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:

December 28.

From 6.30 till 8.30 a.m., massive missile attacks and artillery shelling raged in the town.

I was ordered to take Ahshaut over to Underground.

To make me stay down there, they found some pressing maintenance work.

While going to and fro (ferrying tools, hot water, clothes etc.), I saw a missile blast some 100-meters away — like a jet of pale brown smoke leaped from a building's wall.

Till now thick black smoke hovers over houses on fire in Krkjan.

Missile salvos kept hitting the town all day long.

In a bubble of calm around the noon, Sahtik and I went out to the Theater to vote in the local parliamentary elections.

Normally, I keep away from politics, but after so massive a pressure to bulldoze me out of participation, I could do nothing else but go out and vote.

The weather was mild and warm.
However, its meekness could not bribe me into assuming a less rigorous attitude and I crossed out all the candidates in my vote slip because I didn't know a single guy of them.

Roozahna's aunt took her but very soon had to bring her back—Roozahna got too hysterical after one more missile attack.

Sahtik most reluctantly conceded to my plea for Ahshaut to have his day nap at home.
Sahtik, Roozahna and the mother-in-law kept to Underground.

At something past 4 p.m., another missile attack made me take him also over there — according to the compromise agreement between Sahtik and me he might stay home as long as it is calm and the very first explosion be a signal for taking him over to Underground.

I was doing my yoga when the last gas in the heater gave out.

I kept my cool like a real yogi pretending to be taken up with yoga too much to let such trifles impair my listless tranquility.

And the trick worked!
For a few moments, I felt a blissful indifference to anything.

However, with the chill in the room growing nastier my pretended bliss evaporated.

Besides, it's rather an uphill task to see the Parathma inside your heart when they do such a hell of noise outdoors.

It's five-to-ten p.m. Thick fog outdoors mixed with oppressive silence.

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