'art has two constant and unending preoccupations: it is always meditating upon death and it is thereby creating life'

'brilliant though apocryphal' guiseppe di lampedusa describes the novels of daniel defoe as 'near diaries'. of stendahl's work he praises henri brulard (stendahl's account of his own early life and his real name). lampedusa was in mourning for the house where he was born (bombed by the allies when they took palermo in 1943), his wife (a psychoanalyst) suggested he write about it, from this and from his unvarying daily routine came his novel the leopard and a small collection of short stories that horsemouth now owns. (two stories and a memory - penguin 3/6 edition - 2 quid 50 along with the death of ivan illych leo tolstoy, signet classics edition - horsemouth probably has it already).

horsemouth was out west (having worked in the morning and gone for coffee) to transport his mother across the seaside towns and safely to his brothers residence in the heights of highams park - he'll be doing some of the return journey sunday (12.10 liverpool street - don't let him forget). he visited his favourite second hand bookshop (the one in the engagingly rundown bell street) - he's never taken the time to check out their music collection (he should do). it was a long week - horsemouth is looking forward to a lazy weekend.

anais is in therapy again. her subconscious has risen up in revolt against her life once again. atlantis has fallen (leaving only cape verde). but the crisis passes her life is good. she goes dancing with the haitians, at the end of the night the older ones get up and dance a minuet straight from the court of the sun king. it will be a long time before she leaves new york yet (not til the end of volume 4). maya derren will film anais and her friends, she will see herself.

her cover portrait is pure remedios varo, ethereal and detached she meets our gaze like some higher aspect of ourselves. she meets leonora carrington. 'for days I lived without my drug, my secret vice, my diary. and then I found this: I could not bear the loneliness.'