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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
138
June
10
Lupus
It
is
raining
heavily.
I
have
just
finished
dinner.
In
the
street
an
itinerant
musician
is
singing
dolefully,
"O
Rest
in
the
Lord."
In
my
dirty
little
sitting
room
I
begin
to
feel
very
restless,
so
put
on
my
hat
and
cloak
and
walk
down
towards
the
Station
for
a
paper
to
read.
It
is
all
very
dark
and
dismal,
and
I
gaze
with
hungry
eyes
in
thro'
some
of
the
windows
disclosing
happy
comfortable
interiors.
At
intervals
thunder
growls
and
lightning
brightens
up
the
deserted
dirtiness
of
the
Station
Waiting
Room.
A
few
bits
of
desolate
paper
lie
about
on
the
floor,
and
up
in
one
corner
on
a
form
a
crossing-sweeper,
motionless
and
abject,
driven
in
from
his
pitch
by
the
rain.
His
hands
are
deep
in
his
trousers'
pockets,
and
the
poor
devil
lies
with
legs
sprawling
out
and
eyes
closed:
over
the
lower
part
of
his
face
he
wears
a
black
mask
to
hide
the
ravages
of
lupus....
He
seemed
the
last
man
on
earth--after
every
one
else
had
died
of
the
plague.
Not
a
soul
in
the
station.
Not
a
train.
And
this
is
June!
June
15.
Measuring
Lice
Spent
the
day
measuring
the
legs
and
antennæ
of
lice
to
two
places
of
decimals!
To
the
lay
mind
how
fantastic
this
must
seem!
Indeed,
I
hope
it
is
fantastic.
I
do
not
mind
being
thought
odd.
It
seems
almost
fitting
that
an
incurable
dilettante
like
myself
should
earn
his
livelihood
by
measuring
the
legs
of
lice.
I
like
to
believe
that
such
a
bizarre
manner
of
life
suits
my
incurable
frivolousness.
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