Miller’s close friend, author Lawrence Durrell, was severely disappointed in Sexus. In a letter dated September 5, 1949, he wrote that Miller was lost "in this shower of lavatory filth which no longer seems tonic and bracing, but just excrementitious and sad."
"I am trying to reproduce in words a block of my life which to me has the utmost significance – every bit of it," Miller responded. "Since 1927 I have carried inside me the material of this book. Do you suppose it's possible that I could have a miscarriage after such a period of gestation? ... But Larry, I can never go back on what I've written. If it was not good, it was true; if it was not artistic, it was sincere; if it was in bad taste, it was on the side of life."
Yes, the above exchange of the two writers has had an effect on you, an aspiring writer. You celebrate the magic of words properly employed. You are on the side of life, this side of paradise.
You recall the words of Nietzsche in his Ecce Homo (How One Becomes What One Is). It is an autobiography, the likes of which didn't appear before or have not appeared since then. Deliberately antagonistic and provocative, Nietzsche supersedes the conventions of the genre. He is in your face, shouting and screaming and stretching his views to combative and poetic extremes. His life is that of an artistic and philosophical anti-hero whose life is a self-conscious, painful, and lonely journey of self-transcending . If you have to brag, brag like Nietzsche, boldly and with no reservation. You must be convinced of your own greatness. And fuck false social conventions of modesty and moderation while you're bragging. With Nietzsche, Excess is good. Nothing exceeds and succeeds like Excess. You scream until you can scream no more and the remainder of your life is confined and condemned to silence, a fitting conclusion to a solitary man.
A mad man is not necessarily a stupid man. He could be just different and ahead of his times. He looks around him and he laughs. The world is indeed peopled more by monkeys than real men. Only monkeys would believe in a God and an Afterlife. Only monkeys would be vain and stupid and fearful of truths and guilty of self-projections.
When you interact with folks on the Net, you realize that most of them are so fucking dumb and ignorant that the situation is pathetic and laughable when these motherfuckers don't know how to keep their stupid mouths shut. As monkeys and dogs, they must holler and bark. Yet some of them in stupid fits of anger and rationalization, dismiss others as "stupid failures". Now you understand why Hitter was into genocide and eugenics. Man is a stupid but vain animal, deserving both contempt and wariness. The moment you view humans strictly in animal terms, you know your alienation from them is total and complete. You are no longer in flight from them. To you, they don't even exist as real humans. They are sub-humans to you. If you could, you would expedite their departure from this world, you would put an end to their useless, subhuman, despicable existence.
On the way to work this afternoon, an interview of a professor of philosophy reinforced what you have known about consciousness and your own thinking of what a gifted human you are in the areas of metaphysics and consciousness. Either a human knows about these areas or his mind is shut off, blocked off from understanding these matters and has to resort to the crutch called "God" to explain the mysteries of the existence and the universe.
(To be continued)
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