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AFTERNOON REFLECTIONS

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Some think of literature as a source of consolation, hope and reconciliation between

a complex reality and an inner need for reassurance. If a man is hungry he wants food; if he is thirsty, water; if he is a cripple, he needs a crutch; if confused, harmony; if insecure, strength – and he wants these things even if it means surrendering his mind and soul to cheap slogans and recycled chauvinist crap.

But a writer is neither a therapist nor a priest: he is first and foremost a witness; he cannot adjust his testimony to specific individual needs. He must be loyal only to truth, which, we are told, has the power to set us free.

 

What is literature?

It is not noble sentiments beautifully expressed. It is not something to brag about ("Narekatsi is our Dante!" -- a line spoken by windbags who have read neither Narekatsi nor Dante). Neither is entertainment or escape. Rather, it is struggle against injustice, tyranny, lies, prejudice and ignorance.

 

Unlike most writers who are misunderstood and rejected, I refuse to console myself with the thought that I will be appreciated only after I drop dead.

 

When our establishment gives its seal of approval to a writer, it is very careful to emasculate him first. Which is why, if I am ever awarded an Armenian literary prize, I will say: I accept the cash but I reject the honor. I may have some use for the cash but what am I to do with the honor bestowed on me by men without honor?

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quote:
Originally posted by ara baliozian:


But a writer is neither a therapist nor a priest: he is first and foremost a witness; he cannot adjust his testimony to specific individual needs. He must be loyal only to truth, which, we are told, has the power to set us free.




Not bad!
.................;
Looks like your vision of writing is to be "loyal only to truth". How the hell you know what is the truth? Or you think what is truth for you should be be the truth for all. What do you know about truth? You sound like a fiction! Your writings reflect that liquid substance which a human being desires to feel on his skin each time he masturbates his brain. lucky ones know what happens to that substance, once it arrived...it dries out as fast as it arrived and disappears to nothing ...

and what's left then? Go figure.
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