Uma entrada de Abril, no dia 6.
. . .
The ideal life: doing only things which are indispensable.
Two ways to be — a saint or a thief.
My image of myself since age 3 or 4 — the genius-schmuck. I allow one to pay off the other. Develop relationships to satisfy principally one or the other.
. . .
Sartre (cf. “Les Mots”) the only other person
I know of who had this “certainty” of genius. Living already a posthumous life, even as a childhood. (The childhood of a famous man.)
A kind of suicide — with the “work” of
genius you know you’ll do when adult your tombstone. The most glorious tombstone possible.
Sartre was very ugly — and knew it. So he didn’t have to develop “the schmuck”
to pay off the others for being “the genius.” Nature had taken care of the problem for
him. He didn’t have to invent a cause of failure
or rejection by others. As I did, by making myself ‘stupid’ in personal relations. (For ‘stupid,’ also read ‘blind.’)