From Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller
I remember distinctly how I enjoyed my suffering. It was like taking a cub to bed with you. Once in a while he clawed you- and then you were really frightened. Ordinarily you had no fear- you could always turn him loose, or chop his head off. There are people who cannot resist the desire to get into a cage with wild beasts and be mangled.
...she talks- a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy. I hear not a word because she is beautiful and I love her and now I am happy and willing to die.
It's in the blood now- misfortune, ennui, grief, suicide. The atmosphere is saturated with disaster, frustration, futility. Scratch and scratch- until there's no skin left. However, the effect upon me is exhilarating. Instead of being discouraged, or depressed, I enjoy it. I am crying for more and more disasters, for bigger calamities, for grander failures. I want the whole world to be out of whack, I want everyone to scratch himself to death.
I remember distinctly how I enjoyed my suffering. It was like taking a cub to bed with you. Once in a while he clawed you- and then you were really frightened. Ordinarily you had no fear- you could always turn him loose, or chop his head off. There are people who cannot resist the desire to get into a cage with wild beasts and be mangled.
...she talks- a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy. I hear not a word because she is beautiful and I love her and now I am happy and willing to die.
It's in the blood now- misfortune, ennui, grief, suicide. The atmosphere is saturated with disaster, frustration, futility. Scratch and scratch- until there's no skin left. However, the effect upon me is exhilarating. Instead of being discouraged, or depressed, I enjoy it. I am crying for more and more disasters, for bigger calamities, for grander failures. I want the whole world to be out of whack, I want everyone to scratch himself to death.
