“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.



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’s drinking, and all he can think of is iren. nobody’s noticed that she’s already his, and that the only thing standing between their bodies now is time. a whole night with iren: iren naked, iren in bed


Unfinished Ode: Upon the Clitoris

translator: G. M. Goshgarian

Clit-clit-clitoris mine,
my itty-bitty fidgeter,
my voiceless little stammerer,
my tongueless little twitterer,
my curly-haired baby bull,
my gluttonous little gullet,



That is why I am telling
you women are naturally open
with their feelings and men
are naturally closed with
their feelings it is
the physical attributes
that dictate of course
exceptions do occur and
people can change
their holes.



translator: Anahit Bobikyan

“We must take a different approach,” and looking at me, continued: “Comrade Arman has come up with an unexpected solution. In spite of its fantastic nature, it seems quite interesting.” Lenin took his place at the table. Everybody was looking attentively at me. After a pause, I stated confidently:
“The Tsar sympathizes with the proletarian revolution. He will make the announcement shortly.”


Hello and goodbye

translator: Margarit Tadevosyan-Ordukhanyan

The two women bumped into each other in the hubbub of Amiryan street. The tall blonde, formally dressed and heavily made up, startled out of her highbrow, serious facial expression, smiled simply and broadly; the other, a short, plump woman, set down whatever she had in her hands, and threw herself into the other’s embrace. They had been college mates once, and hadn’t seen each other since graduat ...


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.