'every word twisted in the hands of the spirits... a spear turned against the speaker'

monday 12th june 1871 

kilvert travelled with his father to north wales. 

just before barmouth junction the train was hailed by people who 'had influence enough to hail the train as if it were an omnibus... 

from barmouth junction leaving the sea we travelled up the beautiful valley to dolgelly (dolgellau) beside the noble estuary of the mawddach.' 

there they stayed at the golden lion. (now turned into flats). 

kilvert has a plan to walk up over cader idris (cadair idris) the next day. (more tomorrow)

'I have never thought of writing as a profession' says john berger, 'fortunately anyone can take up the activity' he continues, a little later. 

horsemouth has been reading john berger's landscapes (well, in an uncorrected page proofs copy). figures appear and disappear, old acquaintances - rosa luxemburg, walter benjamin, roland barthes, ernst fischer, and some horsemouth hasn't heard of before frederick antal, max raphael. berger imagines wandering round krakow with an old friend (now dead), they stop for cans of tyskie in the market hall (a nice touch). 

it is the anniversary of franz kafka's last diary entry (made in 1923 nearly a year before he died).

'more and more  fearful as I write... every word twisted in the hands of the spirits - the twist of the hand is their characteristic gesture - becomes a spear turned against the speaker. most especially a remark like this...' 

today a rainy day. not much can be done. horsemouth will endeavour to read.