The Prose of Alfred LichtensteinLichtenstein, Alfred
General
The Prose of Alfred Lichtenstein
Lichtenstein, Alfred
Fiction
For me the erotic discussions had gradually become detestable. I
always try to free myself. I am seldom successful. I know that an
understanding woman might free me. This one wouldn't: Miss Neumann
is a silly young thing, eighteen years old. The cook is an immature
bitch.
The housemaid Minna is arrogant; she is unapprochable, unjustifiably.
Perhaps the head of the institution, Dr. Mondmilch, is a possibility,
but when I try to make my valleys and peaks comprehensible to her,
looking with longing into her eyes, give myself to her--she is
distant, takes notes, has secret talks with Lenzlicht, prescribes
tranquilizers. She is very brutal, I sometimes believe that she
loves me secretly. She seems to be unhappy; I like her.-Yesterday I
had to interrupt my writing, because the fat idiot Backberg called me
to the table. I sit next to the Russian Recha. She likes to pinch
my leg; she says I'm too fat. She kisses tall Lehkind, because he
looks like a skeleton. Anyway, I can't stand the vermin that have
been assembled here. There's trouble every day. In particular, the
very small seven-year old Max Mechenmal--an unusually insignificant
person--causes me unusual trouble. He does not like me, because he
is conscious of my superiority. He tries in every way to make me
look ridiculous. He is deceitful and cowardly. No one finds him
nice. He likes nothing better than to provoke us against each other,
to spread angry gossip, and to do as much damage as possible. He
knows how to stay in the background, to disappear at the right moment.
-Once I was writing, suspecting nothing bad, in our spacious bath and
w.c. (here I was safe from surprises) a longer work on the "Hoax of
Genius". I explained that genius is a title, not a quality. That
fact is often overlooked, and engenders great confusion. The name is
accidental, generally suspicious. Whoever is called a genius is
therefore not a brilliant person. Brilliant people usually do not
attain the title, which is awarded by the crowd. The most brilliant
people of all time flowered in madhouses and prisons. Someone who is
understood by thousands of
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