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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
230
June
28.
Saw
my
brother
A----
off
at
Waterloo
en
route
for
Armageddon.
Darling
fellow.
He
shook
hands
with
P----
and
H----,
and
P----
wished
him
"Goodbye,
and
good
luck."
Then
he
held
my
hand
a
moment,
said
"Goodbye,
old
man,"
and
for
a
second
gave
me
a
queer
little
nervous
look.
I
could
only
say
"Goodbye,"
but
we
understand
each
other
perfectly....
It
is
horrible.
I
love
him
tenderly.
June
29.
Sleep
Sleep
means
unconsciousness:
unconsciousness
is
a
solemn
state--you
get
it
for
example
from
a
blow
on
the
head
with
a
mallet.
It
always
weightily
impresses
me
to
see
someone
asleep--especially
someone
I
love
as
to-day,
stretched
out
as
still
as
a
log--who
perhaps
a
few
minutes
ago
was
alive,
even
animated.
And
there
is
nothing
so
welcome,
unless
it
be
the
sunrise,
as
the
first
faint
gleam
of
recognition
in
the
half-opened
eye
when
consciousness
like
a
mighty
river
begins
to
flow
in
and
restore
our
love
to
us
again.
When
I
go
to
bed
myself,
I
sometimes
jealously
guard
my
faculties
from
being
filched
away
by
sleep.
I
almost
fear
sleep:
it
makes
me
apprehensive--this
wonderful
and
unknowable
Thing
which
is
going
to
happen
to
me
for
which
I
must
lay
myself
out
on
a
bed
and
wait,
with
an
elaborate
preparedness.
Unlike
Sir
Thomas
Browne,
I
am
not
always
so
content
to
take
my
leave
of
the
sun
and
sleep,
if
need
be,
into
the
resurrection.
And
I
sometimes
lie
awake
and
wonder
when
the
mysterious
Visitor
will
come
to
me
and
call
me
away
from
this
thrilling
world,
and
how
He
does
it,
to
which
end
I
try
to
remain
conscious
of
the
gradual
process
and
to
understand
it:
an
impossibility
of
course
involving
a
contradiction
in
terms.
So
I
shall
never
know,
nor
will
anybody
else.
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