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 8.

Yesterday, during my visit to Aram our game was interrupted for a while by a visiting client who asked Aram to make a stock for his shotgun. Aram refused on the grounds of electricity absence.

This night in my dreams there was a

distribution of shotguns among the civilians yet no ammunition was handed out the distributors instructed the recipients to make the charges by themselves

(Maybe, this can account for those occasional shots in the streets every night? Are folks trying their home-made charges?)

then I was briskly striding along my childhood's backstreet—only the houses had become bigger—and a girl of ten was jogging behind me trying to keep up with my pace and at times she even managed to take over in short spurts and go ahead of me just to fall behind the next moment and each time when passing by she would look up at me but I couldn't make out her face

<!-- Was that Lilyana, my daughter by the second marriage?-->

In the morning the non-stop snowfall was still there.

I cleaned the yard—half of it.
Then Armo, the landlord, came downstairs demanding his share of the work.

I went uphill to Aram for another try at bringing him for lunch with us or at least to continue our game.

The first item in the agenda was abruptly turned down, the second one magnanimously accepted.

After lunch, Sahtik, Ahshaut and I went out to loaf about in the park.

The sun was peeping through the gaps in the clouds. Deep snow everywhere, about dozen inches deep to be sure. Lots of branches got broken under the snow weight, some trees bent down submerging their tops in the snowbanks.

We met Samvel, the noble (i.e. non-looting)
phedayee PHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter".
, who said his wife Mila and the daughters had flown by a helicopter to MinVody.

By the way, I was informed that Valyo's cousin, Edo, had flown on that business trip to Moscow he mentioned in our chat a few days ago with all of his family.

<!-- I'd better not keep my breath till he's back with the promised battery pack.-->

One page from Joyce.
The routine guitar-playing.

In the washing-hut I rinsed myself squatting in front of a pail on the floor and splashing handfuls of water up over me.

Yoga.
Supper.

Now, Sahtik and Ahshaut went over to Underground, however, just to visit her roommates down there.

She's going to stay home this night.

The water-walk is ahead and then, hopefully, a
good night.

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