Once in a while, though, he went on binges. He would sneak into bookstores or libraries, lurk around the racks where the little magazines were kept; sometimes he'd buy one. Dead poets were his business, living ones his vice. Much of the stuff he read was crap and he knew it; still, it gave him an odd lift. Then there would be the occasional real poem, and he would catch his breath. Nothing else could drop him through space like that, then catch him; nothing else could peel him open.
The character experiences cycles of indulgence in poetry, often seeking solace in bookstores or libraries, where he explores the world of lesser-known magazines. While he acknowledges that much of what he reads is subpar, he still finds value in the escapism it provides. Poetry acts as both a crutch and a comfort, revealing the complexities of his emotional landscape. His fascination lies particularly with deceased poets, as they represent a connection to the past that he finds alluring.
Occasionally, he stumbles upon a work that resonates deeply with him, offering an intense emotional experience that nothing else can replicate. This dichotomy of feeling simultaneously grounded and elevated speaks to his need for poetry in his life. Through these readings, he grapples with profound feelings, allowing the language of living and dead poets to engage with his innermost thoughts and vulnerabilities.
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All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
Race of Cain, ascend to heaven, And cast God down upon the earth!
