A recording of a letter from Henry Miller to Anaïs Nin, Paris 1939, read in my bed, Brooklyn 2009.
“To me the Diary is like the moving needle of a compass… The direction will always be due north, but the voyage will be elliptical, changes of climate rather than changes of latitude or longitude. In your interminable log only the handwriting remains unalterable… you are writing from a point beyond change. You are recording the constancy of change, the eternality of metamorphoses. You have chosen not to create but to record creation.”