Today, the growing world population, industrial development, and excessive pressure on natural resources are making the need for environmental protection more urgent. People must pay more attention to preserving nature, as it directly impacts our lives and the well-being of future generations.
Protecting nature primarily means conserving natural resources and helping to regenerate them sustainably. Water, air, land, and wildlife are all essential for our future well-being. However, the improper use of these resources, along with pollution and climate change, can lead to a serious ecological crisis.
As individuals, it is our responsibility to approach nature with care and respect. Reducing plastic waste, optimizing energy consumption, transitioning to renewable energy sources, and choosing eco-friendly products are all ways to conserve natural resources. Every small step we take can lead to significant global change.
Education also plays a crucial role in protecting nature. Teaching the younger generation about environmental responsibility, shaping their values correctly, and fostering an environmentally conscious attitude are essential. Additionally, governments and companies must implement policies that focus on environmental protection and introduce strategies to safeguard our planet.
In conclusion, protecting nature is not only the responsibility of governments or corporations but of every individual. Our actions can bring about change and help create a clean and healthy environment for future generations. Loving and caring for nature is our collective responsibility.
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, waiting for time to finally be on his side. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Dope Fiend Daily, The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash and Yellow Mama. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Innovative High-Tech Methods for Diagnosing and Treating Diabetes Complications in Connection with Tuberculosis
Xolmatova G.A., Toxirova R.
Andijan State Medical Institute
Diabetes mellitus (DM) is characterized by a disruption in metabolic processes in the body, leading to impaired immune system function and reduced immunity. Consequently, patients with diabetes are at an increased risk of developing infectious diseases, one of which is tuberculosis (TB). This study aimed to investigate innovative high-tech methods for diagnosing and treating diabetes complications in connection with tuberculosis.
The research involved 60 patients with type 1 diabetes who were under observation at the Andijan State Medical Institute clinic between 2022 and 2024. Among the main group, 39 patients had type 1 diabetes combined with autoimmune thyroiditis (AIT), 11 with tuberculosis, 5 with impaired glucose tolerance (IGT), 2 with Graves’ disease, 1 with both AIT and tuberculosis, and 2 with AIT and IGT. Growth and body mass index (BMI) values were consistent with age-appropriate averages, and no significant differences were observed between the groups (r=0.78 and 0.72, respectively).
In patients with co-occurring autoimmune pathologies, HbA1c levels corresponded to subcompensation of carbohydrate metabolism (8.36±1.94%) and were significantly higher than in the control group (7.45±1.12%, r=0.004). Insulin requirements in patients with multi-glandular damage did not differ significantly from those in the control group (0.85±0.31 U/kg vs. 0.93±0.52 U/kg, r=0.33).
Biochemical blood parameters showed no significant differences: total calcium (r=0.42), ionized calcium (r=0.49), phosphorus (r=0.26), alkaline phosphatase (r=0.71), cholesterol (r=0.32), lipoprotein fractions (r>0.05), triglycerides (r=0.08), urinary iron (r=0.41), and ferritin (r=0.70). However, TPO antibodies were significantly higher in the main group compared to the control group (327.41±469.91 IU/ml vs. 42.12±37.44 IU/ml, r=0.0001). TSH and C-peptide levels did not differ significantly between the groups (r=0.10 and 0.40, respectively).
Recommendations for improving medical care for children with diabetes:
Establish a monitoring system for all diabetes complications (specific and nonspecific) starting from the diagnosis.
Ensure adequate staffing of pediatric endocrinologists and establish regional endocrinology centers.
Strengthen coordinated collaboration across all stages of care among specialists.
Ruxshona Izzatbekovna Toxirova was born on July 25, 2004, in the Oltinkoʻl district of Andijan region. She is Uzbek by nationality. From 2011 to 2022, she studied at the 48th general secondary school in the Oltinkoʻl district. Currently, she is a third-year student at the Faculty of Pediatrics at Andijan State Medical Institute. She graduated from school with excellent grades and achleved numerous successes, actively participating in subject Olympiads. She is the coordinator of the Girls’ Club. She participated in the conference “INNOVATIVE APPROACH TO CURRENT ISSUES IN MEDICINE” held on March 29, 2024. She is also the author of many articles.
The Golden Age of Menace
Something blocks me from knowing everything there is to know of another even of you, with whom I have spent some twenty-two hundred—
or two thousand, two hundred days, at home and abroad, searching for a skyline fit for bohemian ways and dreams that stretch beyond, slightly under and, on the bad days, adjacent to, if not directly so, the skylines we’ve known
all our lives, luckily spent in the same geographies and the same seasons
I don’t expect a reward
for this behavior but regularly find myself asking when
the recognition—
and by recognition, I don’t mean, again, reward but, rather, interaction, discourse, hearsay (well, maybe not the last one)
—will come
I don’t understand why perceived failures pass us by
as if we never had a say in them
as if we never recognized ourselves in the heat of the moment of
their passing as able to
take up the mantle, steer the ship of our lives as a place for choices choice may play a role, yes,
I don’t doubt that, but I definitely don’t doubt fate,
and yet, I’ve felt much closer to choice all my life, but who
says they’re in conflict with one another?
I wonder these things as I try to recall whether or not I blew out the candle in the
living room before heading to bed wouldn’t want to burn the house down but wouldn’t it burn regardless
with Fate at the wheel?
And wouldn’t it find its way around Choice if she decided
to make an appearance through me, through my actions as captain
of some vessel floating among a sea of passengers all equally
struggling with their own decisions?
I blow out a candle, and excessive current causes wires to overheat, leading to melted
insulation and sparks, resulting in
a full-blown electrical fire. Of course, these fires pose a major risk to you and your family, your family.
That’s right. You have a family.
The experiments in choice have led you to a family. A family
you’re dragging through this feeble century that feels
so poorly developed, like some Kaspar-Hauser child sans the mystery,
the intrigue of scandal which now lives out in the open air…
is it scandal—
is it corruption—
out in the open like that? For all to see?
Or was it always like this? Back in the days when you could try to beat The Turk in chess be seen as blessed as you
sauntered down the alley way to the place you know is just a vice…
“At least,” you say, “it’s not the worst one…” I cannot recall where I was going
I cannot remember my dreams
I hardly dream anymore and prefer it that way, anyway.
I’m not sitting around and waiting.
I’m taking action
toward a something better, a something good, in spite of the already good
to shed the skin of the disciple to hang it up to dry overnight for no apparent reason
to finish another’s sentences
against their will, apathetic to their wishes. It’s not a respect thing—I exude respect and admiration for the elites on their streets
paranoid beneath the bedsheets… It’s warranted, I suppose.
There’s not so much good in the world but there can be good in your world and this is why, perhaps, we are
better than God—higher than God because God created a world
not which is violent and unhinged
but one which is lackluster and mediocre and allows for oxygen to mingle with other things and form all variation of life that’s pretty good. But only that.
The birds scream, as Herzog says, and we mustn’t forget that.
Why does the dust settle?
Why do the ashes come and go so quickly? Phoenixes—Phoenices?—rising and falling from past lives prioritized
as a July evening grips you by your ankles in the Midwest heat and coming snow coming rain coming from the sky
the sun—Fortune’s number-one stronghold, a compass rose
depicting a red magnetic north among otherwise yellow directional arrows The Rite of Spring bears rotten fruit and it’s fine that we left it in the past, as a rose is a rose is a rose
no matter where is grows but how can we ensure our flowers go untouched
when the right to bear arms
is privileged over a drinkable well unblemished, not poisoned,
in tandem with dewdrops unspoiled by modern machines marching, consolidations, meeting in the middle of a middle hellbent on oblivion
on sending us to waste, abandoned, disgraced,
unlike everything we talk about loving as circumstances show a trend
toward the triumph of the will and of the fantasy of hierarchy
of that syrup dripping from your mouth that manipulates the masses
and turns them into assets for an empire in its sunset years, its autumn moon
it’s harvest time in these Balkans it’s Canterbury Tales without a point its people scream and shout, reckless abandon,
its creameries cremated for some clout by foragers, by those selling toys
and hocking things you’ve not seen
a respite from the manufactured sheen of supermarkets,
but all of this swallowed by the Culture Ministry, her new henchmen, and the stakeholders unnamed
I’d name them if I could
I’d name them if I knew their names
If they are reading this, I want them to know that I’d name them if I could
and think we always should but all this considered,
I don’t let my heart harden, and
I don’t let it go to waste, at the bottom of an apple barrel, going rotten, turning its back on the world,
in which, by the way, it certainly doesn’t want to participate, but I’m not the kind
to take up arms in a tinderbox, in The Golden Age of Menace, which doesn’t come from abroad
but from at home, in my own backyard, in my own chest,
and just as the seizures I’ve witnessed have woken me up to my own fragility, so the mirror in front of me
reinforces the primary illusion of all life
Two Streets
I’m standing at the corner intersection, I suppose, of two streets: one leading to Montreal, the other to
New Orleans, with a mountain in the middle, while the audience expects a few
magic tricks.
The problem is that I’m sick of magic, and tricks make me sick, but walking keeps me
going, keeps me showing up, stepping, one foot forward, another back
to a future I’ve already lived and a past which is only mysterious
But a Beast
Howling as the earth shakes
I pick a plum from the nearby tree and carry on singing
about something sweet but dead all those twentieth century ways of loving—and living
—that might just prove to be sinister in the eyes of Time
Why It’s Good to Go Out Walking
I go out walking and it doesn’t do much to
quell the craving, to bring anything new to the
dusty table, with its flies buzzing all around, but that’s exactly why it’s good to go out walking, to see that there’s nothing waiting, there’s nothing there, and when you return home, there is so much
there, so much more than you ever knew
Jake Triola is a writer, musician, and filmmaker from Erie, Pennsylvania currently living in Glasgow, Scotland. He studied cinema, photography, and comparative literature at Ithaca College, where he made the award-winning thesis film, Drawdown. He has since released nine albums and five EPs under the name “Kill Symbols.” His poetry has appeared in Hidden Peak Press, Spinozablue, and The Odd Review.
The sun rises out of the belly of the earth Like a giant orange over the mellow meadows Birds singing their esoteric songs, Honeysuckles bask in the morning dew A doe rustling to life after a long sleep Caterwauling creatures echo over hillsides Below the canopy are vanguards of activity Supple blow of the wind weaving in and out of the trees Conglomeration of broods chirping in their nests Cryptic mating calls abound The forest miniature wilds From aphids to beetles slugs to toads All on a brownish tarnished tray in disarray on the forest floor Centipedes skulk through soil caterpillars chomp though leaves Beetles pelt in their holes trailing and gathering in a Resilient resolve to cling to life in spite of natural strife In the deciduous forest that scraps its skin in the fall Nature calms like a mother Spring awakens Chipmunks come out of burrows Baby katydids and tent caterpillars hatch Queen bumble bees collect nectar from wild flowers Azure butterflies greet the dawn Luna moth squirms and scratches within its cocoon
Green tiger beetles with large eyes jumping spiders with sharp eyes Pounce on prey! Between the ferns at your feet and the tree over your head Is the leafy understory It’s the furrowed tree trunks weedy bushes brushing your shoulders Old dead tree that lie on the floor expecting to be explored Red spotted purple butterflies, ant lions and wood nymphs Sunset descends as many animals become bed heads Chipmunk heads to its burrow cicadas stop singing Birds fly to their resting place Bush katydid shed its skin in nocturne All insects molt so they can grow Winter is here… Woods are lovely dark and deep says Mr. Frost And its inhabitants have NO promises to keep Icicles sparkle on bare branches Downy white snow manteau the ground Mysterious eyes carved obsidian in the moonlit dusk The geese robins and monarch butterflies fly south While the animals that stay germinate winter skin to stay warm The air is pure and clean like a mountain stream Now all bed heads head off to bed to sleep perchance to dream…
[Originally published in Litterateur Redefining World anthology and Fleury’s book: Chain Letter to America: The One Thing You Can Do to End Racism: A Collectionof Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism]
Jacques Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey Towards Understanding Your Authentic Self
Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian-American poet, educator, author of four books, and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His latest publication “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” & other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, the University of Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, Amazon etc… He has been published in prestigious publications such as Wilderness House Literary Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Litterateur Redefining World anthologies out of India, Poets Reading the News, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene, among others…Visit him at: http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.
Or that I really needed to thrust the tongue’s sword
Still I cannot deny I have slashed a whip cord
How shall I connect a fallen leaf to its tree?
How shall I make a dead fish swim back to the sea?
How can I catch a caged bird that I have set free?
How can I mould whole a glass broken to three?
Whatever reason and situation might be
Whether it has not been done intentionally
Even if the offense done is not known to me
For hurting you I have to say I am sorry
The list of old year’s follies and mistakes to tear
Open heart to feel, eyes to see, and ears to hear
Awareness to make amends and set my path clear
A clean slate to celebrate the coming new year.
The King’s Star
A lone shining star in the sky
to guide three rich pious magi
they carry gifts for the king child
through different lands they travel
Of the lone star they do marvel
Centuries waiting for that star
Through times of peace and times of war
Their excitement are growing wild
Castles and king’s palace they searched
What they found their hearts greatly stretched
For the King lies in a manger
Their quest ended in amazement
Their quest ended in amazement
For the King lies in a manger.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.
Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
