By HARUTYUN AMIRKHANYAN
The poetry sets in at midnight, when the glow of the sun can’t be seen, but vicariously felt through the moon. It’s the best time to contemplate; generate the most unthinkable thoughts and send them as bullets against the satirical twists of fate.
Jonathan and I were chatting in the backyard, drinking beer, and playing music.
“Instead of hunting, you should find a good girl,” he said.
“Give me a list of candidates, I’ll see if any of them appeal.”
“You got to find this out on your own, just go talk to them at events.”
“No, I am not going to compromise my ego unless all the details are available.”
“Oh yeah, I know how huge your ego is.” He dropped a few names, but we weren’t sure if these girls were single, so I had him text his girlfriend about their status.
“Sylvie says there is no Armenian girl that comes to her mind.” I knew it couldn’t be true, so I asked Jonathan to clarify that this was not for hunting purposes but pure connection. And a second later her reply kicked back: “I think Harut should go to a church.” Because, one time, during our executive meeting I used the word hunting; she most likely had this assumption that my intentions were obscene.
“They’ll never understand, Jonathan, I can treat anyone relative to their caste level.”
“I know, that’s the dichotomy between men and women. You are not even a wicked hunter, you get the muchacha but never escalate all the way.”
“Because I still have my heart. Hanging out merely works as a distraction from the monotonous routine.”
“Man, life is unfair; now Sylvie thinks the President of the Armenian Students Organization wants to hunt in ASO itself, and that only the church can put Harut on the virtuous track.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, women cannot get as deep.”
“It’s a fact, I think, scientifically proven that a man’s eyesight has low width but high depth, while it’s the other way around for women.”
“Yeah, that’s why they are so emotional.”
“We are more emotional, but we understand our feeling and mellow it.”
“That’s why all this time, I never wanted a relationship, because they mostly think at the surface level.”
“But they give you motivation to do certain things.”
“No, I am my motivation.”
Jonathan was trying to convince. “Let’s look at the question from a universal perspective. When artists produce, soldiers fight, perpetrators commit, do they do it for themselves or some sort of love?”
“Artists create to enjoy their art, soldiers fight not to let their friends down, perpetrators kill to remain sinful. Love is an exaggerated addiction that appears charming in books, songs and movies.” I continued:
“No clouds to overshadow the moon today. Did you ever point a telescope to the space objects?”
“I have done that with my dad, but it was long ago, might go try again though.”
“All these craters and grooves on the moon are so inspiring. You know that for billions of years, he took all the impacts of space dust and comets … and is still there.”
“Yeah, she has suffered and will spin billions of years after us. I think the moon is she.”
“Why would you say that? he’s so powerful that you need to bring a solid reasoning to change the pronoun, and if the moon is a muchacha, who is the man?”
“The sun is the man, He imposes himself on the moon, in the center of the orbit, the moon is the one being imposed upon, she is just pretty.”
“Man, I like this contrast, let’s see where it leads. So, we can say that the moon has a surface, you can land on it, touch it. The sun, on the other hand, is a gargantuan fireball. It may have a small core, but for the most part, it’s not tangible.”
“Yeah, he is unconquerable, you can’t even get close to the sun, he’ll burn you.”
“What else is there?”
“Well, the moon comes and goes, the sun is always there; daytime we can’t enjoy it because it’s too bright, nighttime he illuminates the moon”.
“Wow, you struck again. And it is so unfair that we do not appreciate the sun who gives life to everything, but we love the moon, who merely uses the sun’s light.”
“The sun doesn’t need to be liked; his ego is high enough to motivate him.”
“This conversation is a philosophical breakthrough; I’ll write a story. Now to the main point: What is the purpose of the sun, having all these planets and satellites spin around him, why does he care?”
“He just cares, cause he is the man, he wants to see some buzz taking place in his orbit, the moon flirting, the human beings evolving. The sun is the imposer.”
“The sun is the creator then, and everything around are his creatures, but why does he need the Earth and other planets?”
“Well, he needs his harems, all the planets are stand-alone harems serving the sun.”
“We will never understand the sun. We can’t clearly see it, it’s beyond our perception. We can only see the other stars billions of light-years far-off. And all these stars act like Gods, each of them nurtures their orbit, lets the creatures live. Until he gets fed up with the planets and moon. Becomes too fierce, radiates the blaze across the universe, and boom, everything perishes. Eventually, the sun dies alone, nobody’s there to mourn him until he fades. And after his death, his soul travels as a thick ray of condensed energy.”
“So, it travels forever, given the universe is infinite?”
“Probably, or maybe it reaches a Turk with a scimitar standing on the border of the universe. Sun’s caste is so high, God level, and we all are his offspring.”
“Heathen! “I would say the sun is close to the God, but not a God, otherwise who had made the Sun?”
“The black holes maybe, they keep the stars in their orbit.”
“OK, then who invented the black holes?”
“The Big Bang.”
“This is getting nebulous.”
“OK call it, at least now we have an explanation to who is who.
©Harmir
