A&P by John Updike

In walks these three girls in nothing but bathing suits. I’m in the third check-out slot, with my back to the door, so I don’t see them until they’re over by the bread. The one that caught my eye first was the one in the plaid green two-piece. She was a chunky kid, with a good tan and a sweet broad soft-looking can with those two crescents of white just under it, where the sun never seems to hit, at the top of the backs of her legs. I stood there with my hand on a box of HiHo crackers trying to remember if I rang it up or not. I ring it up again and the customer starts giving me hell. She’s one of these cash-register-watchers, a witch about fifty with rouge on her cheekbones and no eyebrows, and I know it made her day to trip me up. Continue reading

6 Ways to Access Armenian Literature

It’s always intimidating when one chooses to take on a monumental task such as learning a new language in order to read, write and speak it fluently. The same can be said about Armenian literature.

A colossal library of works that spans from 400 AD onward to present day in multiple dialects, translations and languages.  This list was compiled in order to act as an online resource that will guide those who seek to understand one of the linchpins in Armenian culture: literature.Those familiar with Armenian literature can augment their knowledge in the literary sphere by reading through the seemingly inexhaustible library of works compiled by these six websites.

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Chapter 1

Charles Dickens once was heard saying about love that to ‘have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts’ is what makes a life worth living. But, he never met my Autumn.

Everything was going well with our relationship. Autumn got upset again – and I was stuck in the world of limbo, not knowing what I had done. Apparently I “shouted at her” by telling her that I had eaten already and I wasn’t hungry. I don’t recall raising my voice, but her asking me six times if I had eaten, and would like to eat – and my subsequent “no, thank you” didn’t get through. Perhaps my voice did get more stern by the sixth time I politely said no, but she reacted as if I had slapped her with some macho dominance…

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Broken Armor

Is this my reality
of broken heroes
and knightless realms
to go beyond the borders
of kingdoms blasted with
tyranny. Tainted to the soul
with nothing but dishonor.
What is my reality,
Lancelot’s betrayal, becoming
the plague that is sown within
the land of electricity
conveniently lighting the path
of twists and turns, making
no honest men to which
a woman can succor behind.
The weak wither away
nothing is done, they are
an inconvenience.
Hungering foes
disloyal husbands
where chivalry is a crack-pot
tincture of comedy as it
bounces around the table like
an appetizer never consumed
only reminisced as ladies turn
whores, and men turn steeds
as they mount the very nature
that they sought to be rid of
that Gulliver so true fought.
Blurred wisdom intoxicated with
lust over defense, to shield
honor as wrought as mine chain-mail.
Sorrow in our brothers, in our sisters
as they weep the world that is inherited
by bullied pretenders,
sullied wizards-
We are the knight, but have been lost
to the night as it consumes the essence
of a human heart and its grace among
the universe
injected with the expedient ecstasy
of a dozen sweeping kisses
to experience all flavors
letting not one drop register
a potent taste on your tongue.
The shine of your black knight tarnishes away
as the black steed atop the mountain crest
crumbles to the earth –
replaced by a pale horse.


by: Patrick Bairamian

From: rogue

The Ticket

We get to enjoy all these things – emotions,  wealth , and power. We can dabble in all of them – we can become any one thing. The only price that existence asks is for life. We must cash in our ticket for this roller coaster of a ride – our ups, our downs, our screams, our euphoria – we must stand in line before the existence of this experience. Not knowing what to expect, for those feelings do not exist within us yet. Those memories which we will make do not compute, for we have no means to make them compute. Then, our turn comes, and we sit in those seats. We’re strapped in to our chairs, and locked into our places. We rise to the drop, we climb to the peak. And before we drop, we become a void of memory where we know nothing of what to expect. Then we drop, into this world of twists and turns, never knowing when to hang on, or when to throw our hands into the air and scream with excitement, or grip the bars with terror. We go through and through these ups and downs, soon finding ourselves to understand the drops ahead, a little bit wiser, and a little more prepared. By the end of the ride we are exhausted and indifferent. We see the ride, with all its hot rails, and glory. We descend and slow on the rails. We approach the same darkness we came from before the lurch of the cart and start of the ride. We see new faces. We see the excitement of those standing in line, eager to give their ticket for that chance to feel what we have experienced. We see faces. Some full of fright, some full of excitement, and some full of bewildering blankness – but, they all maintain to be full of the same life  that we who have ridden the roller coaster:  had, have, and for the next moment until we get off this ride to allow for the new generation of riders, still linger with.  Behind our eyes we feel wiser with this experience. They ask us in the moment, how it was. What to expect. Any tips from our battle stripes of knowledge- and in the moment as we are pushed down the exit lane, we answer as many as we can. We had no time to contemplate it. We had no time, except that moment until we saw the ending to understand it. We had analysis of its effect on us as a whole. We simply rode the roller coaster that is our life, and we had our experience – our own, our own, our own – experience. And, now, as we turn our backs to the humming excitement and growling stomachs about to enter the drop of  the roller coaster we have stepped off, we turn around for one last smile, and one last glimpse of the ride we have just witnessed – first hand on the edge. Some of us smile, some of us linger quietly, some of us laugh – but all of us keep moving along – exiting just the same – and remember the Summer rays and blast of cool wind  blowing in our face before the drop.


By: Patrick Bairamian