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 10.

And this night too the two of us were making love, not war.

In the morning I went to the work place. It was open but in straightdown "no-work" conditions—no electricity, no warmth, no materials (as they call there the articles to render).

For a nice starter I had a small talk with Ms. Stella. She narrated about five Armenian policemen from Hadroot burned alive.

Later, with mediation of the Russian border guards their corpses were transferred to the relatives.

Then Alia, the cautious typist, embarked upon a discourse that there are some righter practices in keeping your family and more promising principles of trusting in God.

At half past eleven a.m. I felt I was fed up and went home.

Presently the most endemic figure in the streets is that of a man with pails carrying water or else in search of not too long a water queue.

After lunch I equipped our one-but-spacey-room flat with a kind of gas-torch by constructing a thin-gum-pipeline running from the gas range in the hall-aka-kitchen all the way into the room.

I hope it won't convert it into a gas chamber.

Why did Azeri side not cut off gas entering the town? Very siple. We are on the same pipe going futher up to town of Shushi with its considerable population (only Azeri now) depending on this gas. One page from ULYSSES.
Yoga.
Supper.
Water.

The most good night to all.

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