On the Area Relationship Between a Triangle and the Triangle Formed by Its Medians
The study of triangle geometry has long captivated mathematicians due to its inherent elegance and the deep relationships between different properties of a triangle. One such intriguing relationship involves the comparison between the area of a triangle and the area of a triangle formed by its medians. This result has far-reaching implications in various mathematical fields and continues to provide insights into geometric transformations and their properties.
The Median Triangle: Definition and Significance
In any given triangle, a median is a line segment that joins a vertex to the midpoint of the opposite side. A triangle, by definition, has three medians, and these medians are concurrent at a point called the centroid. This centroid divides each median into two parts, with the segment connecting the vertex to the centroid being twice the length of the segment connecting the centroid to the midpoint of the opposite side.
When the three medians of a triangle are used as the sides of a new triangle, the resulting triangle is known as the median triangle. While this geometric construction is simple, its relationship with the area of the original triangle reveals deeper insights into the triangle’s structure and properties.
Area Relationship Between the Original Triangle and the Median Triangle
A fascinating result in triangle geometry reveals that the area of the triangle formed by the medians is exactly 75% of the area of the original triangle. In mathematical terms, if represents the area of the original triangle and represents the area of the triangle formed by the medians, the following relationship holds:
S/s=4/3
This formula indicates that the area of the original triangle is times the area of the median triangle. This relationship arises from the geometric properties of the medians and their connection to the centroid.
Derivation of the Formula
To derive this area relationship, it is essential to recognize that the median triangle is similar to the original triangle. The medians divide the original triangle into smaller triangles, each of which is proportional to the original triangle. By applying principles of geometric similarity and proportionality, one can show that the area of the median triangle is of the area of the original triangle.
The factor comes from the scaling of the areas due to the centroid’s influence on the medians. The centroid acts as a point of balance, and it is through this balancing point that the areas of the two triangles are related in the manner described.
Applications and Importance
This area relationship has important applications in multiple areas of mathematics and physics. In geometry, it aids in understanding the properties of triangle transformations, while in optimization and design, it helps in problems where the centroid and medians play a role in determining structural properties.
Furthermore, this result enhances our understanding of how transformations, such as replacing the sides of a triangle with its medians, can affect area while preserving similarity. It also highlights the efficiency of using medians in various geometric calculations.
Conclusion
The relationship between the area of a triangle and the area of the triangle formed by its medians is a profound result in geometric analysis. The fact that the area of the median triangle is times that of the original triangle demonstrates the deep interconnections within the geometry of triangles. This result not only contributes to theoretical mathematics but also has practical implications in various fields where geometric transformations are employed.
At the end I lived in rented rooms. Desolate side streets. No elevator. Creaking steps. Paint chips in the water glass. Cockroaches in the bathtub. Bed by the wall. Dark convoluted mattress stains like an inkblot ghost. No hot water. Smell of old blood in the closet. Home for a week, home for a month. Then another city. Another room. Another name on the newspaper. Another set of identification letters for the television stations.
If he was in the South, I traveled south. When he ventured West, I followed west. The moonlight shines behind his fingers as he picks up the knife. The shadows unfold as I raise my hand. I wipe my forehead. I close my eyes.
I feel the wounds. I hear the screams.
Is this the room where the pregnant girl perspired during the hasty abortion that ruined the cheap bedspread? Is this the closet where the old watchman hanged himself, unable to hear the sound of his own voice? Maybe it is the place where the weary salesman raised the revolver to his temple. At that moment, a child sitting in a train on the elevated platform just beyond the salesman’s window put into his mouth a hard candy shaped like a bullet. Or could this be the last room for a killer? A deranged man? A monster unable to refrain from the dark urge, deliriously craving the final peace of his own destruction? Every room has a death story. Every room is another museum filled with the irremovable or unnoticed traces of someone’s fatal moments.
There was the vigorously applied razor blade left imbedded in the chunky soap bar. Dark flakes of hemoglobin were scattered across the white rectangle. They blew away as I raised the bathroom window with a bang. Three greasy fingerprints on the dull grey fuse box panel prefaced an outline of feet scorched on the shabby wood floor. Shards of a broken iodine bottle in the hallway leading to the toilet. Soiled grasp marks on the matrix of jaundiced damp sewage pipes. Nylons twisted into a noose lying like a coiled snake in a heap by the fire escape. An iridescent scabrous square of rat poison in the center of the loop. Crusts of rancid vomit in the Bible drawer. Maggots pinching through the Revelations.
A symbolic image, no doubt. The kind of thing that might appear in some controversial film about damnation, or the dissolution of religious belief. Dearest father, I did not forget your lessons. Everything I have seen throughout my life has been viewed within my own personal frame. Without really knowing why, the importance of a thing always depended on its visual content. I never understood the world, or its people, or its objects, unless I was making some kind of visual conclusion about the relationships between things. I could never resist what I must call a supreme demand, from somewhere within my nature, to establish and construe elaborate connections between all that my senses digested. It is as though my subconscious was engaged in some kind of esoteric archaeology, as though everything that could be depicted and suggested, especially all things that seemed destined to have a relationship, that somehow all this was already so, had been so, and now it was the duty of my mind’s divination to uncover what was, to reconstruct and display it, like a great structure or artifacts uncovered in a dig. It was as though my imagination had inherited some kind of perverted obligation from the teachings of my father, or perhaps my imperfect soul had made it perverse. Now I feel a great shame in all this, I can see the great reluctance that prevented me from true communion with others, yet I cannot deny the great understanding that depended on the power of the imagination, the interiority of consciousness, the relativity of perception and cognition. Did I unwittingly turn your wisdom into a comedy of errors, dear father? Did I somehow turn your spiritual warnings about the dangers of illusion into a rationale for the processes of illusion? I know you were genuine in your heart. You never gave me a stone when I asked you for bread. You never gave me a serpent when I asked you for a fish. Somehow the light of my body depended upon an evil eye, the false camera eye that filled my body with light that is darkness.
Shotgun blast blood outline, contours like a hologram fixed upon the wall after the trigger was pulled. Here the body remained too long, and there was too much heat, too little maid service. Gas mask swinging on the knob of the cellar door, hollow eyes sunken deep like a desert bone animal face. Cracked plastic tube of the hair blower in the empty stained fish tank once filled with water. Eyelashes brittle next to the coral house on the bottom, evidence of a successful electrocution long ago. Hysterical suicide confessions scrawled in lipstick across the large pages of the telephone book still in place atop the decrepit wooden stand by the lobby desk. Stench of the manager’s fingers as he flips through the book in search of a clean page. Monotony of his practiced gestures as he hands me the key, looks over the desk to be sure I have luggage, places the pen in the center of the decaying registration log, sits back on his stool, lighting another cigarette as he watches me ascend the stairs, wondering if I will become another suicide, another body carried out on the red rubber stretcher. A large cockroach does not escape the trained assault of his shoe. Its inner matter bursts with a gush as I turn the key to my room. Slowly the bent dusty blades of a fan turn about. The cockroach antennae twist a few times. I shut the door.
Peter J. Dellolio
The Confession is available here from Barnes and Noble.
Meet Samuel Beckett With Richard Wilson 2015 Manufacturing Intellect Princeton University Library Playing the Spectator While Waiting For Godot, Kimberly Bohman-Kalaja, The Princeton University Library Chronicle, Vol. 68, No. 1-2 Winter 2007, Princeton University Library Publishers.
Discuss the use of repetition and doubling as dramatic devices in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. Or Bring out the significance of the stage setting in Waiting for Godot or in Look Back in Anger. Or Discuss the theatre of the absurd and connect it to some of its social and philosophical antecedents.
That postmodernist Irish tragicomical Waiting For Godot is a poetic drama of the Anglo-Franco absurdist tradition that evades both the meaning of life and purpose and that of memory and jurisdiction as envisioned by the vaudeville stock buffoon archetypal everyday humanity country bumpkins and fool-like jester tramps.
These protagonists Vladimir and Estragon’s histrionic rhetorics “Yesterday’s evening it was black and bare. Now it’s covered in leaves” and “It must be the spring” respectively delineate the trajectory of stage directions behind the stage and alleyways of a baffling generation of scholarly drama critics. Time is a patterning of memories in a narrative sequence as observable by these characters’ microcosmic natural world amidst blasted heaths and ruined countryside. Representations of recurrent imageries associated with boots and hats, gastric inflammation, and pouches of belching bear resemblance to outfit wardrobe and food crises prevalence of French resistance of the post world war epoch.
Emissary’s implication of Godot’s continual dismissal is lachrymose news to the readers of existentialism and nihilism. After all Pozzo’s declarative “Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time?” postulates that the natural world is a purgatory without a promissory note of salvation as envisioned by these tramplike vagabonds; they cannot reminisce on past memories and are thus entwined within this gossamery of past and present spatiotemporality to be certain about who they are, where they are and why they are like rhetorical questions.
Estragon’s and Vladimir’s hanging upon the tree is a figurative trope of melodramatic hyperbolism that concerns finding meaning within a meaningless world. Lucky’s beastly burdensome stoicism [lifting of sand bags every now and then and then dragging them down to relift them] subjective to Pozzo’s tyrannical regime upon the behest of mindless and purposeless errand is symbolic of power dynamics concerning humanity’s enslavement to chasmic maze.
Lucky being deafened and Pozzo being blind incriminate subversion of power polity through the inversion of power dynamics, through banishment of colonial hegemony and thus proclaim emancipation to freedom by resistance and rebellion. That literature laureate absurdist and existentialist playwright Samuel Beckett crafts electrifying and spellbinding aural specks of allegorical enchantment in canonizing the fiction of absurdist poetic drama. After all, this is an allegory of the human condition for eternity as if we are cataclysmically falling with the rolling boulders from the cliff.
Fatalistically these tramp protagonists are eternalized for waiting and Beckett has transformed the destitution of mankind into exaltation through Lucky’s personae: “He’s Lucky to have no more expectations.” Furthermore, the polar binaries between the powerful Pozzo and the powerless Lucky, Estragon, and Vladimir insinuate extended metaphors of the Cold War, the French Resistance, and the Irish rebellious spirits of the nationalist freedom movement.
“Let us not waste our time in idle discourse! Let us do something while we have a chance.” Vladimir’s speech is evoked in implication of salvaging the quagmire of Pozzo and Lucky’s funebrial crisis. Angst and pangst of existentialist crisis has been translated to the traumatic psyche of these priggish and prudential beings. However the stage directions of being stationary connotes their dwarfish dormancy and alienated stagnation. That the pointlessness of existence is implicated in salvation being awaited by external force and that self is incapable of self-knowledge. In cloak and dagger connotations of Estragon and Vladimir symbolically represents ego and id while Pozzo and Lucky symbolically represents superego.
As a result these characters are alter egos or shadows or persona soul image of themselves weaved by the gossamery of existentialist crisis. In this context, Lucky is the shadow of the superego of the egocentric Pozzo whose emotion becomes repressed pouring forth of the unconscious state through monologue.
Estragon is feminized with sensitive, irrational and poetic traits while Vladimir is masculinized with rational, contemplative and intellectual traits. Godot is a political satirical idiom of modern popular culture symbolic of the gothic monsterish figure of loathsome whangdoodle as dracula macabre. Pathos of nothingness is a dire catharsis by the crucial existentialists’ plight engendering from being sublime to travesty within universalistic spatiotemporality by the indication of “A country road”. “A tree”. “Evening”.
Domineering colonizer master Pozzo with his whip and the subservient colonized subaltern Lucky’s servility in burdensome stoical endurance is the inversion of the amnesty between Estragon and Vladimir despite these individualists’ nihilistic despair with insurmountable frustrations. Antiphrasis of stage directions hint to “They do not move” despite speech acts of voluntary action: “Let’s us go” furthermore metaphorically suggestive of philosophical pessimism as embodied silence, stasis, absence and negation.
Becket’s poignant revelatory envisioning from Biblical allusions point out that “Do not despair, one of the thieves was saved; do not presume, one of the thieves was damned.” Although the tragicomedy lacks female reproductive machinery however, the tree is symbolic of that utopian hope in a world of futility.
Frugal and mundane existence in a characteristic bleak landscape in expectation and anticipation of the messianic Saviour Christ through the mediation of the emissarial convoy exhibit the maudlin encumbrance of these stock characters like vaudeville fools and country bumpkins in mainstream absurdist realism. “I’ll never forget this carrot. The more you eat, the worst it gets. I’ll get used to the muck as I go along.”
These dialects are philosophical prompts propounded by the childish, materialistic, feminist, poetic, melodramatic Estragon and rational intellectualist wimpy guffaw of Vladimir contrasting differences of their outlook in life. The essence of struggling and wriggling is both bogus and vague as contemplated by these speculative skeptical states of affairs. Godot might be a satirical human condition of both waiting and achievement throughout Christmas, birthday celebration, job prospect, love of the life, funeral anniversary and so forth. Sadomasochism of Pozzo and Lucky are allegorically satirized by brevity of intertextual allusions that mirrors habitual distraction and interruption that embodies Didi and Gogo’s world of nihilistic pessimism, stasis and repetition, skepticism and ambiguity.
Their forlorn and obscuring of train of thoughts and chain of events, forgotten memories, obliviousness of dreams, discarding of dialogues and abandonment of suicide attempts are verily brought to the foray of this justification. Language has lost the essence of the core of communication by the farrago of charlatantry and buffoonery in Lucky’s monologue. Audiences would walk out by the off stage characters’ frustration and oppression after all in correspondence with the effect of defamiliarization. Lucky isolated island of retreat from dialogism critiques the purgatorial nightmare pestering into the infested microcosmic existence of these slapstick vaudeville country bumpkins tramps. Lucky is the symbolic thinktank Beckettian institution which dismantles establishment of linguistic games and sheds light on the furthering of ideas into the dialogic proximity.
After being traumatized and tortured by these existentialist characters, Lucky is doomed into thinking and functioning as Pozzo’s porter.
Further References Youtube Podcasts and Documentary Films and Lecture Presentations Seminary Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, Professor Dr. Nick Mount, Department of English, University of Toronto The Meaning of Godot, Professor Dr. David Pattie, Department of Drama and Theatre, University of Birmingham Theatre and Language: Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, Professor Dr. Belinda Jack, Gresham Professor of Rhetoric, Gresham College, London, UK Cambridge PhDcasts John Gallagher presents Any Wimbush’s Samuel Beckett and Quietism Ian McKellen Discusses “Waiting For Godot” Staging Shakespeare
“I didn’t even know his name,” she whispered softly. She looked at me. “Do you know it?” she asked. She had bright green eyes.
“Johnson,” I said gruffly.
She nodded.
“Can you tell me how it happened?” I asked.
“I met him on the bus. We talked. He seemed nice.”
I waited.
“He said, do you want to get a coffee, so we could talk some more.”
“You got off at the stop on Rogers?”
She nodded, but said no more.
“What happened next?”
“We got our coffees at the McDonalds and then strolled to the park. We talked for a while and then I looked around and we were suddenly in a woods. He…grabbed my arm and twisted it. I tried to yell but he put his hand over my mouth. He started to rip my clothes off me.”
“You’re doing good,” I told her. “How did it end?”
“He had me on the ground and was on top of me and I opened my purse with my free hand and pulled out my pistol and stuck it in his belly and pulled the trigger three times…”
I waited a minute. “And then?” I prompted.
“And then the police came. Someone in the park must have heard the shots and called them.”
I held up a transparent evidence bag with a Glock inside. “Is this your gun, Caroline?” I asked gently.
She nodded.
“You’re the legal owner of this weapon?” I asked. I had already checked the registration and the data bases. She was legal.
She nodded again.
“How did you happen to be carrying it?”
“Habit. I always carry it with me, everywhere, ever since the first time.”
🎄New Year🎄
New year is knocking on the door
We look forward to this day
Heart full of beautiful feelings
Bring joy to all years.
It is unique to the world
Lights shine like fir trees
Santa and Snow White sharing gifts
He likes all children.
We are looking forward to the new year
We welcome a new day
Forget all the sorrows
Do not leave us dreams.
May the world be happy
Cheerful girls playing on the street
These happy days will not end
Having tasted the love of winter.
Let's wait for the new year and wish for goodness
May our hearts shine like the sun
Hearts full of sweet dreams
Happy New Year everyone.
✍️Ruzmetova Zuhra
Ruzmetova Zuhra Vyacheslavovna November 30, 2006 I was born in the city Urgench, Khorezm region. There are 6 of us in the family my father my mother my brother my twin and me. I am currently a student of the 11th grade of school no 14 in Urgench city. I appeared on the international website "Synchronized chaos" and I am the coordinator of the this international site. My poems have been recognized in more than 10 countries. Every week I am guest on Khorezm TV channel. I am the holder of badge "For the international Services"🎖by the bi wing poets writers Association. I am the winner of competitions of more than 100 national and international organizations. I have a B2 certificate of knowledge of the Turkish language. I have many future dreams and goals.
Contributing poet Howard Debs’ work has been included in Chameleon Chimera: An Anthology of Florida Poets, which has just been released by Purple Ink Press, including work by U.S. inaugural poet Richard Blanco and notables such as Geoffrey Philp, Jen Karetnick, David Kirby and many others.
Also, contributor Peter J. Dellolio’s new novel The Confession has just been released from Cyberwit.
The Confession is the first-person account of a serial killer on the evening before his execution. It is literary fiction, and somewhat similar to Naked Lunch by William Burroughs. There is suspense in the narrative, as there is some speculation as to whether or not the narrator is really guilty.
Now for this issue: A Literary Snow Globe. As with a real snow globe, we watch delicate bits and pieces of creative thought descend and fall wherever they may on the landscape of our world. Each time we shake the globe and let it settle, each time we read these works, we take away something different and view a unique scene.
Daniel De Culla’s poem glories in the exuberance and diversity of human creative expression.
Salihu Muhammad describes stages in his development as a creative writer.
Ilhomova Mohichehra’s poetry probes the creative potential of liminal dream-states, how emotions and imagination can be strengthened when we approach sleep. Mark Young incorporates color, texture, and text into subconscious, surreal images he calls “geographies.”
Jim Leftwich’s poem incorporates vivid imagery and wordplay, referencing animals, landscapes, and celestial bodies. It also includes philosophical reflections on time, thought, and human experience. Catherine Zickgraf’s work explores time, mercy and judgment, spirituality, and gender. Maja Milojkovic revels in the beauty of the world while acknowledging everything’s impermanence.
Duane Vorhees’ poems explore themes of love, loss, sexual intimacy, nature, and self-discovery. Cheryl Snell’s fictional drabbles look at moments of connection, humor, and tenderness, between humans and each other and other species. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa affirms her acceptance of her entire life journey and her acknowledgement of the different parts of her personality and character. Linda Gunther’s short story depicts a woman who finds her identity by finding her calling in life.
Ilhomova Mohichehra ponders the dreary sufferings of life as she stares out at a rainstorm.
Mykyta Ryzhykh’s work offers a glimpse into a complex and troubled inner world through images of childhood, animals, fear, and death. Texas Fontanella’s poem expresses feelings of financial instability, frustration with societal expectations, and a desire for creative and personal freedom. He includes references to pop culture, politics, and literature, often in a fragmented and surreal manner. Mahbub Alam addresses humanity’s potential for great good or great evil and the need to make choices. Sayani Mukherjee speaks to the inner wilds: the vision, beauty, and danger we all carry within us.
Chuck Taylor’s poetry speculates on the nature of chaos, how it does not operate according to a holy book or an algorithm.
Nilufar Anvarova urges everyone to expand their horizons by reading. Kucharova Ugiloy celebrates the power of books and learning to expand one’s worldview.
Numonjonova Shahnozakhon reflects on how wonder and curiosity add color to life. David Sapp approaches outer and inner landscapes as a tourist and explorer, probing an office firing and the idea of his death with the same curiosity as he brings to Rome’s Trevi Fountain. Lawrence Winkler brings a sense of wonder to his trip to the Micronesian island of Pohnpei, exploring the history and culture of the place while witnessing his friends’ mishaps in international business. Santiago Burdon sketches a time and place in his Christmas tale from a rough Italian-American childhood.
Zarshid Qurbonov reads a book out in the grass on a sunny day and reflects on Uzbekistan’s literary heritage.
Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna dreams of becoming a teacher or journalist so as to shape the minds of her fellow Uzbeks towards good. Gulsevar Xojamova highlights the Uzbek Youth Academy’s role in developing the creative potential of many young people.
Ibragimova Rushana outlines various techniques for teaching languages. Aziza Umurzoqova highlights the role of student-directed technology for language learning. Jonpolat Turgunov elucidates the history and value of the Ibrat Farzandlari Project, an online resource for learning foreign languages. Durdona Ibrahimova suggests possible innovative roles for technology and online apps and games in language instruction.
Fayzullayeva Gulasal outlines technical and financial problems within Uzbekistan’s industrial chemical industry.
Sarvinoz Quramboyeva conveys the daily determination of the Uzbek people to move their society forward. Shodiyeva Mexribon celebrates the hard work, hospitality, and honor of the Uzbek people. Ilhomova Mohichehra praises the kind and hardworking villagers of Uzbekistan. Sitora Otajonova honors the rule of law and social progress and community spirit of her native Uzbekistan. Mahzuna Habibova speaks to her native Uzbekistan as a friend, urging the land to hold onto its freedom and glory.
Farangiz Abduvohidova elucidates the history and culture of Uzbekistan’s Azim Bukhara region as Tuliyeva Sarvinoz describes the Uzbek historical castle monument of Tuproqkala. Ismailov Sanjar describes in detail the shrine of Sa’d Ibn Abu Waqqas in Uzbekistan. Through his photographs of an Afro-Caribbean festival in Boston, Jacques Fleury celebrates the region’s vibrant cultural diaspora while outlining the historical and psychological significance of the Caribbean rara celebrations.
Photo c/o Jacques Fleury
Sarvinoz Tuliyeva recollects her Uzbek childhood: fragrant trees on her street, parents baking bread in the oven, her father crying as she grows up too fast.
Alimbayeva Diana reflects on the constant care and provision of her father for her whole family. Zabuna Abduhakim writes a succinct verse of gratitude for her caring parents. Makhmasalayeva Parizoda Makhmashukurovna praises her father’s selfless love and sacrifice. Sobirjonova Rayhona honors her kind-hearted sister. Diyorbek Maxmudov praises her father’s tender love. Azimjon Toshpulatov’s verse honors the warmth and love of her mother. Ilhomova Mohichehra reflects on how blessed and lucky she is to have loyal and caring family members. Akmalova Zilolakhan Akobirkhan speaks to the consistent love and practical care most people receive from their parents. Faleeha Hassan speaks of children in the winter, nourished and warmed by caring parents. Muhammed Sinan offers up a tribute to the love, dedication, and integrity of his father.
Audrija Paul’s poetry reflects the determined patience of a lover as Jonborieva Muxlisa Rahmon reflects on the value of friendship and what you gain by being a good friend. Norova Zulfizar reflects on a love so joyful and nurturing it reminds her of spring’s flowering and her parents’ care. Mesfakus Salahin employs a variety of poetic images to convey a gentle and kind romance. Sobirjonova Rayhona urges her fellow young people to live happy lives and treat their parents with gratitude and respect.
Nurullayeva Mushtariy illustrates the heartache that comes when the younger generation does not have compassion for their parents. Shahnoza Ochildiyeva remembers how she began to empathize with and befriended some children who were originally annoying bullies, because she realized they lacked the care of loving parents.
J.J. Campbell reflects on having survived decades of broken dreams, troubled relationships, and abandonment. Yet, as he acknowledges, he has survived. Abigail George reflects on love, loss, mental health, family relationships, spirituality, and her artistic dreams in a prose poem formulated as a letter to her niece. Graciela Noemi Villaverde grieves the death of a husband with whom she shared a tender love.
Z.I. Mahmud explores masculinity and romance in D.H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers and how various social and psychological pressures drive the protagonist away from his fiancees. Eva Lianou Petropolou’s poem, reviewed by Williamsji Maveli, explains how both psychological issues and societal problems such as discrimination and violence against women can interfere with loving relationships.
Kass’ piece explores themes of heartbreak, regret, and the lasting impact of a past relationship. Grant Guy’s poetry reflects on daily routine, loneliness, the lack of intimacy, and loss of identity within some relationships.
Chimezie Ihekuna elucidates the struggles of men in his native Nigeria and elsewhere in the world: being disrespected and viewed only as a source of money in an economy where decent jobs are hard to come by. Maftuna Rustamova also reflects on materialism and the tragedy of reducing human value to money. Don Bormon laments the suffering of the poor out in the cold during winter, while acknowledging the beauty and the harshness of nature during winter months.
Sandro Piedrahita’s short story dramatizes another tragedy, the Pinochet regime’s murder of singer and guitarist Victor Jara. Odera Chidume highlights the effects of war in Nigeria on everyday people through his story of remarkably resilient teenagers.
Vernon Frazer’s poems explore themes of wealth disparity, societal decay, and existentialism, often using vivid imagery and unconventional language. Howard Debs reflects on the human and ecological losses of 2024 and the changes many societies are experiencing.
Before we can fully take stock of 2024, though, there are the December holidays.
Taylor Dibbert recollects an awkward encounter with a stranger as Doug Hawley’s memorable anecdote recounts a Christmas filled with physical and relational peril.
Brian Barbeito’s poem illuminates the beauty of our world and highlights the importance of appreciating nature and loved ones, at the holidays and any time.
Bill Tope’s short story explores human compassion, connection, and perception. Another of his pieces depicts a kindly Jewish shopkeeper whose gift makes some young girls’ Hanukkah very special.
We hope that this issue will be a gift to you, and that as you read, the particles of snow in our literary globe will land in interesting ways that resonate with you.
