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1
349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
321
March
11.
The
Graph
of
Temperament
In
this
Journal,
my
pen
is
a
delicate
needle
point,
tracing
out
a
graph
of
temperament
so
as
to
show
its
daily
fluctuations:
grave
and
gay,
up
and
down,
lamentation
and
revelry,
self-love
and
self-disgust.
You
get
here
all
my
thoughts
and
opinions,
always
irresponsible
and
often
contradictory
or
mutually
exclusive,
all
my
moods
and
vapours,
all
the
varying
reactions
to
environment
of
this
jelly
which
is
I.
I
snap
at
any
idea
that
comes
floating
down,
particularly
if
it
is
gaudy
or
quixotic,
no
matter
if
it
is
wholly
incompatible
with
what
I
said
the
day
before.
People
unpleasantly
refer
me
back,
and
to
escape
I
have
to
invent
some
sophistry.
I
unconsciously
imitate
the
mannerisms
of
folk
I
am
particularly
taken
with.
Other
people
never
fail
to
tell
me
of
my
simulations.
If
I
read
a
book
and
like
it
very
much,
by
a
process
of
peaceful
penetration,
the
author
takes
possession
of
my
whole
personality
just
as
if
I
were
a
medium
giving
a
sitting,
and
for
some
time
subsequently
his
ideas
come
spurting
up
like
a
fountain
making
a
pretty
display
which
I
take
to
be
my
own.
Other
people
say
of
me,
"Oh!
I
expect
he
read
it
in
a
book."
I
am
something
between
a
Monkey,
a
Chameleon,
and
a
Jellyfish.
To
any
bully
with
an
intellect
like
a
blunderbuss,
I
have
always
timidly
held
up
my
hands
and
afterwards
gnashed
my
teeth
for
my
cowardice.
In
conversation
with
men
of
alien
sentiment
I
am
self-effacing
to
my
intense
chagrin,
often
from
mere
shyness.
I
say,
"Yes
...
yes
...
yes,"
to
nausea,
when
it
ought
to
be
"No
...
no
...
no."
I
become
my
own
renegade,
an
amiable
dissembler,
an
ass
in
short.
It
is
a
torture
to
have
a
sprightly
mind
blanketed
by
personal
timidity
and
a
feeble
presence.
The
humiliating
thing
is
that
almost
any
strong
character
hynotises
me
into
complacency,
especially
if
he
is
a
stranger;
I
find
myself
for
the
time
being
in
really
sincere
agreement
with
him,
and
only
later,
discover
to
myself
his
abominable
doctrines.
Then
I
lie
in
bed
and
have
imaginary
conversations
in
which
I
get
my
own
back.
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