I don't want an elderly gentleman from Vienna with an umbrella inflicting his dreams upon me.

Solitude was corrupting me.

While a few pertinent points have to be marked, the general impression I desire to convey is of a side door crashing open in life's full flight, and a rush of roaring black time drowning with its whipping wind the cry of lone disaster.

Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don't stop to think, don't interrupt the scream, exhale, release life's rapture.

My mind speaks English, my heart speaks Russian, and my ear prefers French.

I need you, the reader, to imagine us, for we don't really exist if you don't.

I have the European urge to use my feet when a drive can be dispensed with.