You could say in a vulgar Freudian way that I am the unhappy child who escapes into books. Even as a child I was most happy being alone. This has not changed.
What if the Soviet intervention was a blessing in disguise? It saved the myth...
But the wicked passions of men's hearts alone seem strong enough to leave...
The completely solitary self: that's where poetry comes from and it gets isolated by crisis and those crises are often very intimate also.
