You're no priest to me, you don't know me, you have fragments, memories and a shotgun from Hemingway himself, Kafka's dreams and Dostoevsky's brilliance, Gogol and Pushkin, Turgenev and some Chekhov sprinkled in, the Russian soul is a dark place, Cormac, the ageless old snob, Faulkner and his casket in the river, a childhood of Poe and King, Moby Dick, how you love whales and the sea, I always mention the gray Baltic waves for a reason, the admiring eyes, kiss you on the eyes, kiss my eyes, Russian Beauty, Victor Erofeyev, a genius, lovely Emily, Sylvia and her bell jar, the recluse, J.D Salinger, Catcher in the Rye..a favorite..I've read them all, loves, I gave it to people who accuse and mock me, none know me, and you do not deserve my words or beauty.