Life is an unrepeatable miracle in which many people are born. As long as a person breathes this air in this world, it means that he is a part of this nature of this world. Man lives in agony without any body part. Therefore, God first creates a person. A person is not born good or bad, on the contrary, he is brought up by the family environment and the upbringing of society. There are people who are the singers of goodness, on the contrary, it can be said with a thousand regrets that there are no people who promote evil in this world, just like the other side of the coin.
We are now living in the era of 21st century technology-technology “Globalization”, this modern technology is good, developed because many technologies lighten the burden of man. But there are those who promote them wrongly, because of this evil evils such as “Terrorism”, “Extremism”, “Religious fanaticism”, “Human trafficking” are spreading in the society. So what should we do at such a time? This is how we answer this question, let’s be careful, friends.
Let’s take a look at the past. In that case, if a war broke out between one country, it could have been prevented, because the enemy was known, nowadays it is difficult to understand people with bad habits and negative ideas at the same time. Those who do not return, who are subject to lust, their only goal is to earn money, they are those who do not understand the beauty of life, do not find in it, do not enjoy it, and do not know how to live in life.
Therefore, the demand of today’s era is awareness, vigilance. Let’s not forget that everything in this world is done according to the will of man. Money earned in an easy and illegal way will not bring you benefit, on the contrary, it will make you miserable, illegal money will destroy a person. The fruit of honesty is always sweet. Life is beautiful only if you want it to be. Be careful friends!
Sitorakhon Buriyeva
Buriyeva Sitorakhan Azamatovna was born in 2001 in Kumkurgan district of Surkhandarya region. Currently, he is a 3rd year student of the Navoi State Pedagogical Institute, Ilhom.
A member of the literary club, a young volunteer of the “Golden Wing” organization. His creative works have been published in Kenyan magazines. He is an ambassador on behalf of Uzbekistan in several international organizations.
In particular: Africa Nigeria is the ambassador of the organization “Global Education Ambassador” at Wisdom University of the country.
Member of the International Union of Writers of Science and Literature “Juntos por las Letras” of Argentina.
I spent most of the rest of the day sitting on the river bank watching barges and freighters pass up and down the Mississippi. I felt reluctant to return to Daniel’s apartment. The bread and soup lunch was surprisingly filling, and the water the nuns supplied helped cleanse the alcohol from my system. I was content to sit and watch the river traffic and to observe the people who strolled along the river walk.
There were two grifters trying to prey on passing tourists. One of their scams, Daniel warned me about. It’s the classic, “Where’d ya git dem shoes? I’ll bet ya a sawbuck I can tell ya where ya got dem shoes.” It was amusing to see the reactions of the intended marks. Some must have been warned about the scam, because they replied, “On my feet, here in the City of New Orleans. Now, you give me a sawbuck!” Others acted offended and refused to pay. But several of the people who took the bait were good sports and gave the hucksters five dollars.
Grifters were not the trouble that was coming my way. When I drifted back to Jackson Square, I struck up a conversation with a couple longhairs dressed all in black, black Ts, black loose-fitting cotton pants, and black Army boots. They were cool guys, small, lithe, and quick-witted. After they got comfortable with me, Jake and Jess informed me that they were anarchists, and they were here to disrupt Mardi Gras. “We’re going to stand up against The Man,” Jake declared. But they weren’t specific about what their plans were. Jess said, “We’re going to make our point through random acts of vandalism.”
That should have set off an alarm bell, but I was in a weird state of mind. Chick, my tormenter from last night, and his rich real estate father -– they were The Man. Chick humiliated me, and had seemingly turned Daniel against me. So yeah, I’d like to get revenge. And these guys were intelligent, articulate, and likeable. I wasn’t sure how seriously I should take their talk about “disrupting the capitalist system supporting Mardi Gras.” But I decided to hang out with them and see what they’d get up to.
A fourth guy joined our posse. Ben was sitting in the grass within earshot of our discussion. He seemed an unlikely fit with the anarchists. Ben was a huge dude with an open, honest face. At one point, he just broke into our conversation and informed us he was a little drunk and a little high from drinking and smoking pot all day. He said he was on a bender because his girlfriend broke up with him. This big, sweet guy was desperate for someone to hear his tale of woe, and we just happened to be sitting near him. In the course of his monologue, we learned that he was an offensive lineman at Louisiana State University. Jake whispered to Jess, “We can use somebody this big, for sure.”
So we gave Ben encouraging looks to finish his story. It ended in sorrow, because his girlfriend, Gloria, dumped him for some rich Sigma Chi. Since we listened sympathetically, Jake, Jess, and I became Ben’s best friends.
After it got dark, Jake and Jess said to come with them, because there was a parade that would be coming down Decatur Street, and they planned to disrupt it. That sounded crazy to me, but Ben said he was up for anything. So, Ben and I followed Jake and Jess the one block over to Decatur St.
Big crowds lined both sides of the street. There were lots of drunks in the crowd, but there were also lots of regular tourists and some families with kids. Jake explained that this parade was a big deal because Phil Harris, the 1972 King of Mardi Gras, was riding in it. “That’s why were going to disrupt it. Stop the King’s Parade, and that’s a real statement against the system!” he enthused.
“Who the fuck is Phil Harris?” Ben asked.
“I think he’s a comedian,” I said. “He used to have a radio show my parents listened to, if he’s the guy I’m thinking of.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jess said quickly. “The power elites that run this city pick some random celebrity to be King Bacchus of Mardi Gras each year. He’s just a running dog of the real capitalists.”
“Hah! Running dog, I like that,” Ben said jovially and slapped Jess on the back.
When the first float was a block away moving slowly toward us, Jake yelled, “Now!” He and Jess ran out into the middle of the street. They both started shouting, “Stop the parade! Streets are for the people! Stop the parade! Streets are for the people!” They waved their arms encouraging others in the crowd to join them. People started streaming into the street and took up the chant, “Stop the parade! Streets are for the people!”
Ben grabbed my arm and excitedly said, “Come on, we gotta get out there!” With his big hand locked on my arm, he pulled me into the street. But I didn’t join in the shouting. I had a sinking feeling this was not a good idea. Within a few minutes after the demonstration started, I heard the clatter of horses’ hooves on pavement.
Twenty mounted cops swinging billy clubs charged into the mass of people in the street. Horses trampled demonstrators, and cops cracked heads with their clubs. I backed away up onto the sidewalk, but Ben stood his ground with clenched fists. The gentle giant transformed into his warrior-football persona. He yelled at a mounted cop, “Come on, you motherfucker!” The cop swung his foot-long baton and missed Ben’s head, but landed a blow on his shoulder. That enraged Ben further. He grabbed the cop’s leg trying to dismount him. By then, about thirty more police on foot attacked the protesters. While Ben was struggling with the mounted cop, one of the cops on foot ran up behind him and smashed him in the back of the head with his baton. That stunned Ben. He let go of the cop’s leg and turned toward the one who hit him. That cop drew his baton back and then whacked Ben in the middle of his forehead, splitting it open. He tottered and fell back on his butt. He was sitting upright but looked completely dazed.
It was mayhem with mounted and on-foot police wading into the packed crowd with their billy clubs. Wounded and scared people screamed and bellowed in pain and rage. Cops cursed the protesters as they leveled blows at heads and torsos. It didn’t matter whether you were trying to scramble away and get out of the melee in the street. If you were in range of a cop’s baton, you got whacked with it.
As soon as I heard the clatter of hooves on pavement, I backed out of the street and onto the sidewalk. I watched the carnage in open-mouthed horror. When the horse patrol arrived swinging their batons, Jake and Jess pushed their way through the crowd and sprinted away. I guess they accomplished their goal, because the parade was disrupted and rerouted off Decatur onto Dumaine Street.
Just after the foot patrol arrived, two paddy wagons pulled up. Bloodied protesters beaten by the cops were pushed or thrown into the paddy wagons. Anyone who got caught in the street by the police got pummeled and then arrested. A few of the cops even came over to the sidewalk and whacked some people for just standing there. But they didn’t arrest anyone on the sidewalk.
Two cops took Ben by the arms and hauled him into a paddy wagon. I’m pretty sure he was unconscious. He’d be lucky if he just had a concussion. I was afraid that he might have suffered permanent brain damage. I doubted he’d ever play football again.
A few yards from where I was standing on the sidewalk, a well-dressed elderly man bleeding from the ear shook his fist at the cops and yelled, “I’m a taxpayer in this city! How dare you! How dare you!” His grey-haired wife was trying to pull him away. She looked beseechingly at me, as if I could stop his bleeding or should help her pull him away.
I just stood there in shock, a silent witness to the police brutality and to the deviousness of the anarchists who lit the fuse. Were other anarchists in the crowd that poured into the street? Jake and Jess were the only ones I noticed dressed all in black. The other “protesters” were probably just a bunch of people who came out to see a parade and then got caught up in the excitement of the moment. Did they really take to the street, because they wanted to take a stand against The Man? The guys who actually fought back against the cops, for the most part, looked like angry-hippie-radical types. So maybe they agreed with the point Jake and Jess wanted to make. But I think most of the people who got trampled by the horse patrol or bludgeoned by cops were probably just out to drink and have a good time that evening.
When it was over, there was blood in the street mixed with trash and vomit. As I walked back to Daniel’s apartment, I felt like a zombie, numb.
A Hitchhiker’s Big Adventure: On the Road from Indiana to Key West and New Orleans, by Jeff Rasley is exclusively available on Amazon.
“Pygmalion” is a play written by George Bernard Shaw. It is named after a Greek mythological figure and was first presented to the public in 1913. Having carved his Galatea from ivory, the mythological Pygmalion appealed to Aphrodite to breathe love and life into the statue. After falling in love, the statue came to life, became the wife of the hero and gave birth to his daughter. However, a psychological play and a psychological novel of the twentieth differs from the ancient myth in that it does not recognize formal endings. A realist writer appeals to everyday experience, and from experience we know that life is far from always obedient to our intentions.
Taking the myth of Pygmalion as the basis of the dramatic plot, Shaw permeates it with irony. While the reader or viewer, having believed in the mythologism of the drama in advance, patiently, albeit with some distrust of the new Galatea, awaits a happy ending.
“Pygmalion” has the subtitle “A Romance in Five Acts”, which emphasizes the closeness of the play in its style and artistic objectives to the English realistic prose of the early twentieth century. Meanwhile, this mature, artistically perfect work of the English writer is a vivid example of the genre of “drama of ideas” he himself created. Sometimes this favorite genre of Bernard Shaw is also defined as “intellectual” or “paradoxical” drama.
“Pygmalion” explores how social identity is formed not only through patterns of speech, but also through one’s general appearance. The book highlights the complexity of human relationships, and the interaction between classes. One of the biggest lessons is from Eliza and it is if you keep on elevating and making yourself better in life, it is virtually impossible to return to the way you were. The book teaches us how the upper class ostracized the lower class. Shaw highlighted the errors in people’s ideas of how the lower classes lived and all the social prejudice including views of women and of the poor.
The plot of the work is quite ironic due to parodic stylization, tragedy of the life of society, directed against a spiritually rich person, and the main elements of the play are numerous paradoxes and discussions. Thus, the theme of the work emphasizes the spiritual awakening of people possible through the art of words and creativity. This play has a more social and democratic orientation, being a work about the natural equality of people living in society.
This work is like a psychological love drama, which entailed the hatred of its participants for each other. It shows how carefully people ought to treat all living things, the author tells us about the fear and avoidance of cold experiments on people.
During the writing of Pygmalion, Shaw was particularly fond of phonetics. He believed that ideally correct English speech is possible to change a person’s character and behavior. Subsequently, he donated a large amount of money to compile a new English alphabet, helping to eliminate the line between writing and pronunciation of words. The theme of “Pygmalion” in the minds of Shaw’s contemporaries was connected with the ideas that he shared with all his heart – the ideas of social equality and female emancipation. However, later, having survived the social recipes of its time, this work essentially returned to the mainstream of those eternal themes that originate in the ancient myth. This is a play about how a person in his creation of another person can become like the divine creator.
The play “Pygmalion” tells us how the lives of people can change thanks to the received education. So, the play’s problems are multifaceted. We emphasize that Bernard Shaw was able to highlight the problem of inequality of people in society in his work. The play also has an instructive and educational value related to education. After all, proper education and upbringing plays an important role in the life of any harmonious and self-sufficient person.
After reading this book I have to conclude that it takes more than just talking as a lady to become one. In my point of view, Eliza was able to be a lady, however it is not so easy. It was very complicated to change one’s character or behavior. Even Eliza has just chosen another life with different society. At the end, she has understood that this kind of life is not for her and she just wanted to be happy, to stay the way she was with her kindness.
Uzbekistan state world languages University the third year student of the faculty of English Philology Boboeva Bakhora
... It's white
With the worries of this world,
Three children with their own work,
By the rumor of the people,
Mom, your hair is white.
You eat so much sorrow, in the bright world,
There is nothing less, more than anything.
Paying for a "taxi" and walking
Mom, your hair is white.
Your bread won't pass through your throat without me,
Your soul suffered until I became "girl"
What is in your heart, what is your dream,
Mom, your hair is white.
She was born on August 13, 2008 in Navbahor district, which is considered one of the most peaceful corners of Navoi region. Currently, she is an 8th grade student of the 21st school in this district and is the class captain of this class. SHe is also a volunteer… “Golden Wing” and “Future EVH” volunteer… SHe has been participating in competitions and Olympics since she was young and has won many places. Also, the artist and her creative works were published in anthologies, and those anthologies are available for sale in Moldava, 26 countries on the Morebooks website… Thanks to sister Orzigul and sister Barno for this. Participant of Sarvinoz Odiljonova’s “Girlpower” project. She is interested in learning languages and has been learning English since childhood. She is studying. She is a member of several international certificates. She wants to become a journalist in the future and become a smart, intelligent girl whose parents are proud of her country. She has many dreams for the future, one of them is to win the Zulfia Prize and become a student at Harvard University. She often shares her dreams with people. she doesn’t say, because she likes to show her dreams to people after they come true, not just to tell them, so she’s an aspiring, unstoppable, diligent, restless girl.
Youth rusher in my eyes,
You made a wide world narrow to me.
Chorus as long as I say my true love,
Is it that you see me rave ?
Easy to get into your words,
What a moment you did not ask.
So bad that you don't think,
Is it that you see me rave ?
Zor I cried You Didn't parvo,
You live just as carefree.
As if I am an unnecessary item,
Is it that you see me rave ?
Let it be said,
Eyes passing as if not seen.
Alam said friends,
Is it that you see me rave ?
What did the shame either sin,
My love was jajji innocent.
Witness who created akhvolim,
Is it that you see me rave ?
I'm going to spill slowly,
Ich-ich Dardanelles.
Crying believe me growling,
Is it that you see me rave ?
I couldn't give nahot happiness to you,
Is it that you see me rave ?
Author: Gulsanam Abdullaeva
ARCHITECTURES DECAY
Thus, age bleeds away youth and turns dentures into lace.
The taut drum of your skin becomes a worn stocking,
untoned, crumpled, and thin. Winter freeze bruises fruit,
your garden becomes waste, and those grim burlap bags
that hang from those pegs were once blimps that flew flags
all were pleased to salute. Monuments get defaced.
sAVAnnA
AblAze WiTh hUnger/disCOVerY
,epiderM AnTs rUn eleCTriC AgAinsT This plAin:
ThrOUgh YOUr CUrlY grAsses These sOfT YellOw liOns
prObe And Under The ripe VUlTUres in The briAr Trees
MY YOUng ChiMps rOMp UpOn gOlden MOUnds --
O The Wind gloWs WiTh dUsT & dArK MYsTerY
And O The MOOn hOWls
AbOVe
Us And YOUr riVer sWAllOWs mY AArdVArK.
MY TURN TO COME
Every foot fits your shoe,
your glove can hold any hand.
You share love everywhere.
I wait for my turn to dance.
ATOLL
Poets before me (how many) have extolled
:melons full melons ripe
:those raspberries (pink&wrinkled) delicate atop your double-dip vanilla sundae
:your slice of peach : your wedge of pie : your pyramid of hot cobbler,
tartsweet juices oozing like fresh tar on the newlylaid I- in August Texas....
but none has ever praised
:the gold and graceful arc of the taut banana – O huntsman's bow before release --
:the strong sweeping scimitar of a Southern Cross bole, bent fullsail,
fruitful coconuts proud unfurled, or :the sweetwhitesticky elixer within.
no one has ever
noted for eternity
the coy Thanksgiving yam.
THE STORIES THAT KEEP ME SAVED
From ocean to bush
to mountain to sea
Beelzebub and Zeus
are chasing after me.
One promises fire,
and one, lightning bolts.
They want my surrender,
they want me to convert
my riches to embers
that will die in the dirt.
I love the burning bush
that walked upon the sea,
Adam’s figs and apples,
Eve’s frankincense and myrrh,
Baptist’s tabernacle,
Delilah’s virgin birth.
Ark of Harold Angels
sinks in the lotus pond
while the lamb and Daniel
wait in the lion’s den.
Grafitti at the feast
that read, “Thigh Kingdom Come.”
Magis from the east,
their whore from Babylon,
the ones who suffered
when the Pharaoh Joseph
devoured the golden calf
during the last supper
ahead of Jonah’s flood.
Peter and his bishops,
when the wine turned to blood,
stole the leaves and fishes.
Allah-lujah Rama Christos Amen Om
Participant of Sarvinoz Odiljonova’s “Girlpower” project. She is interested in learning languages and has been learning English since childhood. She is studying. She is a member of several international certificates. She wants to become a journalist in the future and become a smart, intelligent girl whose parents are proud of her country. She has many dreams for the future, one of them is to win the Zulfia Prize and become a student at Harvard University. She often shares her dreams with people. she doesn’t say, because she likes to show her dreams to people after they come true, not just to tell them, so she’s an aspiring, unstoppable, diligent, restless girl.