With me it’s always pain or pleasure. Always fleeing or diving headfirst. I said that if I changed the plans, I would be accepting defeat. So what? I’ll say it as straightforward as possible: Ten years ago, I left my best friend to die on the battlefield. I never accepted that defeat. I simply evaded it. And now I want to do the same with this seemingly much more foolish situation. Now, it’s only about my character; there are no lives involved besides mine. I want to lose and not accept. This is pure evasion — again. Fuck it! I’m going to lose, but I’m going to change and adapt. I should have done it ten years ago. I’m going to start doing it now.
The problem is not now. The problem is when I begin things. I praise Reason above all else simply because men always covet what they lack. All I do is out of sheer enthusiasm — Bacchean enthusiasm proper, as if I were naked at the top of a mountain, participating in an orgy of blood, sex and wine, shouting at the gods, clamoring for power, vision, life, death. I disguise blind emotion through cold reasoning, and I lie — to myself, to family and friends, to you.