Synchronized Chaos Magazine expresses our sorrow for the lives and property lost in the Los Angeles wildfires. We invite people to visit here to learn about how to send cards of encouragement to fire crews and to donate books to replace school library collections that have burned.

In March we will have a presence at the Association of Writing Programs conference in L.A. which will include an offsite reading at Chevalier’s Books on Friday, March 28th at 6pm. All are welcome to attend!

Contributor Eva Petropoulou Lianou shares the Caesurae Collective Society’s call for submissions of poetry about consciousness.

The anthology seeks to weave a fabric of poetic expressions that resonate with the theme of consciousness—exploring the mind, the self, and the infinite cosmos—weaving together poetic voices that reflect on what it means to be aware, alive, and interconnected. Submissions due February 10th, 2025, information here.

Also, World Wide Writer Web invites submissions of short stories for their annual contest. Information here.

Finally, contributor Chimezie Ihekuna seeks a publisher for his children’s story collection Family Time. Family Time! Is a series that is aimed at educating, entertaining and inspiring children between the ages of two and seven years of age. It is intended to engage parents, teachers and children with stories that bring a healthy learning relationship among them.

This issue explores how we see and interpret our world through pieces that draw our attention to various focal points and take a closeup or wider angle view.

Some people zoom in on a particular place or image, using that as a meditation to begin deeper thoughts.

Sayani Mukherjee evokes an island’s lost grandeur through describing historical ruins while acknowledging the destination’s current reality. Student group 2123, from Uzbekistan, contributes a group reflection on their trip to Samarkand.

Dario creates a musical combination inspired by the complex culture of New Orleans. Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ photography focuses in on bits of play and whimsy in toys and in daily life.

Precious Moses draws on the West African iroko tree as a symbol of maturity and strength in hard times. Rahmat A. Muhammad expresses hope through the birth of a young sister in a world touched by darkness and pain.

Dilshoda Izzatilloyeva illustrates from her own life how people can learn and grow through challenges and setbacks.

Mashhura Usmonova expresses gratitude for her teacher and for education, which has allowed her to write as a container for her emotions.

Dr. Jernail Singh offers thoughts on poetry: how he appreciates cohesion and meaning as well as pretty language. Noah Berlatsky gives a dramatic take on the excision needed for the creative process. Daniel De Culla offers up a satirical and humorous take on writing generated through artificial intelligence as Texas Fontanella blasts the firehose of words and letters in our general direction. Jerome Berglund and Shane Coppage’s collaborative haiku include humor and clever twists of phrase.

Jacques Fleury poetizes about how knowing vital history can protect you from being erased by others’ fear or hatred.

Maria Miraglia, as interviewed by Eva Petropolou Lianou, speaks to the importance of literacy and education in world peacemaking efforts.

Ashok Kumar reviews a poem by Eva Lianou Petropolou expressing her hopes for peace in the world. Eva Petropolou Lianou reviews a poetic plea for peace by Yatti Sadeli. Victor Ogan offers up a call for tolerance and equality among people of different races and cultures.

Loki Nounou calls out a culture of sexism in which violating women’s rights and their bodies becomes normalized. Narzulloyeva Munisa Bakhromovna highlights the critical need to stamp out global corruption.

Mahbub Alam laments the killing in Gaza and hopes that everyone who dies makes it into a better place. Graciela Noemi Villaverde also mourns the destruction in Gaza, personifying the land and culture into a living being to highlight its pain and beauty. Lidia Popa speaks directly to the heart and conscience of the world in her call for peace in Gaza. Maja Milojkovic revels in the beauty of peace, for Gaza and everywhere. Wazed Abdullah honors the quiet and dignified resilience of Gazans as Don Bormon affirms that the place will recover and heal.

Laurette Tanner charts and maps her journeys, hoping this wisdom will carry over into developing ways to lessen the suffering of the homeless.

Shoxijahon Urunov inspires us to protect the tenderness of our hearts. Nilufar Anvarova’s piece encourages us to follow our hearts and show kindness to each other. Eva Petropolou Lianou expresses her human vulnerability and desire for understanding and healing. Mesfakus Salahin’s poem speaks to love but also to mystery: how complex we all are and whether we can truly know another.

Stephen Jarrell Williams crafts haiku vignettes on the search for bits of hope and connection in a large modern cityscape.

Mashhura Usmonova expresses gratitude for her teacher and for education, which has allowed her writing as a container for her emotions. Raxmonova Durdona offers up a tender tribute for a caring and deceased uncle.

Maria Teresa Liuzzo’s poetry illuminates deep feeling: passionate love and the inevitability of human suffering. Mykyta Ryzhykh digs deep for meaning in a world littered with death as Orzigul Sherova urges readers to make the best use of their limited time. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa also encourages making the most of life, holding onto faith and hope in a confusing world.

Scott C. Holstad explores themes of disillusionment, introspection, and the search for love and meaning in life. Tagrid Bou Merhi’s elegant words wander through a quest for identity and meaning in a seemingly empty world. In a semicomic short story, Bill Tope fears losing memory and mental capacity. J.J. Campbell writes of numbness, aging, and loss. He connects with others, but even these interactions are tinged with sadness, longing, and thoughts of mortality.

Audrija Paul tells the story of a heart broken when a person reads more into a relationship than is there. Taylor Dibbert describes a relationship that ended as impulsively as it began. Z.I. Mahmud explores generational family dysfunction in his essay on Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts.

Chris Butler’s short poems probe themes of identity and love and our relationships to nature and technology.

Alex S. Johnson proffers a mythic tale where a hero foils the unholy plots of power-hungry gods and wild natural forces.

Rustamova Muqaddas relates twists of fate on a hiking trip, the uneasy balance of humans and wild nature.

Joseph Ogbonna writes of the majestic richness of the Himalayas as Gadoyboyeva Gulsanam describes the power and transience of a rainstorm. Ilhomova Mohichehra conveys the joy of children playing outside on a snowy day. John Brantingham’s short story shows a couple re-evaluating how much they have in common while watching muskrats go about their business.

Mark Young’s surreal poetry touches on climate change, politics, nature, and job hunting, as Su Yun’s work explores time, nature, identity, and memory.

Duane Vorhees’ work addresses life, death, and the physical and sensual aspects of our existence with wit and humor. Marjona Jo’rayeva Baxtiyorovna offers blessings for weddings as Nate Mancuso’s tough and ironic gangster tale takes place in the world of calm seniors and pickleball. Alan Catlin presents sets of poems in three parts, each looking at aspects of aging, nature, and art.

Tom McDade braids vignettes and images from life together with artworks from different eras. Peter Cherches’ vignettes present character sketches of people on journeys, literal or emotional.

Reading this issue is a journey of its own, and we invite you to savor these contributions.

Two friends went on a trip, 

Meetings are such a small jar,

 They want to know what’s in it, 

But the inside of the jug is very narrow. 

The thought came to the jar,

 It didn’t look like that. 

Even if they want to go down, 

The wind is blowing very fast.

 At first glance, 

So in the jar, 

Unable to get out of the jar, 

The two hunters panicked. 

Then the fox came, 

He wanted to help. 

He raised the jug and poured water from his eyes. 

It fell out of the jar, 

Traveling comrades, 

Repentance ate like this.

 But it was too late Immediately the fox,

 He wanted to eat, wow. 

Come hunter brother 

He caught the fox.

 Put a wipe on the neck, 

Take advantage of this time.

 The two ran away, 

Our story too. 

This time is over.

May your weddings be blessed!

May your life be filled with light,
May your dreams come true.
On your most beautiful and joyful day,
May your weddings be blessed.

May the groom have honor and devotion,
May the bride have a beautiful smile.
May no one cast an evil eye on your happiness,
May your weddings be blessed!

Today, relatives and friends gather,
May your faces always be bright.
May everyone envy you,
May your weddings be blessed!

Time

“If you love life, don’t waste your time, because time creates life,” said one of the philosophers. The most valuable thing in this world for a person is time. Time is the amount of time we have the energy to do any work or activity. A person who knows how to take advantage of this opportunity is a person who is able to use his time effectively. Because it cannot be stopped or reversed. A baby born just yesterday will go to kindergarten tomorrow, then to school, then to study and, you see, he will start an independent life. In the meantime, he doesn’t even notice that time has flown by. Time doesn’t wait for anyone, or you can’t worry about tomorrow. It should be considered and managed as luck. Only then a person will not feel sorry for the past time and life. A person who knows the value of time has the right to be great.

Time is like a great luck. It is necessary not to lose this luck, but to make good use of it. After all, a person comes to this world only once, and no one but Allah knows how much life and how much time there is in it. Neither his parents, nor doctors, nor others. Every moment can be the last for a person. Therefore, it is necessary to value time, use it wisely and manage it without wasting it.

So how do we manage time? Isn’t it a controlled object?

That’s right, time is not a controlled thing, it’s not even a thing. But time is managed, how do you say? We have often heard expressions like time allocation, time planning, and time sharing. Why do we use these expressions if time is not controlled?

We are always

– tomorrow I will do that work, today I will go to this place, and now I will do these lessons – we manage our time, that is, we allocate it to our important work. With this, we will make good use of our time. We will manage it properly.

But what if it’s the other way around? What if we can’t share it? Or what if we spend it only planning and not actually doing anything?

Then we will be defeated, that is, time will control us, not us. We are wasting our precious time given to us by God. As a result, we cannot leave a good name or good memories in this world. Instead of regretting wasting our time tomorrow, we should learn to plan, allocate, and manage it right now. We should appreciate time when we have time, not when we don’t have time. After all, time is a priceless blessing. Therefore, every person should make good use of the time given to him, he should never stop learning and learning a craft. We can earn back the money we spent, but we can’t get back the time we lost. Let’s appreciate God by thanking him for every breath and every day. Because this time is a deposit for all of us!

Touch

A mahogany of lost leaden high
The namesake kept its promise
The turbulence of sea horse runner
The silver disk is a little low tonight
For Baroque's touch of medias res
The high strung of novelty
The joyous currents of sea beds
Leaves me open stranded 
In an Island of Mediterranean blue
I sing and hum the national green 
The olive touch of Texas to Britain
Ghettos land in the islands of poverty
I skimmed a solistic touch. 

Muskrats in their Daily Work

When you moved from Pittsburgh to Los Angeles all those years ago, you didn’t know that you were losing your relationship with muskrats, and now watching one building his lodge in the stream and culvert out behind the restroom of a rest stop in Missouri, you realize that you missed them. He is getting ready for winter, and the water has just partially frozen. He’s down there diving and building, swimming under the ice. The ice is clear, and he swims with his back against it so you can watch his progress.

“There you are,” Ellen says, coming up behind you. “I came back to the car and wondered where you’d wandered off to.”

You point down to the little creature and say, “Check that out.”

Ellen, who has lived in Los Angeles her whole life, watches it for a moment and asks, “What is that?”

 “A muskrat,” you say.

“God, it looks so,” she takes a breath, trying to find the word, “odd.”

Of course, you realize that it is strange to her who has never watched muskrats in their daily chores, but you and your grandfather used to walk down to the creek and watch them at work, and he used to tell you how muskrats and beavers shared their lodges with each other. He used to tell you that they were two of a kind and shared everything, the way that he and you were two of a kind. He used to paint word pictures about the happy lives that beavers and muskrats lived during winter.

And if it is alien to Ellen, it’s like coming home for you. What has been alien for you all these years in Los Angeles has been coyotes walking the streets at night and lizards crawling up through gutter spouts and across the pavement of parking lots. Something in your body tells you you’re getting closer to being back where you belong.

You think about an ex who you thought that maybe you were going to marry, and then she found out that you liked baseball, and you found out that she was into bondage, and these discoveries were too much for either of you, and then there was no more talk about marriage and soon enough you just weren’t calling each other, and come to think of it, you never even really broke up because some things are just so obvious that they don’t need to be spoken. Maybe the way you relate to muskrats is as big as that. Maybe there’s no coming back from something as fundamental as the fact that you don’t both love muskrats. Or maybe you spend far too much time in your own head.

You ask, “Do you think that you’d ever want to live anywhere but LA?” It’s the kind of thing you’re starting to talk about, where you both want to live. This big trip you’re taking is a kind of test, you understand, to see if you might want to share a home some day.

She exhales a laugh, “And leave the sacred soil? You must be joking.” She punches you on the shoulder, and you know that she does think you’re joking, that the idea of leaving Los Angeles is so foreign to her that no one would ever talk about it seriously. This is, you understand, another test for the two of you, one that you didn’t know you were taking.

If you are to stay together, one of you has to live in a place that feels alien. One of you has to feel out of step for the rest of your life. You suppose that your grandfather would say that you and she are simply not two of a kind. She takes you by the hand and pulls you away. “Come on,” she says. “It’s cold out here.”

It is cold, you suppose, but you like the Autumnal chill. Back in LA the Santa Ana winds have started up again, and you know it’s hot. You wonder if Ellen misses it, and you suppose she does. In the decades you lived there, you never once got used to it. You wonder if maybe you already know the answer to this test. You suppose that you probably do.

Yearning

We are beating emotions, 
And because we are this
And names that breath
We want to rent the earth 
And air without 
Being choked by stares.

We pray that the colours
That wound round our skin
Tire of inheriting us
The prods of goads
And ta-ta-tas of stones.

Or is it you
Who must cease
Travelling down that bumpy road?

Hate is free
But that cruel master
Turns eyes into
Prowling and prancing slaves
Seeking hurt and prey.

So you can cease,
Cease travelling along
The path that splinters
And burns
And you can choose
The other road that says
We are all priceless. 

Then we all can live
As the wind
Not teetering on
Extinction’s face.

We want to belong
To the night as the day
Safe on silent streets
With distant stars
And scanty lamps
Hurt and the terror of it,
Absent as breath from corpses.


Origins

The earth bled out
Untainted & undeveloped tongues,
Interacting with the gift of mime,
They learnt the truth,
Good & evil, order & chaos.

They grew to the circumference of the earth,
Their blood remained red
But they sprouted languages & skin colours
Denying the roots of their birth.

The beating of their soft instruments sculpted into stone
Tumbling, crushing and falling upon the other
Each claiming a preminence of his own
That above his god & empire was the testimony of no other.

Yet, time has possessed a greater testimony, 
For do not most facts in their history,
Sleep underneath sepulchres
Of legends & myths & mystery?

Victor Ogan is a writer whose works focus on existential themes.