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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
157
"Ah!
yes,
it's
only
when
the
day
is
over
that
the
day
really
begins--what?"
October
23.
I
expressed
to
R----
to-day
my
admiration
for
the
exploit
of
the
brave
and
successful
Submarine
Commander
Max
Kennedy
Horton.
(Name
for
you!)
R----
was
rather
cold.
"His
exploits,"
said
this
bloody
fool,
"involve
loss
of
life
and
scarcely
make
me
deliriously
eulogistic."
I
cleared
my
throat
and
began,--
"Your
precious
sociology
again--it
will
be
the
ruin
of
your
career
as
an
artist.
It
is
so
interwoven
into
the
fibre
of
your
brain
that
you
never
see
anything
except
in
relation
to
its
State
value.
You
are
afraid
to
approve
of
a
lying,
thieving
rogue,
however
delightful
a
rascal
he
may
be,
for
fear
of
what
Karl
Marx
might
say....
You'll
soon
be
drawing
landscapes
with
taxpayers
in
the
foreground,
or
we
shall
get
a
picture
of
Ben
Nevis
with
Keir
Hardie
on
the
summit."
And
so
on
to
our
own
infinite
mutual
amusement.
The
English
Review
returns
my
Essay.
I
am
getting
simply
furious
with
an
ambition
I
am
unable
to
satisfy,
among
beautiful
London
women
I
cannot
get
to
know,
and
in
ill-health
that
I
cannot
cure.
Shall
I
ever
find
any
one?
Shall
I
ever
be
really
well?
My
one
solace
is
that
I
do
not
submit,
it
infuriates
me,
I
resent
it;
I
will
never
be
resigned
and
milky.
I
will
keep
my
claws
sharp
and
fight
to
the
end.
October
24.
Went
to
Mark
Lane
by
train,
then
walked
over
the
Tower
Bridge,
and
back
along
Lower
Thames
Street
to
London
Bridge,
up
to
Whitechapel,
St.
Paul's,
Fleet
Street,
and
Charing
Cross,
and
so
home.
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