Rhian Elizabeth’s maybe i’ll call gillian anderson speaks to the liminal spaces we experience as we transition from one role to another in our relationships. 

The book begins with the titular piece where a lonely mom says goodbye to a daughter moving away to college. Next, the same narrator has an elaborate dream of befriending an elderly stranger who comforts her after the loss of her own grandmother and father (drowning on a stranger’s couch). Other pieces depict a mom who feels needed again while caring for a drunken teenager (a new and precarious thing) and a still-grieving queer woman who remembers how in an ill-fated relationship, her lover’s snoring sounded too much like her deceased grandmother’s tea kettle (to the girl who said i’ll never be happy because i’m too picky).

Grief becomes a motif in this collection, which includes pieces referencing the losses of the narrator’s father, grandmother, and past lovers. Sometimes the losses are the focus of the poems, other times they’re mentioned as asides adding depth to a piece on another topic. The daughter’s move towards adulthood becomes a catalyst for the narrator to take stock of her life and consider how she will navigate 40 years of grief and self-discovery. 

The prose is all lower case with contractions and some punctuation shorthands (the & sign) giving the book a familiar feeling, like reading the narrator’s Instagram posts. In keeping with this, she includes tidbits of unglamorous daily life: killing spiders, vomiting, drinking soda for breakfast. 

She also speaks openly of trauma from verbal abuse at work (glasgow) and sexual abuse from a creepy older man (the photograph & the man who took it). And, of her own awkward past, complete with mornings hung over with strange women in her bed (i drank too much and woke up in sweden next to a blonde) and a relationship that made her feel like a trapped lobster in a cage (lobster). 

Dreams and dream-states serve as another motif in this collection. Characters have actual dreams, sleepwalk, get lost and knock on the wrong doors, have lengthy waking reveries, and drive through fog. Being halfway between waking and sleeping echoes the liminal spaces in which the narrator finds herself and also the dislocation of grief and of major life transitions. 

In the end, the book comes full circle, checking in with the lonely mother whose daughter left home (i didn’t call gillian anderson). Remembering that she “learned a long time ago that beautiful women aren’t the solution to [her] problems and because, you know, [she doesn’t] have her fucking phone number,” she decides against calling actress Gillian Anderson. Instead, she finds her confidence and her center, meditating, going back to school, reconnecting with friends, and nervously wishing her daughter all the best. 

Rhian Elizabeth’s maybe i’ll call gillian anderson is available here from Broken Sleep Press. 

THE LEGACY OF JADIDS AND MODERN SOCIETY: WHERE KNOWLEDGE, ENLIGHTENMENT, AND INNOVATION CONVERGE

The early 20th century in Turkestan witnessed the rise of a profound intellectual movement known as Jadidism. Far from being mere reformers, the Jadids were visionary thinkers who sought radical transformations across all facets of society. Their enduring legacy, rooted in a fervent commitment to knowledge, enlightenment, and innovation, continues to resonate in contemporary Uzbekistan and offers invaluable insights for global development.

For the Jadids, knowledge and enlightenment were not abstract concepts but the very bedrock of individual and societal progress. They recognized that an informed and educated populace was essential for breaking the shackles of ignorance and ushering in an era of development. Their primary objective was to awaken a dormant society and guide it towards the light of modern scholarship. Mahmudkho’ja Behbudiy’s assertion, “Every pen, every page, every book is an army of soldiers,” vividly illustrates the Jadids’ profound belief in the power of literacy and learning as agents of change.

The Jadids spearheaded a radical overhaul of the traditional educational system, advocating for the establishment of “new method” schools. These institutions were designed to equip young minds with not only religious instruction but also a robust understanding of secular sciences, foreign languages, and a broader worldview. This educational reform was, in essence, an act of intellectual liberation, opening the doors of global knowledge to a populace previously isolated. Their unwavering commitment to education underscores the universal truth that a nation’s future is inextricably linked to the intellectual capacity of its youth. Innovation was a core tenet of the Jadid movement.

They were not content with merely replicating existing structures; instead, they were pioneers, constantly seeking to create new ideas and revolutionize established systems. The proliferation of newspapers and journals, the development of modern theater, and the introduction of new literary genres and forms were groundbreaking innovations for their time. Publications like “Taraqqiy” and “Oyna” served as crucial platforms for disseminating scientific advancements and progressive ideas, acting as intellectual conduits that connected Turkestan to the wider world.

The Jadids boldly promoted a modern understanding of national identity and pride. They were unafraid to challenge outdated norms and re-evaluate traditional concepts. This intellectual courage is particularly relevant today, as societies grapple with rapid technological advancements in fields such as artificial intelligence, robotics, and nanotechnology. The Jadids’ innovative spirit serves as a timeless reminder to embrace novelty, continuously learn, and adapt to change. Their legacy encourages us to view innovation not as a disruptive force, but as an essential catalyst for progress.

The independent Republic of Uzbekistan, a realization of the Jadids’ aspirations for a free and prosperous homeland, continues to draw inspiration from their profound legacy. As emphasized by President Shavkat Mirziyoyev, the Jadid heritage forms an integral part of Uzbekistan’s national values and serves as an immense spiritual treasure for present and future generations. The significant emphasis placed on the development of science and innovation, the ongoing educational reforms, and the creation of myriad opportunities for youth in contemporary Uzbekistan are clear manifestations of the Jadid vision coming to fruition.

The establishment of IT parks, Presidential Schools, and specialized creative schools are modern iterations of the Jadids’ pioneering initiatives, reflecting a continued commitment to fostering intellectual growth and technological advancement. In conclusion, the legacy of the Jadids transcends mere historical significance; it is a potent spiritual force that continues to illuminate the path forward. Their relentless pursuit of knowledge, their dedication to enlightenment, and their fervent embrace of innovation offer an enduring model for any society striving for genuine progress.

Indeed, it is at the confluence of knowledge, enlightenment, and innovation that true societal advancement occurs—a convergence that stands as the most invaluable inheritance bequeathed to us by the Jadids.

Sons of Turkestan, the garden of intellectuals, A stain from the depths of the centuries. A lamp that burned in the dark nights, Defeated ignorance, in love with knowledge.

You woke the nation from sleep, “Ignorance is death!” – you suddenly said. Schools were opened, in a new way, Enlightenment turned into a whirlwind.

You fought with a pen, with words, Newspapers were published, hearts felt glory. Behbudiy, Fitrat, Cholpon – each one, Each one burned for the people, each one burned.

The grief of the homeland burned embers in hearts, The desire for freedom, there was no right. Traps were set, you were sacrificed, But your ideas still live.

Today, this time when the dawn of freedom has dawned, The seedlings you planted have become a flower garden. The development of science, enlightenment flowers, Innovations have become hearts.

We remember you, O great ones, Souls are ignited by your courage. The legacy of the Jadids is a light path for us, Continue on this path, always be progressive!

*******************************************************

Qobulova Gulzoda Maksudovna was born on October 20, 1993 in the Khanka district of the Khorezm region into a family of teachers.

In 2012-2016, she studied at the Urgench State University named after Al-Khorezmiy, specializing in History (by countries and regions) on a state budget (grant).

From September 23, 2019 to January 18, 2020, she successfully graduated from the Institute for the Study of Youth Problems and the Training of Promising Personnel under the Academy of Public Administration under the President of the Republic of Uzbekistan.

In 2021-2023, she graduated from the Master’s Department of Urgench State University, specializing in History (by countries and types of activity).

Since 2025, she has been conducting scientific research and studies on the topic of her PhD dissertation as a basic doctoral student in the specialty of History of Uzbekistan at Urgench State University named after Abu Rayhon Beruni 07.00.01.

Qobulova Gulzoda Maksud qizi also works as the secretary of the “OLIMA KIZLAR” club of Urgench State University named after Abu Rayhon Beruni.

She is a member of the “Zakovat” intellectual club.

The Heroism of Shiroq

Throughout history, many nations have sacrificed their lives for their people, freedom, and homeland. Among them, the Saka tribes who once lived in the ancient Aral Sea region rightfully deserve a place. In particular, the clash with the Persian king Darius I and the bravery of Shiroq reflect the courage of this people.

In the second half of the 6th century BCE, a powerful empire emerged in the Near East — the Achaemenid Empire. Its founder Cyrus II, followed by his son Cambyses II, and later his grandson Darius I, continued the policy of expanding the Persian state. The next target of their expansionist campaigns became the land of the Saka.

At that time, the Saka were free and warlike tribes living in the Aral Sea region, along the Syr Darya River and surrounding territories. They stood out for their strong cavalry forces, deep connection to their homeland, and independent worldview. The Persians sought to conquer these lands, but the task proved far from easy.

According to Herodotus, Darius I launched a major campaign against the Saka. However, during their march across deserts and rivers, the Persian army encountered severe hardships. Rather than engaging in open battle, the Saka responded with cunning and mobile tactics — luring the invaders deeper into their homeland while gradually depleting their forces along the way.

It was during this very campaign that the legendary act of Shiroq — inscribed in golden letters in history — took place. According to legend, Darius’s army lost its way in the desert. They captured a local Saka named Shiroq and demanded he lead them to water. But instead of betraying his homeland, Shiroq deliberately guided the enemy deep into the heart of the desert — toward destruction. Exhausted by hunger and thirst, the Persian army was forced to retreat. Shiroq, by sacrificing his life, saved his homeland.

This act of heroism proves how one person can change the fate of an entire nation. In the image of the Saka people, Shiroq became immortalized in history as a brave son who gave his life for his land and people. His courage represents the highest form of valor.

The Saka’s success in this campaign was the result of their bravery, patriotism, and unwavering devotion to freedom. They defended their independence not through brute force, but with wisdom, courage, and unity. Today, we must view this historical event not merely as a tale from the past, but as a lasting example of our ancestors’ heroism.

The lesson is clear: history is a cry from the past. It reminds us — “Never forget whose descendants you are.”

With Achievement

Everyone’s eye on the light,

The light is attracted to the brilliant.

Improve life by keeping in the light.

Everyone wants to live with respect and respect,

Many do not know that respect and respect are not cheap.

Gains respect in the work of achievement,

To everyone is valuable in valuable work,

Life is on the way to Tatini.

Achievement in one’s own hands,

If you work hard,

Your own life must improve.

In the hope of the dream of the dream, in the hope

Only if the equation of reality will shine the light of hope.

In the eastern sky, the clouds are frozen, the clouds are erased over time.

Life is shaking the light of hope,

You have to move on with it.

Fresh Character

Fresh mind fresh character,

Fresh water everyone likes.

Fresh thinking, everything achieved.

Rule of life, everything has a margin.

Fresh air good,

Fresh character proves fresh personality,

Create an awesome mentality.

Short biography: Amb. Dr.Priyanka Neogi from Coochbehar. She is an administrative Controler of United Nations PAF,librarian,CEO of Lio Messi International Property & land Consultanncy, international literacy worker, sports & peace promoter, dancer, singer, reciter, live telecaster, writer, editor, researcher, Literary journalist, host, beauty queen, international Co-ordinator of Vijay Mission of Community Welfare Foundation of India.

WHEN AUTUMN CARRIES HER NAME

At this very moment, you’re in the city, where traffic bustles all around. You wander through the book street, a little lost, stopping now and then to chat aimlessly with a young university student who, just seconds earlier, was staring out the window, perhaps counting raindrops or lost in thoughts that weighed on her heart. It’s autumn in Saigon, though you can’t tell where summer ends or winter begins. All you feel is a mess of emotions, a flood of memories, longing, and affection threading through every bone, aching like winter cold.

To you, she was all four seasons. But you liked to call her Pandora, yours alone. She was Saigon’s rainy and sunny days, tender green, the scent of lotus. She could be Saigon’s fall, Hue’s winter, Dalat’s pine forest, or a foreign ocean shore, you never tried to pinpoint her. All you needed to know was that somewhere, you lived in her heart, and she always reigned in the left chamber of yours. She was a realm of your thoughts, a blooming golden lily, a small alley, and Saigon in autumn.

You closed your eyes, and you were somewhere inside a fairytale garden. Dewdrops sparkled purple and crimson on the grass, reflecting the sunlight filtering through the sky. You wandered around the garden, the sunflowers drooped while the last asters stretched upward, clinging to bloom.

“You’re late,” her voice was soft and warm, like a breath of autumn, like a leaf fluttering gently. Music drifted through the chill air. She was right there, beside you, yet loneliness still lingered in the wide-open space.

She whispered something about music you didn’t fully grasp, but you listened anyway, drawn to the fragrance in her gentle voice. She spoke of rock and pop tinged with wistful chimes, of bittersweet ballads strummed by a distant guitar, of unrequited love, of death beneath decaying trees, and of mournful melodies. The leaves turned golden, and the morning air was brisk and clear. You watched her, so vibrant in a pastoral scene full of allure. Through her voice, music became innocent and luminous. Somewhere, a violin solo began to rise, just a bit more skilful, a bit more joyful and the crisp late-autumn air pulled you deeper into her presence. Her voice, its softness and seduction, merged with the crackle of leaves underfoot. At times, her eyes lit up with a radiant smile.

She wore pale brown boots, a grey knit sweater, a delicate scarf, and a silky A-line skirt. Around her fair wrist, a glittering bracelet fastened with Pandora’s iconic clasp and sparkling stones. In a tender moment, she removed it, handing you a single silver Pandora Moments charm, an emerald star. They said nothing more. Just listened to music playing softly from her tiny phone. You were overwhelmed by a serene intimacy, a sweet romance. The sound was like a soul-deep embrace, one you never wanted to end. You felt a deep, almost aching familiarity, as if nothing in life could surpass this. Listening to heartfelt music, sitting beside a graceful, intelligent woman, you knew then that this was the one you wanted to spend your life with.

When the song ended, all you wanted was to tell her how much you wanted her, needed her, loved her. You wanted to open your arms, pull her close, and place a warm, earnest, and pure kiss on her lips, a kiss of that perfect morning, of youth. Some melodies seem powerful enough to change everything. And yet, you couldn’t move. You just stood there, frozen, until her footsteps faded and only the light rustle of falling leaves remained in the air.

Back in the city, you couldn’t forgive your own hesitation. A block of ice had formed in the middle of that floating autumn. The discomfort lingered for weeks, then months. Every time you woke up, every afternoon after work, every night before sleep, she was there. Her image filled Saigon’s streets, radiant, clear, confident. Autumn passed. Winter came. Seasons changed. Encounters came and went, but your fear never left. You feared shattering the fragile autumn clouds, feared a gust of wind blowing in the wrong direction, feared her scarf wrinkling when the music hit its climax.

You saw her again and again, in that garden, on crowded streets. Each time, you wanted to say something, but the words collapsed inside, your limbs trembled like you had a fever. Each afternoon after work, you wandered aimlessly, mind blank, staring at your coffee cup and a bare wall, ignoring every phone call, never logging into Facebook.

Until one day at the end of August, what strange force gave you the courage to finally hold a girl’s hand, to kiss her cheek softly, scented with purple flowers? That girl, with fair wrists, a gleaming silver bracelet, high heels, and a floral dress. And at that moment, a familiar tune echoed, a gentle fragrance lingered. You were overwhelmed; your heart throbbed as if struck by a sudden storm.

She stood there, watching you and the girl, or maybe lost in Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. The horizon opened before you in shades, but what lingered deepest was the brown of fallen leaves and the gray of her knitted sweater. The scene was pristine, canopied in green, sky scattered with clouds. It deepened your view of things. And now, every time you return to the city, you ask yourself: Who am I in this life? Why does the Pandora charm in your left coat pocket still glow with warmth? And when will you ever forget her, especially when autumn returns to Saigon?

Võ Thị Như Mai is a Vietnamese-Australian poet, translator, and cultural contributor currently living in Western Australia. Her writing explores themes of memory, identity, diaspora, and the quiet power of everyday life. With a deep love for both Vietnamese and English literature, she often bridges the two through translation and creative expression. Như Mai’s poems have been featured in various literary platforms, and she actively participates in international poetry and cultural exchange events. Her work is marked by sensitivity, lyrical grace, and a strong connection to her cultural roots. Her work was featured in BRUSHSTROKE WA 2023 and in recognition of her contributions to cultural and literary exchange, she was recently honoured by the Consulate General of Vietnam in Australia for promoting Vietnamese literature and arts abroad

A Devoted Soul
(To the President of the Republic of Uzbekistan, Shavkat Miromonovich Mirziyoyev)

You burn with care both day and night,
For your homeland, you bear the pain.
Even the sharpest, finest pen
Would fall short trying to explain.

You’re a true heir of Amir Temur,
We’ve seen justice’s mighty reign.
The people pray with lifted hands,
For you have shared in all their pain.

You have sought the children’s future,
Your Five Initiatives show this well.
Science and high spirituality—
The only paths where hope may dwell.

Culture shows our humanity,
And sport ensures our health today.
This age we live—technology’s own,
Let readers’ numbers rise, we pray.

“A woman is the world’s stronghold,” they say,
Now they are under the state’s protection.
Thanks to you, their worth has risen,
You’ll live in history’s reflection.

Today our homeland shines with pride,
Sky-touching buildings rise so tall.
Great minds like Navoi and Sino,
Would smile to see our youth at all.

Because of you, our skies are clear,
You lead us swiftly toward success.
For our nation’s growth and glory—
Know we stand with you, nothing less!

Gulshoda Jo‘rabekovna Baxtiyorova was born in 2004 in Bogʻot district of the Khorezm region. From 2011 to 2020, she studied at Secondary School No. 17 in Bogʻot district. She actively participated in the “Knowledge Competition” in the subject of mother tongue and literature, earning honorary places. In 2018, her poetry collection titled “Ona yurtim” (“My Homeland”) was published. From 2020 to 2022, she studied at the academic lyceum under Urgench State University.

In 2022, she became the winner of the regional stage of the Science Olympiad in the subject of mother tongue and literature and actively participated in the national stage. Currently, she is a 3rd-year student at the Faculty of Philology and Arts at Urgench State University. Under the scientific supervision of Nasiba Jumaniyazova, Candidate of Philological Sciences and Associate Professor at Urgench State University, she is conducting research on the works and unique characteristics of the Tajik poet Asqar Mahkam. Her scientific articles have been published in prestigious journals in Indonesia, India, the USA, and Germany.

She is an official member of Kazakhstan’s “Qo‘sh qanot” Writers’ Union, Egypt’s Iqra Foundation, the All India Council for Technical Skill Development, the National Human Rights and Humanitarian Federation, and the Global Friends Club. She has successfully completed training courses organized by the International Europe Academy, Great Learning Academy, and UNICEF.

CROWNING BLOWS

Our founders didn’t plan a standing army.

Said, “Keep your guns. If ever we’re attacked,

fight back.” And yet the Continental Army

grew and grew. Today, its job is clear:

safeguard citizens from threats and harm.

Don’t be the threat—tear-gassing protest groups,

or shooting rubber bullets into crowds

to punish rebel rallies, menace them

with National Guardsmen, troops of tough Marines.

The army wasn’t meant to be an axe–

behead dissent, make Presidents into Kings.

President craved a warrior parade—

like North Korea’s storm-troopers and tanks.

So on his birthday, he has big, big plans—

impress Blue States, the MAGA crowd, the world

with how much fearsome force he can unleash

by snapping fingers. He—the chief, the star!

His birthday falls on an auspicious day.

He’ll mark the army’s anniversary

like no one’s ever seen– a huge parade!

Intimidate with grim, jackbooted troops.

a $45 million birthday bash!

June 14^th dawns hot, with drizzling rain.

So what? The show goes on. And on. And on–

down D.C. streets. The smattering of folks

that wait and watch are silent. You can hear

one hundred thirty tanks go squeaking by,

thirty-four horses, two old army mules.

Here come the hand-held drones, and robot dogs

whose jerky marching entertains the kids.

Platoon upon platoon in serried ranks–

Six thousand soldiers saunter past in camo,

walking out-of-step. Some even wave.

“The tone’s all wrong!” the pissed-off POTUS roars.

“I wanted troops that paralyze with fear.”

Berates his birthday present. Showers blame.

Looks glum, and naps. Some VIPs watch, yawning.

News videos show empty rows of bleachers.

Empty folding chairs outnumber full.

But he rewrites the pricey flop. Invents

a madly cheering mob! Huge numbers! Huge!

Meanwhile, all across the USA,

two thousand towns or more host record crowds–

Five million demonstrators fill the streets

with heartfelt, home-made protest signs and feet.

In Utah, wheelchairs leave the nursing home

and roll out on the streets to wave their flags

and question health-care cuts, their lives at stake.

Red States, Blue States, finally one voice:

       No one’s paying me to resist Fascism.

       If there’s money for a parade,

there’s money for Medicaid.

       Eggs are scarce, ‘cause chickens are in Congress.

       OMG, GOP! WTF?

       Even Ikea has better cabinets.

       Take a stand now, or bow down later.

       A King? No FAUX-king way!

No Kings! No Kings! Chains of human resolve

stretch for blocks. In some cities, for miles.

Peaceful, but expressing deep concerns:

immigration seizures, health care, tariffs,

Social Security, free speech, civil rights.

Over it all, the war cry of democracy:

we’re not the pawns of power. We are free.

No Kings! No Kings! You hear our voice? No Kings!

TRUMP’S WAR

Operation Midnight Hammer included seven B-2 Spirit Bombers, 125 total aircraft, and more than 75 precision guided weapons…

The largest operational strike in U.S. History.” –CBS News, 6/2025

Yo, Trump! Did you start World War III today?

Iran and Israel have been at odds.

So Netanyahu winks at Trump and nods.

Trump plans a strike, and stealth bombers obey.

We bomb three nuclear sites without okay

of Congress. Unprovoked attacks– Ye gods!

Will this uplift his sagging polls? Or prod

a larger war— a Middle East melee?

“Bone spurs” exempted him from wartime action

He thinks combat’s a cinch. His ace? The Bomb.

His lame parade’s eclipsed by this distraction.

Great press: Trump leads with boldness and aplomb!

Thinks war’s a lucrative, if lethal, sport.

He may yet build that swank Gaza resort.

TRUMP’S WAR: IRAN’S RESPONSE

After the bomb-strike, swift retaliation. 

Well, what did you expect? A medal? No!

You killed civilians! Bombed our towns! And so

your rationale rings hollow to a nation

using uranium for power, not bombs.

U.S. Intelligence confirms these facts.

Yet you join Israel’s feud, committing acts

of war! To flex your muscles? Vietnam’s

a faded memory? Afghanistan

forgotten? There are stand-offs no one wins.

We sign a nuclear treaty meant to ban 

nuke weapons. But it’s you, Trump, who rescinds.

Now you slap our face and think you’ll run?

Run fast! A bloodbath threatens everyone.