Bathroom. He’d already showered, and was now staring into the mirror. First—work, then off to see his wit-stealer. By the door, he bent down, his eyes red, fixed on his feet, as he squeezed his them into his shoes. He quickly straightened up, erect like a penis, closed the door, passed through, was gone.



translator: G. M. Goshgarian

you read distractedly you'd think a fire was going to burn up what you're going to write, the other person yawns, collapses onto his chair, he closed his eyes, he looks at the door that has opened inwards, the scene can be repeated a thousand times, it's a film, someone's doing someone else in. the convicted man stands in the cell, there's no light but it's light, the reporter copies what he's written from the top or bottom. his footsteps are recorded in his ear, he counts the steps of someone going from the paving stones toward the exit, a criminal or a policeman?


Ode to the Panic Attacks

I don't have the excuse of youth
anymore to justify my lack of life
experience and real soul accomplish
ment like traveling to countries



translator: Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan

I'll bring my mouth close to yours,
I'll cover you with my lips,
And my inquisitive tongue will search your entire body
in order to seek, find, and savor the beehive honey.
Oh, how luscious and sensual are the lips of my love!



X is her nose sadly touching its reflection on the window pane when I looked at it from above standing behind her as rain drops bombarded our street



translator: Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan

he got on his feet. of course! there you go, brother shit, my great brother shit. the brother in america counts for nothing, i don’t consider him a brother. you’re all i’ve got.


The Landscape and the Woman

translator: Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan

“Uh-uh,” the woman shook her head. She’d already gotten hers. Those thoughts always visited her after the act. She could ‘relax’ simply by touching, but rubbing up against something.



translator: Nanor Kebranian

For this reason perhaps, the detour often resembles an unshaded passage, and never a magnificent gate, it leaves its impression on those grand entrances, introductions, promising a lovely house, a beautiful book and in the end materializing as resplendent and unforeseen huts. Metaphor has the benefit, perhaps the only one, of taking us from one to the other. It is bisexual like the symbol.



translator: G. M. Goshgarian

Where does this moment lie? Should we look for it in "aristocratic Darwinism"? Can we discern it in the fiction of the people as a work of art, which is the very definition of "national-aestheticism"? Is it present from the outset, in the announcement and expectation of a new mythology? Or even earlier, in the philological definition of religion as mythological? These questions are plainly appropriate in the case of the Mehyan group, Zarian's participation in which was anything but an aberration. But they are also appropriate to the whole of the European adventure, the one that led from the discovery of mythology to National Socialism. No attempt to determine Nietzsche's place in this European trajectory can sidestep them. What are we to make of the affirmation of art? Is it to be confined to playing a denunciatory, deconstructive role? Or should it be placed back within the circuit of power, which is to be affirmed in its turn? The distinction between art as mourning and art as founding fiction is of no help here.