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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
134
May
3.
Bad
heart
attack
all
day.
Intermittency
is
very
refined
torture
to
one
who
wants
to
live
very
badly.
Your
pump
goes
a
"dot
and
carry
one,"
or
say
"misses
a
stitch,"
what
time
you
breathe
deep,
begin
to
shake
your
friend's
hand
and
make
a
farewell
speech.
Then
it
goes
on
again
and
you
order
another
pint
of
beer.
It
is
a
fractious
animal
within
the
cage
of
my
thorax,
and
I
never
know
when
it
is
going
to
escape
and
make
off
with
my
precious
life
between
its
teeth.
I
humour
and
coax
and
soothe
it,
but,
God
wot,
I
haven't
much
confidence
in
the
little
beast.
My
thorax
it
appears
is
an
intolerable
kennel.
May
10.
In
a
very
cheerful
mood.
Pleased
with
myself
and
everybody
till
a
seagull
soared
overhead
in
Kensington
Gardens
and
aroused
my
vast
capacities
for
envy--I
wish
I
could
fly.
May
24.
In
L----
with
my
brother,
A----.
The
great
man
is
in
great
form
and
very
happy
in
his
love
for
N----.
He
is
a
most
delightful
creature
and
I
love
him
more
than
any
one
else
in
the
wide
world.
There
is
an
almost
feminine
tenderness
in
my
love.
We
spent
a
delightful
day,
talking
and
arguing
and
insulting
one
another....
At
these
seances
we
take
delight
in
anaesthetising
our
hearts
for
the
purposes
of
argument,
and
a
third
person
would
be
bound
to
suppose
we
were
in
the
throes
of
a
bitter
quarrel.
We
pile
up
one
vindictive
remark
on
another,
ingeniously
seeking
out--and
with
malice--weak
points
in
each
other's
armour,
which
previous
exchange
of
confidences
makes
it
easy
to
find.
Neither
of
us
hesitates
to
make
use
of
such
private
confessions,
yet
our
love
is
so
strong
that
we
can
afford
to
take
any
liberty.
There
is,
in
fact,
a
fearful
joy
in
testing
the
strength
of
our
affection
by
searching
for
cutting
rejoinders--to
see
the
effect.
We
rig
up
one
another's
cherished
ideals
like
Aunt
Sallies
and
then
knock
them
down,
we
wax
sarcastic,
satirical,
contemptuous
in
turn,
we
wave
our
hands
animatedly
(hand-waving
is
a
great
trick
with
both
of
us),
get
flushed,
point
with
our
fingers,
and
thump
the
table
to
clinch
some
bit
of
repartee.
Yet
it's
all
smoke.
Our
love
is
unassailable--it's
like
the
law
of
gravitation,
you
cannot
dispute
it,
it
underlies
our
existence,
it
is
the
air
we
breathe.
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