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



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

head header

December 18.

The alarm clock awoke me at 2 a.m. I dressed and went out for water.

Dash it!

I am not the only wise guy in this here neck of the woods.

However, two or three water-carriers cannot be called 'a queue'.

During my shuttle goings-and-comings I watched a night missile attack—the languid flaming streaks of yellow silently gliding overhead to crash someplace in the town.

In the heights beyond Armenavan half of the night sky shimmered with ghostly crimson sent out by the giant gas torch from the main pipeline set ablaze.

At twenty-to-four in the morning my water-carrying was done.

From 9 to 12 a.m. I rendered one article at work.

Lenic came after the lunch break. He narrated of his vigil in Bread Factory tonight – queuing for three-and-half hours just to buy the regular quota of three loaves.

Arcadic, Head of Russian Section, asked me—just as a personal favor, you know—to render the manifesto of a newly stewed political party.

Sure, I was only happy to oblige my immediate boss but...

Oh, brother! What a mess! The toil of making some sense from burbling gibberish of ultra-patriotic students tripping up at pompous words without rhyme or reason in their mental diarrhea!

And only the concluding paragraph in the manifesto was a plain and clear threat of ruthless punishment to any would-be dissents as well as doing away with all the members lacking in strength.

<!-- Did they mean a purge of infiltrated impotents? -->

The local radio announced the gas supply to be cut off for stopping the leak from the blown up pipeline. So leaving the work place I collected our heater installed under my desk in the Renderers'.

I took it over to Underground because, according to Sahtik, the heater forked out at the recent distribution belied its mighty looks by poor performance.

In Underground I picked and brought home a masonry block-stone to make a substitute heater for my work place.
Fortunately, I happened to have a second-hand heating element.

Until my supper at seven p.m. I was carving passages in the stone to insert the glow spiral.

The job gave me an excuse for not having yoga today but, to tell the truth, I skipped it too readily. My eternal sloth.

It's ten past ten p.m. Ahshaut sleeps at home.

The absolute quietude outdoors is lit up by the giant gas torch mutely flaring from over Armenavan.

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