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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
312
This
morning
how
desirable
everything
seemed
to
me!
The
world
intoxicated
me.
Moving
again
among
so
many
human
beings
gave
me
the
crowd-fever,
and
started
again
all
the
pangs
of
the
old
familiar
hunger
for
a
fuller
life,
that
centrifugal
elan
in
which
I
feared
for
the
disruption
and
scattering
of
my
parts
in
all
directions.
Temporarily
I
lost
the
hegemony
of
my
own
soul.
Every
man
and
woman
I
met
was
my
enemy,
threatening
me
with
the
secession
of
some
inward
part.
I
was
alarmed
to
discover
how
many
women
I
could
passionately
love
and
with
how
many
men
I
could
form
a
lasting
friendship.
Within,
all
was
anarchy
and
commotion,
a
cold
fright
seized
me
lest
some
extraordinary
event
was
about
to
happen:
some
general
histolysis
of
my
body,
some
sudden
disintegration
of
my
personality,
some
madness,
some
strange
death....
I
wanted
to
crush
out
the
life
of
all
these
men
and
women
in
a
great
Bear's
hug,
my
God!
this
sea
of
human
faces
whom
I
can
never
recognise,
all
of
us
alive
together
beneath
this
yellow
catafalque
of
fog
on
the
morning
of
the
announcement
of
world
famine
and
world
war!...
To-night,
I
have
lost
this
paroxysm.
For
I
am
home
again
by
the
fireside.
All
the
multitude
have
disappeared
from
my
view.
I
have
lost
them,
every
one.
I
have
lost
another
day
of
my
life
and
so
have
they,
and
we
have
lost
each
other.
Meanwhile
the
great
world
spins
on
unrelentingly,
frittering
away
lightly
my
precious
hours
(surely
a
small
stock
now?)
while
I
sit
discomfited
by
the
evening
fire
and
nurse
my
scraped
hands
that
tingle
because
the
spinning
world
has
wrenched
itself
out
of
my
feeble
grasp.
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