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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
152
Nietzsche
in
a
newspaper
I
read
to-day:
"For
myself
I
have
felt
exceptionally
blest
having
Hell's
phantoms
inside
me
to
thrust
at
in
the
dark,
internal
enemies
to
dominate
till
I
felt
myself
an
ecstatic
victor,
wrenching
at
last
good
triumphant
joys
thro'
the
bars
of
my
own
sickness
and
weakness--joys
with
which
your
notions
of
happiness,
poor
sleek
smug
creatures,
cannot
compare!
You
must
carry
a
chaos
inside
you
to
give
birth
to
a
dancing
star."
But
Nietzsche
is
no
consolation
to
a
man
who
has
once
been
weak
enough
to
be
brought
to
his
knees.
There
I
am
and
there
I
think
I
have
prayed
a
little
somehow
to-day.
But
it's
all
in
desperation,
not
in
faith.
Internal
chaos
I
have,
but
no
dancing
star.
Dancing
stars
are
the
consolation
of
genius.
October
12.
Am
better
to-day.
My
better
self
is
convinced
that
it
is
silly
and
small-minded
to
think
so
much
about
my
own
puny
destiny--especially
at
times
like
these
when--God
love
us
all--there
is
a
column
of
casualties
each
day.
The
great
thing
to
be
thankful
for
is
that
I
am
alive
and
alive
now,
that
I
was
alive
yesterday,
and
even
may
be
to-morrow.
Surely
that
is
thrilling
enough.
What,
then,
have
I
to
complain
of?
I'm
a
lucky
dog
to
be
alive
at
all.
My
plight
is
bad,
but
there
are
others
in
a
worse
one.
I'm
going
to
be
brave
and
fight
on
the
side
of
Nietzsche.
Who
knows
but
that
one
day
the
dancing
star
may
yet
be
born!
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