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



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

head header

March 7.

In the morning I went to the Site.

The White Silence. Das veschneit Märchenland.

Until twelve a.m., I was constructing a chute on the gorge slope for clay-tipping in the planned lay-out toil.

The snow was falling all the day on the slushy sidewalks and streams of dirty water running down the roads.

And, all the day, a heavy cannonade was thundering in the direction of Askeran producing the all too well-known sickening feeling inside my belly.

After lunch, I did one page from Joyce.

Two hours of guitar-playing.

Ahshaut awoke after his day nap and played it too in a style of the future.

At six p.m., instead of Yoga, I went uphill to Aram, my brother-in-law.

His mother, worried by his constant loneliness after his wife and children had flown to Yerevan, suggested me to invite him to our place.

The invitation he declined expressly; so, to soften his solitude, I stayed with him playing backgammon for more than two hours.


Escorted the family over to Underground.

The water-walk is ahead and then the two-word prayer:
"Good night".

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