TAVLU **************** As far as I know, none of my critics is an investigative reporter; and I have every reason to suspect most of them are no better than brainwashed ignoramuses like myself whose mantra was: Who the hell do you think you are to question the honesty and wisdom of bishops and benefactors – men of God and capital (make it, Capital and god)? * By the time I could afford to say “There is some shit / I will not eat,” I was no better than a middle-aged wholesale dealer in chauvinist crapola. * I know now that writing for Armenians is a waste of time and our writers – all 599 (or is it 722) of them – have made no difference. I envy Armenian writers who write for an odar audience. Consider Raffi Khachadourian who contributes regularly fascinating essays to the NEW YORKER. His last essay about tavlu was published about a month ago. I did not read it but I suspect millions around the world did. * If only I could convince myself writing about subjects in which Armenians are not even mentioned. But then, in what way writing about tavlu is different from writing about the eternal snows of Ararat or nightingales serenading the moon? * In our environment to survive as a writer is to write not about what you see in broad daylight at high noon but to behave like a blind man in a dark room looking for a black hat that does not exist. I repeat myself? Maybe, but only to those who read everything I write religiously. # PORTRAIT OF AN ARMENIAN ********************************************* Not only is he easily corruptible, he enjoys being corrupted. He considers it a privilege and an honor. He is flattered to be thought of as worthy of corruption. But perhaps I speak of myself as a young man. * I am fully aware of the fact that my status is that of a perennial loser and failure – very much like my people. That may well be why I understand them better than those who make all kinds of absurd claims on their behalf – smart, compassionate, progressive, civilized, generous, law-abiding, lovers of freedom, and so on and so forth. These claims have been made so frequently that they are now taken for granted and anyone who dares to question them is dismissed as “a piece of sh*t who doesn’t have Ararat in his heart.” * When death enters in the final act, it’s a tragedy. In that sense we are all actors in a tragedy even when we think of ourselves as comedians. * If I can write a readable line a day, a good sentence once a month or a quotable line once a year, I am satisfied. # ON TYRANNY ************************ A nation can be victimized by its own corrupt leaders as surely as by an alien tyrant. * ROLE MODELS ************************ My first reaction on reading a line written by an Armenian is to detect its hidden dishonesty. That maybe because respect for truth is not exactly our strong suit. Neither was it to our most recent role models, environments, and masters: Turks, Soviets, the Levant, and America. * FOUR ****************************************** Four Armenian taboo subjects: Dialogue, compromise, consensus, solidarity. Four popular subjects as defined by our political parties and Turcocentric ghazetajis: Turks, Turks, Turks and Turks. * A DEFINITION OF POETRY ************************************ The encounter of two words or ideas that have never met before – this according to an old Indian definition. An example that comes readily to mind: “An Armenian who does not have Ararat in his heart Is a piece of sh*t.” There you have it: the encounter of the purest (eternal snows) and the filthiest (a bad Armenian). #