Karen Svasyan's new book "... but it's still night" is a kind of continuation of the book 'Disidentifications'. The reader would in vain look for unity of content in texts written at different times for different reasons and in different genres. If there is unity here, it can only be with an eye on the author. More precisely, the state of soul and mind from which these fragments arose. Probably, one could talk about insomnia, only not the oppressive one that leads you into the night and leads you through the night, but that other one, brittle and unfaithful, from whose touch the night begins to turn white and whose immortal call I heard in this book: " They shout to me from Seir: “Watchman! How long is it night?” The watchman answers: “The morning is approaching, but it’s still night.”