusk I went out to the pasture & saw thru Kerouac’s eyes the sun set on October universe, the first sun set on the first dusk after his death.
Didn’t live much longer than beloved Neal8—another year & half—
Gregory woke at midnite to cry—he didn’t really want to go so soon—from the attick—
His mind my mind many ways—“The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind”9—
Our talk 25 years ago about saying farewell to the tender mortal steps of Union Theological Seminary10 7th floor where I first met Lucien—
Tonite on phone Lucien said, having quit drinking in [Indecipherable] several weeks ago, he’d had convulsions split his nose & broke out all his false front teeth, chewed his tongue almost in half—unconscious taken to hospital11—
Jack had vomited blood this last weekend would not take doctor care, hemorrhaged, & with many dozen transfusions lay in hospital a day before dying operated under knife in stomach—
