![]() ![]() To want to change the condition of affairs seemed futile to me nothing would be altered, I was convinced, except by a change of heart, and who could change the hearts of men? Now and then a friend was converted: it was something to make me puke. ![]() I never helped any one expecting that it would do any good I helped because I was helpless to do otherwise. It was a purely negative quality, a weakness which blossomed at the mere sight of human misery. I was sympathetic to a fault, but it was not sympathy that made me so. Everybody around me was a failure, or if not a failure, ridiculous. I felt that nothing would be proved, substantiated, added or subtracted by continuing an existence which I had not asked for. ![]() Even as a child, when I lacked for nothing, I wanted to die: I wanted to surrender because I saw no sense in struggling. There was nothing I wished to do which I could just as well not do. In everything I quickly saw the opposite, the contradiction, and between the real and the unreal the irony, the paradox. In the substrata, where the moon shone steady and opaque, it was smooth and fecundating above it was a jangle and a discord. From the beginning it was never anything but chaos: it was a fluid which enveloped me, which I breathed in through the gills. Once you have given up the ghost, everything follows with dead certainty, even in the midst of chaos. ![]()
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