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 26.

You get up in the morning feeling persistent oppression – knowing it will happen only that you can't say when and where. And when the missiles commence to explode, you feel relieved: you can hear them, you've survived this time, and they will need about half-an-hour to recharge their Grad-installation.

That's your measured ration of security.

Such a long preface instead of a short and simple confession that today I quaked with my entire chest to a close explosion when sitting at ULYSSES translation.

I wonder whether I would have jumped if standing.

Three massive volleys today and a good deal of shelling with singles—all unanswered.

At the Club only Lenic appeared to take away his draft coat of arms.

After the lunch I was sent to the downhill town with bread.

A pair of heavy trucks was passing Piatachok by the Main Square, their dumps packed with bearded men. Everybody had a strip of dressing band tied up on the sleeve.

Since the both warring sides use uniform of the same Soviet Army, they need some invention to distinguish "theirs" from "theirs."

The men seemed to be in high spirits issuing indiscernible yells from their rushing trucks.

Are today's rumors about the capture of Hojalu true to life?

Perhaps, here lies the explanation of the enraged bombardments of the last two days?

<!-- Two or three victories more and nothing'll be left of this town.-->

Sashic had a dressing on his finger. He and Carina were indirectly justifying his denouncement of his own proposal on evacuation by a detailed description of the hardships of village life.

The labor lost. I am not blaming them nor anyone else, not even at the back of my mind.

Valyo was intact. A banquet of five males was in progress in their underground compartment brightly lit with a merry gas jet.

I sat at the table on his invitation but only drank a cup of tea.

When preparing to leave I threw my coat over my shoulders, the supply of pens from the inside pocket spilled out upon the shingled ground.

Sego, Valyo's sun, picked up and gave them back to me.

'So many!' remarked Valyo with surprise.

'Eight of them,' replied I, 'want some or any?'

He rejected and went out to see me off. Out in the yard, he asked if I/we/ours needed any food or money. I said "no" but then asked him to find me a guitar if possible.

He looked a little baffled then started to explain me his standpoint concerning the evacuation.

Either all or nobody should be saved. Consequently, one of these days he's gonna get a helicopter for all of his fifty-sixty kinsmen to fly away from down here to get at least a month's rest.

On my way back the first barrage of missiles exploded.

The second one occurred when I was home at ULYSSES. It was followed up with beastly shrieks of a female in the street.

However, it was not her who got wounded but her husband and fairly slightly too.

The third volley of the day took place during my yoga.

This one set ablaze a number of two-storied wooden lodges for the regiment officers just outside the garrison wall.

On the women's prompting I found and fixed up an additional section to the outer part of the pipe from the Underground's woodburner.

Supper.

Once in a story by W. S. Maugham I ran across Joyce's collocation "infinite varieties".
The fact doesn't exclude the possibility of Joyce borrowing it from Shakespeare who—in his turn—stole it from another guy.

My point is – Maugham angled the word combination from ULYSSES, you can bet on it.

The water-walk's ahead.
Good night.

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