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.