I'm working on the world, revised, improved edition, featuring fun for fools blues for brooders, combs for bald pates, tricks for old dogs.

At the very beginning of my creative life I loved humanity. I wanted to do something good for mankind. Soon I understood that it isn't possible to save mankind.

Something doesn't start at its usual time. Something doesn't happen as it should. Someone was always, always here, then suddenly disappeared and stubbornly stays disappeared.

Secret codes resound. Doubts and intentions come to light.

I cannot speak for more than an hour exclusively about poetry. At that point, life itself takes over again.

Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.

No one in my family has ever died of love. What happened, happened, but nothing myth-inspiring.