Entry 359 — Thoughts from the Niezschean Zone
I spend too much time in the grosswelt that I should be spending in the uberwelt. I shouldn’t care what language the nullinguists want to impose on the dinglers and the subdinglers of the grosswelt but only about the extreme few inhabiting the uberwelt. Or to inhabit the uberwelt. Where truth counts.
Behold, is it a coincidence only that my father was a Friedrich Wilhelm like Nietzsche? Albeit his name was anglicized to Frederick William. In any event, I am at the moment in my Neitzschean Zone. Even when not, though, I have trouble coming to terms with the grosswelt. It has been hostile to me in many ways, good to me in many ways. I sincerely would like to have increased its happiness. Directly. But (it would seem) the only world whose happiness I have any chance to increase, however small, is the uberwelt.
I suppose the only difference between the sane and the insane is that the sane keep the fact that they consider themselves Reality’s Primary Heroes to themselves, the insane do not. In other words, sanity equals cowardice.
My opening paragraph can be reduced to something more simple: that I ought to concern myself only with the language of poetics as a verosophy, or scientific-materialistic attempt to understand poetry, and ignore those uninterested in higher endeavors.
It was the elder of my two brothers that was named after my father, not I. How can that be? Nietzsche, by the way, had nothing to do with the presence of his names in our family. Except for me, no one in it has ever to my knowledge left the grosswelt–or even tried to. Not that any should have–our species could not survive had more than a very few done so. Survival depends on the plod, meaningfulness on the flight.