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:

February 14.

The ten-day punitive communicational estrangement that I imposed on Roozahna expired today – I commenced to speak to her again.

At first she was quite surprised, then promptly scratched a few drawings and showed them to me, as a reward for my improved behavior, I guess.

Aesthetic treats were served to me also at the Club where Lenic brought and exhibited two of his paintings, fifteen by twenty-inches each.

Enlarged copies of mawkish postcard pictures.

The first depicted a sparrow in a straw hat holding a bunch of three strawberries.

A fully-clad dog was on the second one with a newspaper in his pocket.

Both paintings finished off in an astoundingly straw splitting manner.

<!-- Microscopic masterpieces.--->

Communion with art in any of its forms sends man's thoughts and looks aloft.

In the Club's WC, I raised my eyes and noticed half a dozen of whitely icicled spiders hanging from their web-nets stuck to the ceiling.

On my way home back from the Club I spotted a foreign photographer taking shots of the pot-pail-tin-cone-etc. line at Three Taps.

<!-- A pot shot.-->

I visited Lydia to collect the iron wheel proposed to me by her husband Nerses when I had mentioned my intention to construct a wheel-barrow for the Site.

Lydia informed me that some international commission was going to visit this region.

The briefing was cut short when she seized her slipper and hurriedly whack-whacked to death a tiny mouse on the asphalt of her yard in front of me.

<!-- The International Society for Animal Protection wouldn't approve of the deed.-->

After lunch one page from Joyce translated.

There was some shelling, but Ahshaut slept on, and I asked Sahtik to leave him home.

With the shelling stepped up to be reiterated hourly all of the family went over to Underground at six p.m.

Three hundred yards down this street a shell-fragment pierced the heart of a woman.

<!-- An enviable piece of luck: she never knew what had happened.-->

Yoga.
Supper.

The water-walk's ahead, the day's behind.
Why not to say –
"Good night"?

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