literature became a hostage to authority and the capitalist market. Under these new circumstances, Inknagir Literary Magazine formulated its literary independence, also adhering to the principle of remaining a separate forum from those of mainstream demands, and to not pay homage to either market populists or elitist tendencies.


Environmental Notes

translator: Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan

She pretended that it was his demanding flesh caressing her inside. Even her husband noticed how her body began to reciprocate by thrusting itself forward, so his movements became more abrupt and aggressive, but that only got in her way. If he at least turned away or stopped panting in that annoying way! No, that didn’t work, Mr. D. didn’t fit this profile or this tempo. His movements would have been different, gentle, tender, slow…. Next, the woman visualized the red-bearded, short, stalky geologist, his honey-colored eyes and delicate mouth….


The City

translator: Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan

And I will sprawl over your pages, I’ll hide away between the lines, in your words’ boiler or in the attic of the title, or in the outhouse of the drafts….
Born of one mother or two fathers, we are two orphans, sister and brother, but man and wife we shall become, and be each other’s canopy, two bodies welded into one, we’ll live in love, in shame and incest, we’ll live sex-ridden and diseased, blind to the staring gaze of others, condemned and voiceless outcasts, unwed and sinful, dragged by the water and the wind, wrapped in one skin, boxed in one body, turned into one hermaphrodite….



translator: Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan

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.


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


The Premiere

“Don’t worry. Tatevik Benyaminovna likes to relax like this after a performance.” He led me aside, and then knelt down next to Tata, took a readied syringe out of his pocket, bared the needle, and injected the contents into Tata’s arm.


Workplace Romance

translator: Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan

Why the inevitable? Why was it inevitable? Simply because a woman always feels it, nothing more, and she has no need to explain or rationalize it. The ostrich-like expressions of being interested in the other person, the conducive surprises, all those come later. Physical desire ranked last for Anna, who had a young, passionate husband with a constant eagerness for more self-assertion.



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.