tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-258185172011-09-22T17:42:45.969-04:00This blog is about wanderings of the mind. They could result from physical wanderings, but they are mainly about a labyrintine journey of ideas that appear to me that need to be connected. In the end, everything is connected. As you connect the dots with me, you will find that you have woven an ancient carpet of magical dimensions. The magic is not in the end result, but in the fact that we can weave in the first place.Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.comBlogger101100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-42219276098589461972011-08-13T22:09:00.044-04:002011-09-16T21:01:52.359-04:00

After I got to my room, I managed to connect with Skype back home. I miss my family a lot. I share with them the exciting details. I tell them to read my blog, as I will likely publish the first installment soon. I also tell them to connect online for the opening ceremonies.I fall asleep from sheer exhaustion around 4:30 a.m. I wake up at six.I always become extremely depressed when I think about

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-26516558630476382412011-08-12T09:24:00.013-04:002011-08-29T00:18:25.390-04:00

It is morning. Before I get up and go, I have to see an important man. He is Ter Mesrop. I had met him also 4 years ago in Yerevan. And this year in Montreal. I had been initially introduced to him by one of the "Fellowship of ideas", the most amazing David Y. He had made a remarkable impression on me at the opening of the physics lab of the Phys-Math School for Gifted Children in Yerevan.

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-74396713215119185322011-08-11T14:28:00.049-04:002011-08-28T14:25:49.024-04:00

I have left things unfinished last time. When I came back from Armenia, the endless urge to write and create subsided quickly. Like coming off from a drug-induced high. Not that I'd know. I have mostly half-written unedited chapters from last time. Along with a pile of notes. I shall finish them of course. I am hoping that soon. My writing is unfinished. Just like me. In the end, perhaps

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-41907991650578884352007-05-26T00:47:00.001-04:002008-06-01T11:48:13.019-04:00

The bed at the hotel is one of the best I have ever slept in.It is strange, but I have not had any dreams yet in Armenia. Your brain never gets a rest here to have a dream.Yesterday I called the people I wanted to meet to let them know. My list is very short. Only the most essential ones.The first one is in the lobby of the hotel waiting for me. He is RK. And no, in case you were wondering, he is

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-3655667326764251322007-05-25T00:22:00.000-04:002007-06-18T12:59:15.243-04:00

Let me just say it straight out.I belong nowhere. But maybe some of my ashes belong here.Our roots are definitely here. Of that there is no doubt. Whether we like it or not.So, when my turn comes to turn to dust, I'd rather nurture those roots with what would be left of me.If I am to eventually feed a tree, I'd rather feed a tree here. With some of my ashes. Other ashes should go to other places

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-4358102468182068182007-05-24T06:57:00.000-04:002007-06-18T12:57:28.366-04:00

My plane from Prague landed in Zvartnots ariport at about 5 in the morning. As it was flying low, I noticed how dark the city was.There are two terminals. The old, round, futuristic one (as described at the time it was built). Architecturally unique in a Montreal-Olympic-stadium sort of way. Like its namesake and its Montreal formsake it is falling apart.Then there is the new terminal. A shining

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-30476329696553948242007-05-23T12:21:00.000-04:002007-06-18T12:56:42.046-04:00

It has been a long arduous flight to get to Yerevan.From Montreal to London, then to Prague then to here.Several hours at each of the stopovers. Several decades' worth of emotions and stress.I haven't been to London for close to two decades. I still remembered my uncle's house, the underground station. The street. The narrow cobblestones.Heathrow airport and the London underground have a morbid

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-66896308408273688002007-05-22T12:57:00.003-04:002009-05-06T23:33:07.288-04:00

Today it has been 40 days since I lost a personal hero.Today is a karassounk day for me (the end of the Armenian 40-day mourning period).He was one of the greatest writers of modern times. He was Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.He has authored numerous and incomparable works of great humour, sadness and love for people. Mostly though, works of amazing humanism.Look him up, you won't be sorry. Better still read

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-77654754169083868832007-05-21T21:02:00.000-04:002007-06-18T12:55:56.523-04:00

Of course, in the beginning was the Word. Here are my words. They are just words.It is obvious that I am an Armenian.I am almost half a century old, and have lived all these decades with who I am in a strange construct. Like most Armenians born, raised in and living in the Diaspora (actually Diasporas) I am not whole.I am a PTSD child of the genocide my people suffered. The third generation of

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25818517.post-34300218975310641362007-05-06T09:48:00.000-04:002007-05-06T09:51:07.414-04:00

I am now testing. Hello world.A blog is born.Who cares?

Viken L. Attariannoreply@blogger.com2