(c) Arthur Poghosyan

It's easy to get confused in principles of serving yourself and serving others.

There is a path of theft, violence, deception, fear. As I see, it's a dead end.

But creation and discovering the way of sharing your love, finding joy in each new day – this is a high level life. This is the truth and the power. And if you choose this path, then everything will be fine.

Then the ocean will be opened.

(c) Arthur Poghosyan. Autumn monologue on the balcony of a rented apartment in Florence, 2016.

Contact-Manager #8

I’ve watched an interview with Yohji Yamamoto. Then interview with Jeff Buckley.

Opened «Tinder», put many of my likes. I put to everyone. Wrote to a beautiful girl. We went for a walk and I asked:

– Do you know Arthur Poghosyan?

– Who is he?

– Hm…

I had geoposition of the next record. And suggested her to come with me. We came close to a hollow tree, I put my hand into this tree till the elbow and took the record out.

– What’s this? – she asked.

Battle. No… It’s war

Asphalt roadway, paved on both sides for pedestrians, roadway which leading to a place that belongs to me. Place where I wrote «Home» – a poem that entered the culture of mankind, having a tremendous impact on public consciousness.

Moon was burning while remaining light of the fading day was almost extinguished. My course was towards the sun, northwest course. Young shepherds with goats walked and passed by as if from the pages of children’s fairytale. Autumn comes earlier here. Leaves by falling down generate an orange foundation, which looks similar to Persian carpet in Brodsky's anteroom.

Christmas tree was torn out together with its roots by strong winds. This fir tree was looking at the rest trees on a small height left to fall, grabbing for wire-lines of street lighting by its prickly branches. Beauty, tragedy. Nature sacrifices itself, making fir tree as a simple soldier to strike down the infrastructure of homo sapiens. Battle. No… It’s war. How beautiful is here. I sat down on my favorite bench and took out fruits from my bag.

– You can’t be here, – someone said.

I turned back and looked at the man:

– You want me to leave?

– It’s prohibited to stay here.

– But I came here.

This security keeper watched his phone and started to push buttons furiously, calling the police or something. I couldn’t sit here with comfort and write masterpieces like «Home» while surrounded with such nonsense. I went away, eating my fruits.

They took away my freedom of choice, they want to steal 1 year of my life in the army, they’ve already taken 13 years of external education for the sake of a certificate and two diplomas, they took a lot from me, and I could bear with it.

But now this country was trying to take my favorite place away – my secret corner of a brilliant writer. I couldn't believe it. Do this to me?

Well, the great ones have always been treated cruelly. I should get used to the hardships. On my way back I ate plums, some of them were sweet. I missed for being alone. At the same time, if someone would call me now, I would agree to meet. Looking at the cars passing by, I wanted to see a familiar one and wave my hand. Being mistaken in the prerequisites, I decided to go to the forest.

Yes, I'm going to the forest. I'm a genius. The craziest in this city. Maybe more? In the country? In the world? I'm Arturo Bandini. Am I great? The Greatest. I'm walking into the forest while it’s totally dark. The lights were out. I walked like in a dream. Darkness surrounded, and I was all alone in it.

A couple of times I directed my flashlight on particularly suspicious places, they all turned out to be a pile of abandoned plastic dishes. All my fears turned out to be garbage. I have reached the right place. It was scary, I was afraid of every rustle. Black branches almost blocked the already dark sky. I heard something suspicious from the left side. The moving silhouette made me hold my breath. It was a dog. I didn't like them before, now it seems I can love them too. Dog jumped up and ran away into the darkness. I thought I had to go.

When I came out of the forest, I felt relieved. The sky here was starry. I remembered about the «Bucket», which someone calls «Big Dipper»

constellation. It always reminds me of a question mark. I couldn't find it for a long time. Here it is. Looking at this constellation, I began to cry, feeling the

pain of loss. But I understood that it was normal part of me, just another stage of transformation.

(c) Arthur Poghosyan. Opening speech at the «Pink Floyd» concert in Pompeii, Colosseum, March, 2016.

Contact-Manager #9

We meet each other at the entry to a restaurant. She had full black sophisticated silk dress, graceful makeup, little sandals. I spoke to her:

– You are just like future.

– Why?

– You cannot be recognized.

I opened a pack. Took for myself and gave to her, then lit our cigarettes. I suppose, I fell in love. At this Italian restaurant we tasted baked camembert in plum sauce, tagliatelle with mushrooms, apple strudel and Taiga sbiten’ to wash this meal down. Women who weren’t touched by pain don't attract me. I was sitting in front of her with a working day imprinted on my face, but I still kept the charm. Evening came. Under the canopy of the entrance, we were sheltering from the rain. After our first kiss, she asked:

– From now… Will you never forget me?

– What?

– Will you ever forget me?..

Autumn

I sat down in the alley in front of wholesale store, its size was as a stamping factory. I was advised in «Storytel» app for audiobooks listening, it occurred, it

needs a payment for subscribing… I deleted all the people who advised me

«Storytel». My great-uncle by father’s line always told me:

– Son, mark my words: whatever some people want money for, others will give it for free.

I answered:

– Great-uncle, why do you call me a son?

– I ask questions here, – answered great-uncle.

This vivid memory overwhelmed me into a dark stream of intense reflection, that’s why I didn’t notice an appearance of a woman in the alley. I glanced at her using the collar of an old coat as an invisibility suit. She was barefoot – this fact brought me into affective state. Elena Temnikova’s music started playing in my head. As the woman approached, I realized: the woman was naked. Only an old open windbreaker from the local «Second Hand» covered her solid tits. She sat down next to me closely. I thought I had to go.

– I’m sorry, I had to go.

The headphones in my ears ignored any objection from this naked woman to my (as it might seem to her) fast capitulation.

«Storytel» app played Tolstoy's book in a free weekly period. After about a hundred meters of escape from her, I turned around. The naked woman wasn't there, she left. Lucky I am. With a bit sense of sadness I thought, there were much younger and prettier girls who were interested in me before…

Walking through the autumn fallen leaves, I remembered the death of my great-uncle. And I thought I will most likely follow his example.

(c) Artur Poghosyan. The answer to the question about «Moscow cases» in the framework of the backstage of «Nevzorov’s Wednesdays» at the Helvetia Hotel,