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1
349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
325
May
8.
This
and
another
volume
of
my
Journal
are
temporarily
lodged
in
a
drawer
in
my
bedroom.
It
appears
to
me
that
as
I
become
more
static
and
moribund,
they
become
more
active
and
aggressive.
All
day
they
make
a
perfect
uproar
in
their
solitary
confinement--although
no
one
hears
it.
And
at
night
they
become
phosphorescent,
though
nobody
sees
it.
One
of
these
days,
with
continued
neglect
they
will
blow
up
from
spontaneous
combustion
like
diseased
gunpowder,
the
dismembered
diarist
being
thus
hoist
upon
his
own
petard.
June
1.
We
discuss
post
mortem
affairs
quite
genially
and
without
restraint.
It
is
the
contempt
bred
of
familiarity
I
suppose.
E----
says
widows'
weeds
have
been
so
vulgarised
by
the
war
widows
that
she
won't
go
into
deep
mourning.
"But
you'll
wear
just
one
weed
or
two
for
me?"
I
plead,
and
then
we
laugh.
She
has
promised
me
that
should
a
suitable
chance
arise,
she
will
marry
again.
Personally,
I
wish
I
could
place
my
hand
on
the
young
fellow
at
once,
so
as
to
put
him
thro'
his
paces--shew
him
where
the
water
main
runs
and
where
the
gas
meter
is,
and
so
on.
You
will
observe
what
a
relish
I
have
for
my
own
macabre,
and
how
keenly
I
appreciate
the
present
situation.
Nobody
can
say
I
am
not
making
the
best
of
it.
One
might
call
it
pulling
the
hangman's
beard.
Yet
I
ought,
I
fancy,
to
be
bewailing
my
poor
wife
and
fatherless
child.
June
15.
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