Count down the fall
Falling There lurks still fall---fall!
And—it keep on to where it stops.
Out fr’ dunder-dee clouditry.
Really? How come?
whack
D’ deh kwyte vertrical roarozontinal fast falling nature of these spouse’s present.
whack
( ) whoooooooooo down past—Top-mayor there?
Where it folds under itself down as far as it can and because’s where you’re fell to.
137 {milliseconds into the fall} nd down in this here clear air no don’t look down ( ) the wind 133 {seconds into the fall} past—log pole’s t-phone factory? Scrappo’s? Did’st thou say—Skrappo’? ( ) of the earsplitting kind? pantography Human nature to just keep on same but; all’d gone and all fall. 128 125 {milliseconds into the fall} Fling! Fly! Pop! Back! Catch! Squeak! Step! Fling! Fly! Pop! Back! Catch! Squeak! Step! Fling! Fly! Pop! Bac—
Wow!
Isn’t this game great, great fun?
Yes it’s fun!
—k! Catch! Squeak! St—! Fl’ g’ y’ ss’ is’s—the end—the end—could the end be—really really near? Hot hickory [pillo] Hot hickory [pillo] 105 100 {milliseconds into the fall} there be pillows arranged all out for the falling? There be pillows arranged for the out falling out? [pillo] It bends under its ‘neath and all’s gone and all fall. All stop looking ahead. Human nature. 95 93 91 89 80 {milliseconds into the fall} I trust them they got brains they won’t let that ug uckily happen where on Earth are we destined for That is what happened to this town you know. 75 69 60 {milliseconds into the fall} [pillo] stormbushery’s roll’d over after all floods Pop Cubanore? This that b’ Pop Cubanore? 45 40 {milliseconds into the fall} hast not never seen my Pop Cubanore to dis day [pillo] why you do dis to me Gimi [why you do dis {pillo} to me] eh? Why shmush up me birdhouse, Gimi? Cab Krackelefish’d fer tunas just like deep down off that picture see Gimi just like deep down off that * esh?* This council. whack where on Earth are we destined for b b b where on Earth are we destined for That’s you. 35 22 22 {milliseconds into the fall} Pop Cubanore? This that b’ Pop Cubanore? upcmpashoosh this here tablesplat so; prepare 20 17 15 Why shmush up me nice l’il birdhouse Gimi? Fling! Fly! Pop! Back! Catch! Squeak! Step! Fling! Fly! Pop! Back! Catch! Squeak! Step! Fling! Fly! Pop! Bac—
Wow!
Isn’t this game great, great fun?
Yes it’s fun!
—k! Catch! Squeak! St—! Fl’ g’ y’ ss’ please promptly prepare thy d-d-daily 10’s, {milliseconds into the fall} 8’s, {milliseconds into the fall} 7’s, {milliseconds into the fall} and 5’s {milliseconds into the fall} “suh”, prepare thy whatever soooooooo splat hast not never seen my Pop Cubanore to dis day whack whack whack
You stopped watching what’s coming.
SPLAT! SPLATTER
Category Archives: CHAOS
Essay from Gulsevar Xojamova
EDUCATION
My grandmother says that a newborn baby smells like heaven. After all, every person gets his education from his family. The way he is treated in the family, he is treated in the street as well.
People show their family upbringing to strangers. If the environment and friends at home are good, the child will always hear good words. If it is bad, it will be the opposite.
It is up to each person to choose the good path and to follow the bad path.
You have a choice. Educated people have love for others, respect for elders, and respect for children until the end of their lives. Because these qualities are taught by parents in the family.
Where there is no education, there will never be science and knowledge.
Gulsevar Khojamova
Student of Andijan State Pedagogical Institute
Poetry from Mykyta Ryzhykh
*** Why do people die as volume and not as emptiness? Why doesn't your dead body disappear when you're gone? Why does the cemetery boast of its crosses and flowers cannot live without a mourning ribbon? Agony is a very simple word. The word death is an even simpler word. It is better to remain silent like proud trees. It is better to drink silence like birds. It's better to move through the air like words. It's better not to live in a cage. On a cast-iron evening, death knocked on the bird's temple with metallic softness instead of fingers. The night never ends anywhere. There are only two of us: me and death. I am always alone. Conscious death does not exist: however, as well as conscious life. *** Baby rabbits breathe without air Baby rabbits don't breathe without their mother Baby rabbits don't breathe when separated from their mother Our banner is a torn uterus and a black vagina Our anthem is dresses for daughters and guns for sons Our home is death temporarily passing by Our home is grass our home is bloody glass Sour cream animals freeze outside the belly Tin animals freeze without feeling warm Each of us is a rabbit driven into a cage of life *** the cast-iron frogs in the wooden pond hardened at the beginning of winter *** the green wall of the garden is thrown open sick hands reach for the dead foliage *** the forest is silence for the deaf the forest is a cry for the wild winter comes for everyone the same *** the hand of the tree trembles in the wind autumn will not give alms to anyone no one was born in the cemetery except grass *** the staircase on which the baby goes to the coffin constantly staggers who will fire the tax on air and thoughts? when the lights are off, we swallow black snowflakes the child approaches his parents and whispers like a baby from the icon no one will rise again nobody *** rabbits knock on the heart knock knock knock it's a carpenter a coffin appears from under the table we are all born stolen scarabs of minutes are bursting at the seams crunchy leaves sigh underfoot what should we do? *** gray sky peeking through the windows if autumn were a person she would hang herself *** Saliva of time The future is a spit *** butterflies without a net trees without rustling summer is the song of calm *** satiated water drips from the sky autumn bison dissolves in falling leaves *** remnants of sweat on the lips a kiss is a bodily thirst summer licks us with boiling water *** spring thunder has receded morning shelling began *** display case with pork chop refrigerator with human meat long-awaited meet *** nothing belongs to man except old age autumn oak tree boasts fallen leaves Reprint by Coalition for digital narratives *** the poet is a lamb drinking water the wolf is a poem that eats us poems drown with us in sugar water the river of time moves towards uncertainty Reprint by Setu *** the dead hare is forever related to the grass snow covers everything with a blanket Reprint by Setu *** for the first and last time I’m dying and you still don’t love me the city is divided into two parts: in the first part you kiss lovers and hang out with friends in the second part there is a cemetery Reprint by Setu
Poetry from Ayanda Dlanga
Through the lonely roads My heart flickers like a light bulb The pain strikes in voltages My blood runs completely cold, As i look into the palms of death with empty eyes With smeared ghosts of human imprints Just a few o'clocks from midnight And a few still till the beauty of the heavens rises I've motioned fiercely, On the deadly roads of gruesome art, Spills of blood from rage and tears from empathy Mourning songs from the night creatures And exotic smells from nature Flooded with the overwhelming need to run panic stricken Like a frightened deer, so afraid My feet glue to the ground My heart flickers even more, startled And i feel my hairs stand on end holding erect until i let out a scream Do i give up? Do i not ? My memories all are labyrinths I do not seem to find an escape I nip at a canteen of courage and tell myself not to panic Will i not? Perhaps i said i was a woman too quickly, Because i feel like a little girl As the sun slips into the afternoon sky, I keep telling myself not to panic But i begin to shout but my own voice mocks me In echoes bouncing off the walls of this dungeon that surrounds me Just another series of fraught shouts, bringing nothing but my echo My cries, my screams, my fear They don't make me Though sheer the climb is, hands, feet, like claws I will work my way up like a spider The sound of my own breathing and grunting is so loud it startles me Ayanda Edna Dlanga is a young poet with a dream of becoming an acclaimed author. Fueled with a lifelong love for storytelling and expressing emotions as they are.
Poetry from Graciela Noemi Villaverde
DREAM With a bunch of lost images They don't say anything anymore... DREAM With verses from other times May they appear suddenly Lights that illuminated my times of youth DREAM In vain; trying to recover sparkles that the water crystallized in scattered reflections.. DREAM With a diluted history in the air with similar gesture to the absence DREAM With a swan with blue feathers An unchained elephant A jungle full of fruits Before the extermination comes. DREAM With a place for voices old who fled behind the walls DREAM With lovers they invent poems with life DREAM Detached from the cluster of clumsiness ESCAPE Of the shadows and everything what doesn't taste like tenderness DREAM With eager eyes Astonished The only ones with whom you will read these verses
Editor Cristina Deptula reviews S. Rupsha Mitra’s poetry collection Smoked Frames
Speakers in S. Rupsha Mitra’s Smoked Frames submerge themselves into intense experiences, questing to understand their true selves beneath waves of devotion. The collection begins with journeys into the physical and emotional self, where we “dream the fetish, to be wholesome, to grasp things together, piecemeal, not smitten by delirium or defences” (Self-Portrait As Navigating Consciousness). Others among the first few pieces explore the heady energy of youth (Springs) and the awkwardness we often feel within our physical bodies (Alien Skin). Mitra finds a sense of peace within her body with time, though, comparing the experience to taking comfort from a religious practice. She becomes able to accept and integrate her body into her whole being. Later, Mitra depicts mermaids as mythologized in various global cultures. Usually half woman and half sea creature, a mermaid straddles (or swims across) the two worlds, and so to be at home in and proud of one’s mermaid existence means being content as a hybrid who defies easy categorization. And Mitra’s mermaids are strong, lively, and confident: Suvanamachha, the Asian Mermaid enjoys pure love with the god Hanuman and blesses the entire world, while Melusine, the European Medieval Mermaid has “free pinions of pride” and “breathes of emancipation.” The poems following delve within the intricacies of the body and its nervous system, the physical underpinnings of our experience of the world. In "Knowledge of the Body", the speaker reflects that she has wronged her physical self through being overly critical and now wishes to “to strip the skin off the ribs and peer at its striking beginnings” and “flourish in this writhing extravagance.” She later applies this deep curiosity to psychology as well in "The Gestalt of Memory" and in "Defence Mechanisms", where she speculates on the workings of the ego she has sought to transcend. Within the book’s final section, Mitra’s speakers journey to sites of historical and religious significance in India and engage in more traditional religious practices. We reflect on the goddess of wisdom, Saraswati, during a puja ceremony, and enter the golden temple of Amritsar, shoes off out of respect. Yet this section also includes the speakers’ personal and family memories and heritage. In Lost in Murshidabad, she listens again to her parents’ recounting of their love story: “an unconditional love that embalms us in the midst of history.” In A Return at Saraswati Pujo, she recollects an argument that became very vulgar before apologies and resolution, but her anger dissipates as she observes sunlight and is “forced to admit that the world is very beautiful.” The titular piece, “Smoked Frames” resides near the end of the collection, among these remembrances of cultural and personal history. It deals with framed photographs, so many and so old that they have been put away in drawers and the exact moment of each scene forgotten. Mitra transcends the personal here and moves to a broader meditation on where and how we will find truth: “would it come as a mystic in orange robes…or as the mad whirlwind of samsara? … or as emancipation from wild enjambments?” She speculates on the divine being “distant yet so close, quite near, within me, (yet unseen within)” in an echo that calls back to the prior pieces on probing the interior of our bodies and the depths of our feelings and psychology. Once again, she is seeking out her truest fundamental self by embracing and accepting the mystery of everything she sees and experiences. S.Rupsha Mitra’s Smoked Frames collection offers us heady thoughts and reflections through the elevated languages of science, courtly romance, and spirituality. The poems become meditations on the search for how to love ourselves and each other through seeking out and understanding ourselves. S. Rupsha Mitra's Smoked Frames can be ordered here.
Essay from Mohichehra Rustamova
A book is a world seen through a person
In order to reach maturity, one must first think about the purity of the heart. Purity of heart is achieved only when the heart seeks the truth and the soul strives for enlightenment. All this depends on true knowledge. It is clear as day that there is a very strong meaning behind these thoughts expressed by Confucius. Reading a book beautifies a person’s heart and fills his soul with spiritual nourishment. One of my favorite places is the library. I like books. When I see them, I calm down a lot, my soul finds comfort. Those who aim for the development and intellectual growth of our society should definitely read the book. Everyone should be able to properly assess their interests, think about what kind of books they like, what kind of works they enjoy reading. If you read books, you will become stronger than others. What do you say? No one can defeat you if you have a strong spirit. Strength in the body will eventually run out, that’s for sure, but no one can take away the strength in the spirit. Pay attention, look around you, in this world, whoever believes in his physical strength, who relies on his bravery, begins to lose strength over time. As for the soul, it is getting stronger, growing and developing.
I realized this when I was a child. The fairy tales and stories told by my mother made me free, and my love for books and learning increased. My mother, who supervised my reading every day, listened to my thoughts and communicated freely with me. Every day I studied a new topic and told my mother about it. I would like them to hold an umbrella of answers in the rain of questions without asking why and why. When I was in the 1st grade, I heard the condition set by our librarian to recite 40 proverbs on the New Year’s holiday. Everyone was surprised, whispering in my ears that this girl was memorizing. I gathered my thoughts and started to say, look, I surprised everyone with 42 proverbs. Then our librarian congratulated and said who can say more proverbs than this girl? They asked a question. But no one could do it. All teachers envy me now. That day, I returned home happy after receiving a New Year’s gift from our receptionist. I still remember my childhood with sweet memories.
This is where my enthusiasm, the love of my father, the trust of my father, the recognition of my teachers, and the respect of my loved ones come from. I have loved the library since I was a child. We are moving step by step over time, and in the blink of an eye, we completed the 3rd stage. Now it was time for practice. Before us, the practice was spent in publishing houses, but we were sent to the library. We were sent to my favorite place… the newly opened library in our district. I came and looked around with special affection. The books seemed to shine on the shelves. I don’t know about anyone else, but I really like going to the library. I would like to express my gratitude to Sister Zulkhumor and Sister Saida, who gave me the first ideas about special books in the library. We organized an interesting art party at this location the very week we arrived. We told the children about Cholpon’s art, performances, and interesting facts. The students of Barkamol Avlod organization returned home with a lot of necessary information. In general, we came to this place with our fellow students every day and read our favorite books.
There are misunderstandings that happen everywhere, but we got out of them. We worked on new projects, came up with new ideas for the little ones. I love our new library in Yangibozor district, I have a different love for the books that are being picked from the high shelves, as if they are telling me about secrets and giving me news. For a little girl who never gets tired of learning new things, internship in this place was a very interesting activity. A book is a world seen through a person.
Mokhichekhra Rustamova
Uzbek language student at the Faculty of Philology of Urganch State University In 2022, she received the “For Services in the Field of Science” badge, and in 2023, actively participating in the international festival, she became the owner of the “Scientific Researcher” badge. In 2023, the owner of the “Hokim Scholarship”, the winner of the republican stage of the “Zomin Seminar-2022” of republican artists, an official member of many international organizations. She has four authored books, her articles and creative works have been published in international magazines and newspapers.