The Fact That We Are

My Poems Getting Published In Russia Doesn't Make Me Feel In Any Fashion, To Tell You The Truth. I'm Not Trying To Be Coy, But It Doesn't Tickle My Ego.

After Having Exhausted All The Arguments On Behalf Of Evil, One Utters The Creed's Dictums With Nostalgia Rather Than With Fervor.

If One's Fated To Be Born In Caesar's Empire, Let Him Live Aloof, Provincial, By The Seashore.

What Concerns Me Is That Man, Unable To Articulate, To Express Himself Adequately, Reverts To Action. Since The Vocabulary Of Action Is Limited, As It Were, To His Body, He Is Bound To Act Violently, Extending His Vocabulary With A Weapon Where There Should Have Been An Adjective.

Persecution Mania Is Still Around. In Your Writing, In Your Exchanges With People, Meeting People Who Are In Russian Affairs, Russian Literature, Etcetera.