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 12.

... I looked into the mirror-like glass and met a stare from the reflected young face of a longhaired gent with sleepswollen eyelids—should be me, eh?—the glass slided by and having entered the reception hall I was given the key to a fivestar suite which I found in a disgusting mess but I knew all too well it was me who had left it that way ...

In the morning I went to the downhill town on the round of bread-calls with two loaf-tout cloth-bags.

On the way back, walking with a deliberate retardation (there was a whole hour until the Club opening time), I met Vladic, Valyo's brother.

The first handshake of the day.

Idling on I tried to find a peripatetic solution to that soul-in-transplanted-heart problem from the BHAGAVAT-GITA's perspective.

Conclusions were grim enough: the donor's death empties his/her heart of both the soul and the Parathma while the recipient's soul/Parathma system is thrown away with the invalid heart.

The operation results in a soulless being consisting of flesh only—a kind of a wholly organic robot.

<!-- If only the BHAGAVAT-GITA was correct as to the location of the soul in human body. Or, if there only exists a thing conventionally called the soul.-->

In the Main Square I entered the rounded terrace opposite the former CPSU DC Building and watched the snowclad distant mountains and the high pillar of smoke in the direction of Askeran.

At night and all the morning, cannonade noise was rolling from down there.

The Club was locked. Shamir gone.

I drew the duplicate key from my pocket and with calm pride opened the door.

The staff members kept out of my room today gossiping in the corridor.

I lunched alone and then went over to Underground and brought Sahtik and Ahshaut home.

I'd like them also see this sun shining gaily.

For Ahshaut's day nap, Sahtik took him back to Underground under the mother-in-law surveillance.

Sahtik planned to visit the Main Post and get the allowance for Roozahna. I was to keep her company and meanwhile hanged on at Underground's entrance.

From that place I spotted Valyo obviously heading towards our flat along the other side of the street. I called out for him.

He crossed over and wished to have a look at this Underground. I served as a silent guide while he was giving out his impressions. (The place was too crowded and dark and cold when compared to theirs, was his final conclusion).

Proceeding from the main tunnel into the room he broke an encouraging news: the Azeri offensive against Askeran was repelled; and
phedayees PHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter".
captured four Azeri tanks and a GRAD installation.

Then we three left the compartment. Valyo parted at the nearest street-crossing.

After receiving Roozahna's money Sahtik returned to Underground.

One page from Joyce.

Sashic brought a sack of flour by his car. Gavo, a good neighbor of Sashic's, was helping to haul the sack from the car trunk to our hall-aka-kitchen.

Speaking to me on the present situation, Gavo explained that we live in a time of anarchy when there is no state protection—the former Big Brother provides us with nothing but lip-service TV news programs reporting how many GRAD missiles hit this town on the day.

So, to be on the safe side, Gavo calmly reasoned on, Armenians had to win this war, and they would.

During the hour of guitar playing there started a GRAD bombardment. The volleys were not full-charged, from five- to ten-missiles at a time, yet with a stepped up frequency.

I had counted six such sprays to say nothing of single blasts and those by twos and threes.

The booming drumbeat continued well into the Yoga.

Supper.

Now, it's calm on the whole except for occasional gunshots in the town.

The water-walk's ahead.
Good night.

стрелка вверхвверх-скок