perchu

Vika

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 15:09:14 GMT

I don't like people of profession, those who wear suits and talk in laconic manner about markets and clients. I am suppose to be one of them now.
I don't like how these people have distanced themselves from the world and created their own where blackberries are the only source of vitamin and cigarettes are air. They talk in circles, in complex jargon filled sentences but all they want to say is "I am great". They don't create value in the world, just money.
I don't like these people in their suits, because they praise competition. They're lulled into their world of "great", and never know that to be great you have to be a mountain.

I like Vika the girl who takes care of the kitchen for the people in sharp suits, because only Vika can understand that blackberries aren't nutritious and people can't be mountains.

Mon, 05 May 2008 04:57:55 GMT

I used to like Chinese food, i don't anymore...

test

Fri, 02 May 2008 05:42:56 GMT

The greatest test of all is to offer yourself on a plate and to judge them on which part of you they took.

Magnolias

Fri, 02 May 2008 05:40:49 GMT

Plump and lush petals, that's what I love. Looking at you from a platform and understanding insides of things is what i do.Erasing boundaries, distances, norms and time is what I want.

Why are you so immature?

Txerq... Lseq...

Fri, 04 Apr 2008 17:43:13 GMT

It all comes to your maps and forms.

I am holding a map of Mars and trying to navigate on earth, and get mad when i fall off of cliffs and drown in water occasionally. I get angry at the emptiness i receive in return, I want to scream when see how my words hit the white wall and fall on the ground losing their dimension in an instance. I want to take and shake you. AHHH what is this?!
This is me navigating through you with a map of Mars in my hand- good luck to me and you.

Objectivity

Sat, 06 Oct 2007 06:18:06 GMT

Although it takes an Armenian to understand what it means to be one, I realized today that one can see objectively the beauty of our culture. As I replaced my small green i-pod with the large clumsy American music playing one, the Italians got up to dance to my Kochari. And then Nicola told me with utmost sincerity " now I understands why you told me you don't want your children growing up in this country", He paused and said " then they won't know your dance and music the way you do, it will be so sad...". Nicola the Italian is so right.

About me

Sun, 10 Dec 2006 06:23:53 GMT

Hi,
I am an egoist. I am also female and Armenian. And when I think of people like him, I want to cry then give warmth and comfort in an effort to show that there is someone who does think about broken people. But they don't care. These people with tragic lives are dulled and scared, changed and not like me. I judge them through my subjective set of beliefs about this world, give them a slice of myself and come home or go to bed with a belief that I did something good for them today, something anti-broken. But they don't care. Neither do I, because I am an egoist too...

Objects

Sun, 03 Dec 2006 07:42:57 GMT

I can write about my new earrings or my new shoes (yet another pair) but how banal would that be?
But instead of that I think about the scratches on my new shoes and wonder if I should worry about them. There are already several scratches, and the earrings where almost lost once in one of our insane outings. Everything reaches chaos and destruction in this life, material and organic goods all slowly fall apart, yet people and other animals strive for survival all the time. We organize, clean a prevent chaos. I don't do it as often as one would think. For me the scratches on the very expensive new shoe mean that I walk and go places, or simply- life. I see the same in violence and poverty- we can't prevent it, it has to happen. There is an equation where all of this fits in a perfectly reasonable manner, where what is thought to be bad for us subjectively is actually a crucial part of life. And I am not about to try to change this things, because shit (no matter how disgusting it may seem to humans) is a genius part of nature without which we would all die.

Slime

Sat, 18 Nov 2006 21:47:26 GMT

It is as if someone has soaped my hands and everything I touch slips away, with an unknown trajectory flies and descends to the corner to gather hair and dust. I don't want to pick up this hairy dust ball that used to be something in my control. So it sits until one can observe patience fluid boiling in the retina of my eye, after which I gather this piece of shit and start cleaning. I want to be vicious, erase morals and direct my verbal fist towards you, and with a destructive collision once and for all annihilate that pity thing you call self. Just so I don't have to think about returning to pick up your dusty self for cleaning purposes.

keys

Tue, 31 Oct 2006 23:49:40 GMT

10/31/2006 Conversation at the door of my apartment between person X ( who is not my roommate nor me) and person Y ( who is neither me nor my roommate ).

Person X (addressing the other who is seated on the white chair of my porch) - Are you waiting for Yen?
Y- Yes
X- Because Yen and Pitik are not home
Y- I know
X- You know I have keys I can let you in
Y- Me too
X- oh...

mazurka

Mon, 30 Oct 2006 01:58:12 GMT

I dream of a door that has a transparent curtain flowing with the wind. Outside the door is a round balcony, inside is my bedroom. I dream to stand on the balcony and succumb to the wind. To some fast wind that will hit me from the side and clear my head from every thought, leaving a white space with no sound or movement inside.

Les mots de notre vie...

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 02:59:06 GMT

My first reaction to knotty rhetoric is disgust. Then I calm myself down to ask the question- why? May it be the case that in order to express the given idea this person needs dense words? Then I slowly list all the writers that are fans of big words and remember that after spending 5 light years trying to decipher the main idea behind the words the only thing that I found is many variations of NOTHING. One of these "Rococo" writers is Salman Rujhdie, the modern hero of literature. I tried to read several books by him (and tried is the key word, since nothing has been finished) and found that in essence he has nothing to convey in his multi layered, super complicated paragraphs. By nothing I mean nothing extraordinary. It may be my fault to expect new meaning in everything; something that will take over my thought at least for a short period of time. The important question however arises when I try to decide weather writing SHOULD have deep meaning or simply be an esthetic phenomenon. This question also applies to people and all things en general.

Big words, thick designs, abundance of accessories- these are all decorations of the top layer, covering the idea behind. What if there is nothing behind?

That thing that =mc^2

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 03:55:43 GMT

I thought of something wonderfull to write, but it dissapeared. Then I saw my reflection in the mirror and smiled. The energy of mine, limitless and everflowing, returned to me. I can jump in one place for hours and laugh endlessly at nothing and still posses enough E to not sleep at night, because life is so wonderfull and sleeping is boring. Oh I sound so trivial, and oh how much I love to be so.

This is going to be interesting

Thu, 12 Oct 2006 17:08:05 GMT

"The French parliament has adopted a bill making it a crime to deny that Armenians suffered "genocide" at the hands of the Turks, infuriating Turkey."

Oh wait that's not all:

"Under the bill, anyone denying genocide could be punished with a one-year prison term and 45,000-euro (£30,000) fine - the same punishment that is imposed for denying the Nazi Holocaust."

BBC news

Note how they put genocide in brakets. Sneaky Brits.

explosions

Wed, 11 Oct 2006 15:29:57 GMT

Where is that niddle. You know that small thing, that you should poke me with just about NOW and run fast, fast, fast, to avoid getting destroyed?

I feel bad for

Tue, 10 Oct 2006 21:59:08 GMT

Liars.
Its not that I have never lied myself, that is a silly claim- I don't believe in perfection. But just think; when someone lies to you they are the only ones possessing FULL knowledge of the event. You on the other hand are fed with the partial, sometimes grossly apparent, lie that at first seems to bother you a lot. But think of the liar himself; the dilemma, the torment of knowing that he just lied. This is given off course, that lies arise due to specific demand- whatever was done was bad or would not look good to the liayee(is this a word? No, but who cares). Now it’s even worse; you know you lied, and whatever you did was bad. Another axiom that is worth mentioning is that whenever a wrongdoing is frankly expressed, in most cases (this is given the recipient of the information is somewhat intelligent or compassionate) the problem diminishes to a point where it becomes even a great way of understanding one another. There is always a way to resolve a problem. But back to our liars. I feel bad for them (did I say that already?), yes I do because they create an unstable environment for themselves, and they are the sole standers on the shaky reality, with no help or any objective facts such as “that was nothing, why are you so worried about it". As if that wasn't enough for the liars, the last hit comes when people lose trust towards them. This part is inevitable, its part of human nature. So here is a liar who in reality is not that bad of a person at all, in his mind he is even a victim in a way for being in such a dilemmic situation. After all lies arise because of short-term empathy towards the liayee (not a real word don't use anywhere else) such as “Oh Musya's soul will be so warped if she finds out that my car is actually purple not orange". This short-term thinking is what leads to lies and as it is apparent in my below drawn summary liars not liayees suffer a greater agony.

Person who got lied to:
Doesn't know, hence doesn't give a fuck

Person who lied:
Knows and most likely is not heavenly indulging this knowledge
Doesn't receive a chance to express-> relieve the unpleasant feeling of the wrongdoing
Is not much trusted after the incident (which by the way may very well be unfair)

And this is why I feel bad for liars.

l'heur

Sat, 07 Oct 2006 22:55:16 GMT

I am trying to grasp for the material evidence of that time, when it stopped. I am trying to find it and breathe in every molecule of it. Or maybe I am not; maybe I am looking for a way to breathe in molecules of people with divine minds. I want it to become mine, me. Become so integrated with those thoughts and emotions that forgetting who I was before introduce myself as them. Like the time when I heard him laugh my laugh as if I have been plagiarizing that hysteric noise from him all this time and him, the true composer, now showed the whole world where it really came from. I want this for just a moment, only to see whether that time really happened in objective reality, to prove that all of this time I have not been dreaming...

Quickly

Wed, 04 Oct 2006 16:59:18 GMT

Think of ONE word that associates with me.

Revising things i need list

Fri, 29 Sep 2006 15:23:50 GMT

After thinking about it, I realized that the things I am in a REAL need of is less alcohol in my bloodstream on weekdays, more sleep, less work, and less idiots around. C'est tout...

Everyone

Fri, 29 Sep 2006 05:00:20 GMT

gets on my nerves right now, the whole world does.

Or

I am

In need of wine and good friends, long nights of profound conversations, laughter, warm evenings, long walks, water bodies and flowing skirts.Herman and his guitar, that song that he plays.
In need of climbing mountains, flowing fresh water streams, walking barefoot, laying under a tree with a book, meaningful classical music, inspiring ideas, and people who challenge my thought. In need of people who will say NO, Pitik you are wrong, and explain to me in a rationally sublime argument why they hold their point so firmly, and I will surrender, better yet, blissfully be enlightened. In need of people who will make me suffocate, positively.Who will decrease the supply of oxygen to my lungs and make me float in air.
In need of good rhythm and dance, a touch, a hug, a kiss from someone warm, tenderness and childishness.
In need of little things that have meaning to only few people, and even more wine and even better friends.

Excerpts from last night's conversation

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 17:25:33 GMT

Condense all genuine thoughts and feelings into a patty, press it down profoundly inside and create a silky line of reality on top that exists just for them, selectively manufactured to suit the circumstances. For her he has to be a canvas; partially filled with impressionist blurred figures, and the rest empty. This enables her to fill in the rest with saturated colors of her imagination, and announce the figures to be what she wishes.

Please

Mon, 25 Sep 2006 16:39:53 GMT

Silence

holes

Fri, 22 Sep 2006 15:24:27 GMT

-Why can't you make the bills look nice when you put them back into your wallet Pitik?
-Why would I?
Silence.
- So they look nice.
- Why?
- You're weird Pitik
-If by weird you mean that I am not like you and you can't comprehend my question and have nothing else to say but to call me weird, I will take that as a complement. Thanks
- You're a bitch
-Why? because I just told you frankly what happened here and you are scared of projecting reality out loud?

Supply and Demand

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 19:53:37 GMT

If I were a doctor. I wouldn't be one, never mind.
If I were a pianist. I am semi one right now, so never mind.
If I were a lawyer. I would be stupid, so never mind.

But really, if I were a doctor, I would be a psychiatrist and would pick your brains.

Idiots

Mon, 18 Sep 2006 15:23:32 GMT

I cannot believe I devote time to transcribe my thoughts about this issue, but this time it hit me right at that spot of the hypothalamus which triggers some hormone producing hormones which in turn trigger violent outburst of anger. As I am watching the steam slowly rise from my nostrils I visualize how I am going to go to Yerevan stand in the middle of the Hanrapetutyan Square, with a giant microphone which carries my voice to the very edge of Armenia in my hands pound my foot on the ground and scream " YOU PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS" !!! Then without explaining why I said that, because after all explaining conflicts with my main premise of them being fucking idiots, just walk away calmly to go get some coffee with Gaya or something... :)