A New Chapter

I wrote a story about a boy once

He grew up fast
Learned about loss
Felt the power of death
Dreamt of love
Found friends in fiction
Drew lines in the sand
Wrote words for his woes
Grew sick from sadness.

Then he was grown
A man now
Boy no more
Learned to lie
Learned to hate
Fraternized with sin
Dreamt of vices
Forgot about love.

He finally hit bottom
Things looked bleak
She walked away
Then came back to him
He finally started to grow
Upright this time
He dreamt of the future
A brighter one.

He began to come to be
Learned to let go
Learned to forgive
Learned to love
Dreamt of her
Wrote words of hope
Lost the pain
Found Happiness...

(Marcel Duchamp- After Love c.1968)

This music makes you feel sound:

Time Away

Here is some happy, drunk, angry,and weird poetry. It will help you figure out the reason I've taken such a long "Time Away"

Three (Oct.2015)
In these past three months
I've learned Happiness is a weird drug.
I hit a wall pretty hard,
and it has me completely derailed.
But weirdly I am happy where I am,
and I'm trying to learn to walk again.
Slowly but surely making it up as I go.
But I'll be running again soon,
Just watch me.


Cup full of Whiskey (Aug 2015)
But I am Longing for You
Drunk, I need your love

 (The Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog- Casper David Friedrich)

Room 2427 (Aug 2015)
Bright lights, Screams echoing
A city of excess and debauchery
Drunken hoards of doe legged damsels.
Puffed up peacocking imbeciles.
Like cattle the masses flock
straight to the slaughterhouse
Hard earned pay
Gone within a day.
Get a grip humanity,
Vegas you disgust me.


Flight (Sep. 2013)
Walking along the road
A bird musically flies high above
In awe, I wonder what its like

When man was created he was given wings
We flew through the air as beautifully as the lark
Then greed and the lust for power took over

Our Wings were cut
But we still soar in the sky
Close your eyes and let the breath of the air take you

Your mind your vessel.
Your soul a lark,
Fly far away.

(Thanks to Ta-ku for dropping Amazing music)

The apple and the tree

I've been busy writing trying to amass a good portfolio of poems, short stories, and screenplays. But here is something I just randomly dug up. A very special poem I wrote in 2013, rough around the edges but still something I enjoy reading now.


The apple and the tree 

I grew up fearing you,
Still to this day your voice haunts me.
Your tall stature, and big brut hands.
The gray slivers in your black hair.
The cuts on your knuckles and burns on your elbows,
All made you seem rough.

I remember how you'd sleep in the car
After working the graveyard shift,
While I learned the classics
Shaping me to be the man i am today.
Or when you'd draw on the scrap papers in the car
Holding on to the embers of your youth

I was 14 and you were 54
On our drive back from god knows where
Mom and Yelena asleep in the back
You told me you loved me
Told me to never end up like you.
But some things are doomed to happen

We don't see the same things in life.
But art is beautiful to me because of you.
Because of you I know what it means to feel,
To feel something, anything,
But mostly to feel passion.
The world is colorful thanks to your brush.

We scream at each other,
I have your temper.
And your looks,
I have your troubling self-doubt.
Just like you I care for things, Helpless small things.
With the same crippling selflessness that stunts you.

I am my father's son.
We are more alike then I'd like to admit.
I punch, curse, and scream like my father.
I was afraid of being like you when I was young.
But now it's different.
I'm proud to be my father's son.
Im glad the apple fell close to the tree

-3 May 2013

Stillness of Mind

"Death sat on the old chair we kept out on the porch. Set in front of him was a small and simple chess board. As the shivering air whistled, he beckoned to play a short game." - Working title (Hakop Oganasyan)

 (The Seventh Seal dir. by Ingmar Bergman)

The world keeps spinning and I sit here motionless. My life has changed so much in such a short time. It's crazy to think anyone would be reading this blog anymore since it's been so long since I posted. But my laptop decided that "hey you know what fuck Hakop let me just stop working. And better yet let me make sure he won't be able to get any of his data back." Luckily, mostly because of my brother-in-laws awesomeness not only did I get al my work saved, my laptop is finally up and running again. But anyways back to talking about how much life can change in a snap of a finger.

(A parody of The Seventh Seal in Woody Allen's film Love and Death)

I have always been slightly obsessed with the ephemerality of life. Nothing drives this obsession more the perpetual mood swings. But as of late things have seem to slow down. Life seems to have gotten in a way real. And as scary as it sounds, I'm okay with this change. I went from writing an Ingmar Bergman Seventh Seal inspired short story, to writing poetry about love. And yeah yeah yeah you know I've always written about love. But instead of it being the usual failed, unreciprocated, emotionless (yes love can be emotionless just ask me about it) love, my poems are sorta kinda about the real thing. Only time will tell, but for now it feels nice.

(Large Kiss - Andy Warhol)

"Believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it." - Letters To A Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke


You asked me "how was life before this okay?"


Here is a poem I wrote on my phone (Drunk) on August 31st:

My skin crawls
with beads of sweat.
Lights flicker,
the room crowded with
Smoke, scents,
Polluted with sound.
My eyes focused on yours.
Your beautiful eyes.
You smile.
a smile that takes me back
To life before death.
I smile back,
Unconsciously agreeing
with whatever it is you feel.
I feel your lips against mine
your nails on my back.
The scent vanishes
The sound falls onto deaf ears
I close my eyes.
Im in love with you.


And the customary song: A song that has nothing to do with ANYTHING in this blog post at all but just a fucking damn good song I've been listening to a whole lot recently. Oh and Brownie Points if you can guess where the title of the Post is from!

Writer's Block

Its 4:38 AM on a Friday night/Saturday morning. Im sitting on my couch with my laptop resting on my legs, and I can't seem to get any damn words on the page. I sped home with an idea burning a hole in my head. Anxious and excited; I ran up the stairs, booted up my laptop to start making this GRAND idea in my head into a reality. Then two hours and 8 cigarettes went by, and everything I typed on that page was pure SHIT! So now I'm on here, incredibly frustrated, bitching to the 28-83 of you who actually read my angry rants. Each and every one of us knows what writer's block feels like. Doesn't matter if its blocking you from writing the next greatest piece of fiction, or an essay for a class, it just fucking SUCKS.

(William S. Burroughs or what I wanted to look like in the past 3 hours)

Last night my good friend and writing mentor introduced me as a writer to some pretty big name people in the LA writing scene. That was probably the first time I truly felt affirmed that I was, in some way, a WRITER. But how can I be a writer if I can't fucking write most of the TIME?

Writing is about freeing yourself of your own opinions. Writing frees you from your ALLEGIANCE to everything and anything. To be able to write, you need to be able to win the struggle of actually freeing yourself from the INHERENT pains of your own mind. To write you need to be able to be IMMORAL.(read my last post on here) We all are immoral in some way, and to truly be free and state your truest opinion you cannot hide the flaws in your morality.

I'm not AFRAID of offending anyone with my writing, nor am I afraid of my actual values projected in my writing. But I do want my writing to be loved and appreciated. And, as hypocritical as this sounds, I want people to be offended by my writing and to HATE it even. Because that would mean it moved you in some way.

"As if this great outburst of anger had purged all my ills, killed all my hopes, I looked up at the mass of signs and stars in the night sky and laid myself open for the first time to the benign indifference of the world - and finding it so much like myself in fact so fraternal, I realized that I'd been happy, and that I was still happy. For the final consummation and for me to feel less lonely, my last wish was that there should be a crowd of spectators at my execution and that they should greet me with cries of hatred." - Albert Camus, The Stranger

I KNOW I want to write. I know what I want to write. I just need to write.
FUCK WRITER'S BLOCK.


Go read my poem on here called "Blue Chicago Moon" with the thought of writer's block lingering in the back of your mind.

But before you do that, listen to this:
"so you want to be a writer" - Charles Bukowski

Walking Man

Summer clouds rolling in over the hills
Train whistles break the silent night
Boots strapped on tight.
Short Skirt, Black Stockings
Three Glasses of Bourbon Neat
Jr. Kimbrough flooding out the train
Meeting hands, Loose tank top,
Nooks and crannies, Tongue-tied.
Handful of Ass, Hand Wrapped
Around your neck. Tight.
Tugging hair, Nails digging deep.
Love me for just one night,
Or till this buzz wears off.

Perception

So I lied to myself and those of you who read this blog. I made a promise that I'd update this weekly (every Thursday night) but this past week or so my mood swings have really kicked my ass. I've been on a streak of really shitty days, but today I feel alright so I guess here is your peak into the odd mind of Hakop.


As of late I have been thinking about what people think of me, and it's scary how much someone else's perception of me effects my emotions.

A couple of years ago I was labeled as "the drunk", a label I might have deserved but never wanted. At one point or another I was labeled as "The hipster", which explains why people have come to think of me as pretentious and overly opinionative. Recently some people have even gone as far as labeling me as a "Womanizer douchebag who uses woman for his gain". I know, I had a good laugh when I heard that last one too. But nonetheless, any label be it true or not still has some effect on the person being labeled. The simplest effect is that when the labeler is committing the act of labeling me to someone who doesn't know me, their perception of me will no doubt be strongly effected by the labels given to me.

The worst effect these labels have on me is that they make me second guess what I think of myself. Sometimes I buy into these given labels, like when I would drink excessively just so I wouldn't let people down or act a certain way to fulfill the overly opinionative label.

Now the advice everyone gives on this topic is to not care what people think or say about you, just know that you and those close to you know who you really are. But when you don't really value yourself highly and are extremely self-conscious, it is pretty easy to forget who you are. I really don't know who or what I am, but I definitely do know what I'm not.

(Nigel Van Wiek) 

I am not a drunk! I have a very loving relationship with liquor, but that doesn't make me a drunk. I know my limit and don't jump at the chance to be drunk all the time.

I am not a hipster! Just cause I enjoy a certain type of music, the way I dress, the places I frequent, and the fact that my liking for things doesn't last long doesn't mean I am a hipster. And since I don't identify and marginalize myself as a hipster don't call me one!

I am not pretentious! I don't regard myself higher than anybody else, and I definitely don't try to act more important or talented than anyone else. I'll be the first to let you know I am not good at something, I DO NOT LIE ABOUT MY ABILITIES.

Even though I shouldn't state the obvious, I am not a womanizing douchebag who uses women for my personal and physical gain! If you have trouble believing that read my last post about love and romance. I am as hopeless as a hopeless romantic can get. I couldn't be a womanizer if I wanted to be, ask me about "The Heisman" and you'll get why this specific label given to me is a hilarious one.

(Picasso - Portrait of Jaime Sabartes)

I don't know why I specifically wrote about this topic this week, but I like to ramble and that is what this blog is for. So I rambled and got a few things off my chest that have been a burden to me lately. Expect a poem soon from me titled "Fuck you Charles Bukowski" which I will hopefully read this weekend and post up here after. Till then DON'T FUCKING LABEL ME!

(Listen to this, don't worry you can thank me for this song in person!)

Crazy (Not So) Little Thing Called LOVE

I've been trying to come to terms with my love life recently, and let me tell you it's a pretty tough task. What really scares me though is that this love crisis feels to me like a generational issue. Our hook-up culture has planted the idea in most people's heads that love is nonexistent, and this concept really bothers me.

I once asked my mom how she knew my dad was the one, and she gave me the most cliche, but still at the same time romantic answer ever. She told me she knew she loved my dad and that he was her soulmate when she noticed that he had completely changed her perspective on life, and she in turn had changed his. The example she gave me was that my dad loved the artwork of Martiros Saryan, but she at first thought his art was to colorful and unpleasant. But after spending time with my dad (who happens to be an artist himself) and talking to him/viewing art, it randomly occurred to her that she out of no where began understanding the use of excess colors and the beauty in his artwork.She told me she still loved my dad, mind you my parents are the least affectionate people towards each other so this statement really shocked me. She said that he has become a part of her, something she will never lose.

(A painting by Martiros Saryan)

Now you are probably wondering why the hell did he ask his mom this? Well because at the time I thought I was in love with someone to that extent. I've come to understand that I have a problem when it comes to love. In the past couple of years I've fallen in and out of "love" with a ridiculous amount of people. When I first started writing poetry in college, I would only muse off of women. But sadly my true muse was the misery that was caused by these women. 

(Edvard Munch- Seperation)

I seem to unconsciously put myself in these toxic situations, with women who are obviously not stable nor normal, that end up damaging me. But I really can't complain. Most of my poems that I consider good are all either inspired by or about these toxic women. I even unintentionally disregard the warnings my two closest friends give me when it comes to the pursuit of these woman, all because it really does help me write. So if I ever attempt to court you, remember this; I really am a hopeless romantic, I can cook, if you treat me like shit I'll write some damn good poetry that will be either posted on my blog or published somewhere (E.g: most of my currently published work), or if you treat me well I'll write some mediocre love sonnets that will only be read by you. 

I'll leave you all with a love related picture (which is from one of my favorite movies), my favorite love related quote, and a great song about what my love life is currently like.

(Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)

"A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover." - Charles Bukowski

To Be Continued.....

Size Matters.

(L'Origine du monde- The origin of the world: Gustave Courbet)

I was at the supermarket with my mom the other day, and I saw apples from China. It got me thinking about how weird and odd it would be to walk into a market in China. How I would have trouble recognizing a lot of the fruits and vegetables that are so normal there, but completely alien to me. That made me realize how crazy big the earth actually is. 

A few weeks ago I stayed up all night to watch the programs BBC one had scheduled leading up to the F.A. Cup. For those that don't know what the Football Associations cup is; it is the the oldest soccer tournament in world where all of the clubs in England (from the amateur level to the pros) play each other till the final that is hosted at the New Wembley. The club I've been supporting for a very long time, Arsenal, made it to the final and won the trophy for a historic 15th time. The programs leading up to the game were a lot like the pre-superbowl stuff we watch in the US, but on a completely different level. The entire country of England stood still to watch two teams play a match of soccer. The build up made me realize I will never know what its like growing up in England, in a culture so heavily invested in soccer and so different to the one I grew up in. I will never know what it means to take my kids to derby matches and have them cheer on our local club. I will never know what its like living under a royal family. All of this made me realize again that the human experience is so damn different all across the world. Of course me being me, I felt a little depressed that I wouldn't get to experience the world completely. 

The weird thing is there are times where the Earth feels so big, but sometimes things happen that it makes it seem that it is actually tiny. 

It was 4 a.m. and I couldn't sleep. I got a text message from a friend I hadn't spoken to in a very long time. The crazy thing is she was in Italy and I was obviously in LA. At that exact moment I was on the shiter,while she was in her room, Thousands of miles apart. But I could see her typing, and it felt like we were right there with each other, which completely blew my mind. 

What bothered me was that our conversation was so detached and forced. We where on different parts of the planet communicating instantly and we let that miracle go to waste with an awkward conversation. 

At times we don't realize how crazy connected we are with the rest of the world.We find ourselves on a small spec of sand floating through the enormous universe, but that spec of sand feels huge to us. We have lost true human connection, when we have the technology to really connect. We have given ourselves and the generations to follow multiple personality disorders. We create our own (albeit fake) image online, we lie to each other, and feed off everyone else's lies. For some it gets to the point where they lose their true identity, because they are constantly stuck pretending to be the same person they are on Facebook and/or Instagram. I'm rambling, but thats what I re-started this blog for. Sorry for the misleading title and photo. Even though in a way Size (of the Earth) does matter, and that painting is titled the Origin of the World. Just listen to the song posted below and consider your phone (smart or not) the world. 

Freud, Dreaming, and the Absurd

Summer is finally here. That means no more required reading, essays, long drives to school, or pointless socializing. So obviously I've had a lot more free time, and much needed rest. My sleeping pattern has gotten even more irregular than ever before, even though I have nothing to stay up for. But I've been sleeping nonetheless, and dreaming more.

They say you dream every night, but you don't always remember your dreams when you wake up. That hasn't been my case recently. I've been having two recurring dreams that are extremely different from one another.

The first one is tranquil and beautiful, a lot like the Rachmaninov link posted above. I find myself in the country. I really don't know exactly where, but it is definitely a rural area. I am walking through a field of wheat. The air is fragrant with sweet smells, and the sun is shining brightly. I feel at complete peace, actually more so happy which in itself is something completely new and alien to me. The funny thing is in the conscious world I am happy also. I haven't felt this way in a very long time. My happiness is uneasy at times, it makes me feel like something is wrong. But I can't really complain much. This mood has been helping me write more frequently. I've been working tirelessly on my novella (A Love Supreme), and I have been writing a lot of exciting poetry. Poetry that surprises me every time I re-read them, because I've never tried writing on the topics I've been writing about and they are actually surprisingly really good poems. After a long walk in the wheat field, I end up sitting under a large apple tree. This is where my dream slightly frightens me, because of the parallels it has with a certain DMT trip. The wind picks up, and the cool breeze sounds like flutes playing in the distance. Then I wake up, thrust back into reality with a smile.

But let us not forget one important thing, when your highs are fantastically high your lows are lower than ever. My mood swings are back and getting worse. Obviously the awkward happiness I've been feeling needed to have its drawbacks.

The second recurring dream I've been having is a complete polar opposite of the first tranquil dream.

I am in a dark tunnel, a train tunnel to be specific because certain nights I can hear the whistle and horn of a train in the distance. The tunnel is dark and damp, there have been nights where I wake up shivering even though this spring has been the warmest spring I've ever experienced. The tunnel is loud, filled with screams coming from both sides of the walls. These screams are unintelligible, they are just loud. So loud that it feels as if the sound waves are piercing through my skin and rattling my bones. My pace gets faster and faster as the screams get louder and louder. Then all of a sudden they stop. The only noise I can hear is my racing heart and my breath. The cold silence becomes unbearable and I begin to scream. From a far distance I hear a familiar voice, one I haven't heard in close to 7 years. A friend, one who I lost to the deadly grips of cancer, begins to call my name. I start running again towards this voice. as I get deeper into the tunnel I see a light in the far distance, the closer I get the louder his voice gets. Then I wake up; cold, shaking, and dripping in sweat. These are the days where I go to bed hoping I don't wake up the next day. I wake up feeling the worst type of sadness. The type that sits in the bottom of your stomach throughout the day, the type that drowning yourself in booze doesn't even help anymore, the type that is so crippling that all you want to do is shrivel up and cease to exist, the type that hurts so so bad.

(Ironically rediscovered this song because of my dream)

I can try and explain both dreams, but don't understand why they coexist. Freud's essays on dreaming and melancholy provide some explanation to the meanings of these dreams, but I'm no expert on Freud or psychoanalysis. It all seems strikingly absurd to me, but maybe I'll figure it all out and you'll be the first to know when I do.

"Blue Chicago Moon"

I have these Bad Dreams where I'm drowning.
I don't know where I am,
Or how I got where I happen to be.

I can feel the weight of the water above.
The pressure tighter than a noose around my neck,
Nothing but Darkness below.

Sometimes the suns out and I'm drowning.
Other times the moon and stars watch me
As I slowly fade into The Depths.

Motionless I float there, Eyes wide open.
Dressed in Black, Cigarette in my mouth.
Calm and prepared, seemingly content.

No sense of helplessness,
just a hint of Regret.
Meditating awaiting the inevitable.

I have these Bad Dreams where I'm drowning.
I don't know where I am,
Or how I got where I happen to be.

Silica

Wild,
but indifferent.

Careless,
but sad.

Both of us lost,
searching for where we truly belong.
Painting the world the color we see fit,
in a black and grey hue.

The scars on your wrist lined up,
steps to the dark depths of who you are.
Like the tracks on my arms,
when self-harm meant getting a fix.

I saw you and felt it,
the pain ran deep.
You had no clue,
but I already knew.




(After waiting for over 3 weeks for a photo of the subject of this poem, I finally chose a photo that really epitomizes who she was and is. Someone who was and is absent minded, but was truly engaging and beautiful inside and out. She is why I haven't posted in a while. Photo is still subject to change if she ever decides to appear again.)

Songs for My Lost Love

My eye wander,
My thoughts escape me,
I've lost my inspiration.

  Leaves fall, Autumn is here.
  You are lost in a windy void
  While I write songs for my lost love.

       Your eyes pierce my heart no more,
       The warmth of your hugs have grown cold,
       My hands lonely, no one to hold.

           You seem better now.
           Its finally spring,
           And I still write songs for my lost love.

I've Fallen In Love

I've fallen in love
Countless times

Bodies warm to the touch,
Kisses wet like summer rains.

But they all mean nothing in the end.
Love disappears,
Slowly with the morning fog.

Only one thing still lasts,
The memories of locked stares.

Hourglass bodies, supple tits,
Broad hips, and beautiful lips
Don't get me going anymore.

Its all in the eyes
Black, Blue, Green or Brown.
Colors meaningless to me

But that mile long stare
Makes my blood rush.

Its all in the eyes
That see right through me.
Making me quiver and shake
Turning me into a little boy,
Lost looking for love.

Now look into mine,
Help me get lost in your gaze.
Make me fall in love with you.