автограф
     пускай с моею мордою
   печатных книжек нет,
  вот эта подпись гордая
есть мой автопортрет

Stepanakert
                   Saga

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рукописи не горят!.. ...в интернете ...   

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    days:

March 15.

In the morning, I paid Nasic, the landlady, our rent for the second-half of the month.

That was Sahtik's or rather Roozahna's money; the last three monets I possessed were lost in the gambling with Aram.

I went to Lydia's after subsequent volumes of the ARCHIPELAGO. Yet her subscription was cut off by the war.

I thanked her and returned the initial volume.

Then I went to Aram to continue our game. I told him that I was flat broke and only had a handful of kopecks – he magnanimously decreased the stakes. After dramatic oscillations in luck we finished our game at noon almost in drought.

After lunch, one page from Joyce.

Guitar.

I tried to read Dumas-peré's THE THREE MUSKETEERS in Armenian for the sake of mastering the language. The dull preoccupation dumped me into the sin of daytime napping.

Then, Sahtik and Ahshaut came from Underground; she did some washing, while he stayed in the yard with Nuneh, Nasic's elder daughter.

Yoga: when in the last asana missiles began to explode and continued until the end of my supper that followed.

I felt my fingers tremble, I watched them closely and saw they weren't actually trembling, however, I couldn't get rid of the feeling.

Now, it's calm; I decided on no water-walk today. All the pails and pots are filled up with the melt-water, which falls in innumerous springs and streams from each and every roof in the town.

The most widespread picture of today—pails on the sidewalks to catch dazzling showers of snow water flickering in the sun and the crowds of vellum-like washings on the cloth-lines sagged by the weight.

As for the drinking-water, we have a bucket-and-a-half of it. Besides, there is no vessel to go out with.

So, it was indeed a day-off.
Good night.

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