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     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 16.

A lot of shelling occurred last night, they used the GRAD missiles lavishly.

In the morning I went to the Site, took the barrow constructed the day before and made off for the nearest wood.

It turned out to be rather a crowded place as for a wood.

While felling trees to cut out twelve poles for the Site's projected fencing, I spotted no less than half a dozen men (some with guns), a woman and a horse trafficking along the path.

I brought the poles to the Site—an up-hill work most of the way. The straining at the barrow was taking too much out of me.

At times I simply had to stop for a rest and—swimming in the sweat inside my clothes—stretch down on the road beside the loaded barrow.

Back at the Site, no sooner had I untied the poles from the barrow but there broke out the Sodom-and-Gomorrah which goes on till now.

Today I saw:

  • explosion bursts ahead and behind me;
  • a huge piece of a tree trunk thrown aloft like a pencil butt among the spray of roof fractions madly spinning in all the planes;
  • a large pack-house going up in flames;
  • a mangy dog with his head completely lost desperately tearing off for life not knowing where to among those crazy thunder-bolts from everywhere.

And from the evening impressions:

  • fatty red sparks and thundering flashes when a GRAD volley hit a block-of-flats in the street where I was pulling the handcart;
  • a coal black stream of smoke bending under the blue sea of the moonlit sky;
  • one more fire but from afar.
  • In the intervals I:

  • took a bath (one pail),
  • translated one page,
  • And I had:

  • a quickie with Sahtik,
  • yoga,
  • supper,
  • water-walk.
  • Now I've got all the right to call it a day and to wind up with a –
    "So long".

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