Hotmama kicks open the saloon doors of the multiverse, heels clicking like two caffeinated metronomes on a bender.

“Before we get to da canole,” she says, “we gotta talk lineage. Receipts. Pedigree. Da who‑da‑hell‑you‑think‑you‑are file.”

She snaps her gum. The gum files a counterclaim.

 BIO INSERTION: ALEX S. JOHNSON

Hotmama waves a cosmic clipboard.

“Dis one? Alex S. Johnson — transfemme polymath, author, editor, metal journalist, books sittin’ in Harvard, MIT, SUNY like they payin’ rent. Former English professor, horror surrealist, creator of Axes of Evil, Bad Sunset, Wicked Candy, editor of Just One Fix: A Literary Salute to William S. Burroughs, and boss‑witch of Nocturnicorn Books / Darkest Wine Media. Host of The Kandy Fontaine Show. A whole literary hydra widda thousand heads, and every one of ‘em talkin’ smack.”

She winks.

 BIO INSERTION: TRICIA WARDEN

“Then we got Tricia Warden — femme‑feral Jersey City oracle, author of Brainlift, Attack God Inside, Death Is Hereditary. Her words ended up in a Golden Calf–winning film, and she’s performed widda legends: Hubert Selby Jr., John Cale, Ntozake Shange, Exene Cervenka, Mark E. Smith, Henry Rollins — the whole pantheon of beautiful weirdos. She writes like a fever dream and performs like a prophecy.”

Hotmama leans in, conspiratorial.

“These two? They ain’t collaborators. They’re a double‑helix of chaos. A matched set. A cosmic tag‑team. A literary buddy‑cop movie where both cops are unhinged and the precinct is a surrealist nightclub.”

 RETURN TO THE ORIGINAL HOTMAMA PART III ENERGY

“Badda BOOM, badda BING, badda metaphysical BLING,” Hotmama says, heels clicking like two switchblades flirting in an alleyway behind a quantum bodega.

“You think Part Two was the blackout? Honey, that was the brownout. This here’s the grid collapse.”

She snaps her gum. The gum snaps back.

“Lissen. I went down the canole hole again. Not the K‑hole. Not the Acker hole. Not the Pirandello‑rhinoceros‑barber‑sno‑cone hole. The canole hole. The one widda sprinkles of doom.”

She leans in.

“You ever meet a pastry that knows your government name? That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

A voice from the mezzanine of the multiverse yells:

“HOTMAMA, YOU A WALKIN’ DISASTER OF SEMIOTICS.”

She blows a kiss.

“Baby, I’m the FEMA trailer of your subconscious. I show up after the storm widda glitter tarp and a bottle of olive oil.”

Suddenly the sky cracks open like a cannoli shell under too much pressure.

Out steps:

• Cosey Fanni Tutti in a rhinestone hazmat suit
• Nina Hartley holding a clipboard labeled “Continuity Errors”
• Simone Signoret smoking a cigarette that smokes her
• Harpo Marx honking a horn tuned to the frequency of feminist rage
• Kathy Acker’s motorcycle, idling like a prophecy

Hotmama throws her hands up.

“OKAY, OKAY, I GET IT. THE LINEAGE IS HERE. THE GIRLS ARE GIRLING. THE META IS METTING. THE CANOLE IS CANOLING.”

She sighs.

“Fine. Let’s finish the scene.”

The reflection steps out of the puddle, puts on Hotmama’s shoes, and says:

“Tag. You’re it.”

 DA BLACKOUT SKETCH.

Beneath Invisible Boundaries

(A perspective of a Vietnamese economics student living and working in Germany)

Aschaffenburg, 03.04.26

I stand amid Europe’s winds and shifting lights,

where global headlines rise with every dawn,

and words of conflict, energy, and power

become the rhythm of an ordinary life I read each day.

Far from my homeland,

I hear voices echo through halls of authority,

speaking of security, nuclear thresholds,

and limits that must not be crossed

in a world defined by uncertainty.

I study economics,

and so I have learned to see invisible currents:

oil flowing through narrow straits,

capital moving across markets,

and expectations, trust, and belief

rising and falling like ever-moving curves.

The Strait of Hormuz is not merely a point on a map,

but a critical node in the global economy,

where even the smallest disruption can spread outward

into prices, inflation, and the lives of those

who have never set foot upon its shores.

I begin to realize

that within the great decisions of politics

there is always the presence of economics,

and within numbers that seem cold and abstract

lie the livelihoods of millions of families.

Between calls for sovereignty and alliance,

between confrontation and negotiation,

the world operates as an intricate web,

where no nation truly stands apart

from the influence of the rest.

Living in Germany,

I see this interdependence not as theory,

but in every energy bill I receive,

in prices, in the steady rhythm of a life

that seems distant from the idea of conflict.

And sometimes,

amid reports of war and macroeconomic analysis,

I find myself asking:

what does economic development truly mean

if it does not move alongside peace and stability?

The world continues to move forward,

through decisions shaped by risk and restraint,

and we — though separated by distance —

remain part of the same system,

where every shift in one corner of the world

can quietly reach into the lives of others

in its own unseen way.

Author: Lan Anh – Aschaffenburg, Germany

CAFFEINE

It’s just me and my morning coffee here.

And the light through the kitchen window of course.

Not forgetting the chill in the air

that the warm is starting to get around to.

But, in lieu of company, I have this cup.

Instead of conversation, I sip.

In the world of anatomical animation,

this caffeine juice is paramount.

My mouth creases upwards into a smile.

My eyes flick aside the sleep detritus,

open wide.

I am coming into my body, into my own. 

Soon I will be ready for the world.

Who knows?

I might even, in my own way, shape it.

WELCOME 

The baby draws her first breath.

A nurse’s brown eyes look down on her.

It’s all good now they say

but just you wait.

The doctor takes no side.

He’s here to do his job.

Some woman meekly asks,

“Can I see her.”

Her glass body lies in pieces.

But at least her heart is intact.

For now.

The nurse camps a red face 

inches from the pillow.

The baby waves her arms like wings.

Through the blur of pain,

she’s soft enough

to be an angel.

An angel that’s fishing for compliments.

So soon. So young.

TOM

Tom’s body just developed sooner

than the skinny frames of the rest of us.

He arms and legs grew muscles 

while our limbs could have cleaned pipes.

No wonder he was school sports star: 

best player in the rugby and cricket teams,

fastest in the hundred and two hundred,

records in the long jump and javelin.

His school work was below average.

He hated to read

and he struggled with geometry.

But we made him class captain anyhow.

He was never a smartass, never a bully.

Kids looked up to him,

figuratively and literally.

But things didn’t go so well for him

once he left school.

Most of us caught up with him

in size if not in speed.

He worked in his father’s garage,

liked a drink, lost two teeth in a fight,

got a girl pregnant and married her,

divorced, took over the business 

when his father died,  then learned

to really love a drink, went bankrupt,

lost track of his kid, ended up on

the streets and sleeping on a park bench,

spent the rest of his days as an example

for mothers to point at when they were 

out with their children.

I saw Tom not long before he died.

He was unshaven, dressed in torn t-shirt

and greasy jeans, and sneakers that

flapped at the toes.

Most people avoided him.

I just bent my head down 

as he cried out, “Hey, don’t I know you?”

I remembered so many times 

when guys were picking sides 

and Tom was always first one called

and I was near last.

Now life had chosen me well ahead of him.

But that did nothing for my pride, my ego.

If it was a game 

than it was one that didn’t feel right,

wasn’t worth playing.

He staggered onward.

I just kept walking.

ODE TO HOLLY

Here’s a sharp air to match its claws, 

a chilly white to shimmer its dark blood, 

a wind to blow the ilex blue 

at a Christmastime of gloved hands plucking.

But here’s a survivor in a hard-bitten land,

a stem of insurrection,

leaves defiantly evergreen,

branches bone-brittle

but militant against the freeze.

GREEN MAN

I walk where hills lean into sky, 

where green is a language all its own.

My lungs, grateful. My mind, 

rinsed clean by lordly pine 

and patient moss.

What else is there but to wander – 

to listen for the shy rustle of brush, 

the flit of wings, the soft syllables spoken

by trees to the wind?

My boots speak in twig-snaps and stone-taps, 

but even they fall silent when the breeze arrives, 

a gentle visitor brushing my cheek.

The forest stirs. And I, no longer needing to speak, 

am blessed by the quiet.

Honestly, it knows more than I do.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Novus and Abbey. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the MacGuffin, Touchstone and Willow Review.

The Future of Artificial Intelligence and Information Technology: Where Is the Digital World Heading?

Abstract
Information Technology (IT) has become a fundamental pillar of modern society. Rapid advancements in Artificial Intelligence (AI), cloud computing, and cybersecurity are reshaping global industries. This article analyzes the significance of IT, explores key technological trends, and examines future opportunities in the digital era.

Introduction
In the 21st century, Information Technology has evolved into an essential component of human life. The acceleration of digital transformation is influencing economies, education systems, healthcare, and communication worldwide. Among the most impactful innovations are Artificial Intelligence, cloud computing, and cybersecurity, which are driving technological progress.

The Importance of IT
IT plays a crucial role in global development by enhancing efficiency and enabling innovation across multiple sectors.

Key areas of impact:
Education: Online platforms provide global access to knowledge
Business: E-commerce and automation increase productivity
Healthcare: Digital systems improve diagnostics and patient care
Communication: Instant connectivity through digital platforms

Major IT Trends
Artificial Intelligence (AI)
Artificial Intelligence enables machines to simulate human intelligence and decision-making.
Applications:
Virtual assistants and chatbots
Medical diagnosis systems
Autonomous transportation
AI is expected to significantly enhance productivity and efficiency.

Cloud Computing
Cloud computing provides scalable and flexible data storage solutions via the internet.
Advantages:
Cost efficiency
Scalability
Secure data management
Cybersecurity
As digital systems expand, cybersecurity becomes increasingly important.

Focus areas:
Data protection
Network security
Prevention of cyber attacks
Software Development
Software development remains one of the most in-demand professions globally.
Popular domains:
Web development
Mobile applications
Artificial Intelligence systems

How to Start a Career in IT
To begin a career in IT, individuals should:
Learn programming languages (Python, JavaScript)
Work on practical projects
Build a professional portfolio
Develop English communication skills
Obtain certifications

Future Perspectives
The future of IT will be characterized by:
Increased automation
Expansion of remote work
Growth of the digital economy

Conclusion
Information Technology is not only the future but also the present. Individuals who invest in digital skills today will shape tomorrow’s world.

I am Rahmonova Barno Kilich qizi, born on November 30, 2007 in Kamashi district of Kashkadarya region. In 2015, I started studying in the 1st grade at school No. 14 in Kattakurgan city of Samarkand region. I am a 1st year student at Tashkent International University of Financial Management and Technologies, studying Information Systems and Technologies. I am a 2-time champion of Uzbekistan in taekwondo ITF and have repeatedly won 1st places in regional tournaments. I won 1st place in the regional stage of the “Young Reader” competition, and 1st place in the regional stage of the Native Language Science Olympiad.

1-You gave to the wind

You threw the seeds of love unsparingly to the wind,

only gathered by the light gusts

that deposited them one by one

among the fertile valleys of brown spots

that declared war on the white-painted boats

painted with fresh dove feathers.To the desert, your legacy, planted in the dark days of the Cold War

that raised its summer leaves immersed in oases of peace.You looked to the sky, offering your gratitude

for the uniqueness of blood in the flow of fire

that continuously bathed the banks

dipped in the salt water of excruciating pain

at dawn, the piercing echoes of the rain resounded

that cried dew dried by the steam of interminable kisses

all left half-finished to return later to complete them.

In the dream, kisses still appear

to become the double wings of elegant monarchs.

And where are you now? Already gone back to fight your own never-ending war,

only the truce of eyes that, reunited, admired each other,

promising eternity.You buried your seeds to be found by the sun,

pierced by the chilling rays,waiting for your warm hands,

to imprint in a child’s kiss,

the age-old purity,

that enclosed the purity of the heart,that suffers today.

Elisa Mascia

2- Butterfly Wings

Colorful butterflies, noble soul on the chill of the winter sun.

Trapped in the dew of the stomach, stirred in the night dance awaiting the dawn.

You invented the song, different and inviting every day,

actor and author of your part as the absolute protagonist.

The barefoot dancer applauded ceaselessly, her feet never touching the ground,

she rose in flight over the aridity of the world put to rest among the desert oases,

the one narrowed by the rocks,

milestones guardians of ash more dangerous than the burning coals left in the name of a love that has lost its nostalgia.

Fly high, butterfly, over the eastern skies, look ahead and don’t stop even for a useless greeting.

Stitched together from the drops of bitterness,

the pages of the soul write chapters of a new fantasy world painted by the colorful butterfly.

Elisa Mascia

HEMATOPOIESIS: DEVELOPMENT AND SIGNIFICANCE

Abstract:

This thesis discusses the process of blood formation—hematopoiesis, its stages, main organs, and biological significance. Hematopoiesis ensures the continuous renewal of blood cells in the body.

Keywords: hematopoiesis, erythrocyte, leukocyte, platelet, bone marrow, stem cells

Introduction

Hematopoiesis is the process of formation and development of blood cells in the body. This process continues throughout human life and is essential for the normal functioning of the organism.

Main part

Stages of hematopoiesis

Hematopoiesis is divided into embryonic and postnatal periods. During the embryonic period, blood formation initially occurs in the yolk sac, then in the liver and spleen. After birth, the main hematopoietic organ is the red bone marrow.

Formation of blood cells

All blood cells develop from hematopoietic stem cells. They differentiate into the following main types:

Erythrocytes – responsible for oxygen transport

Leukocytes – involved in immune defense

Platelets – play an important role in blood clotting

Regulation of hematopoiesis

Hematopoiesis is regulated by hormones and biologically active substances. For example, erythropoietin stimulates the production of erythrocytes.

Clinical significance

Disorders of hematopoiesis can lead to various diseases, including anemia, leukemia, and other blood system disorders.

Conclusion:

Hematopoiesis is a vital biological process that ensures the continuous renewal of blood cells. Its normal functioning is essential for maintaining a healthy life.

Xamroyeva Shaxlo  Uzbekistan

Review of Rus Khomutoff’s Poem Kaos Karma

“Essentially an artist does one thing throughout his career, but over the years he discovers its various implications and expands upon and deepens aspects of what had been present in his work. Perhaps that’s the difference between a serious artist and an entertainer. The artist is constantly deepening a single, obsessive theme, rather than decorating a succession of topical themes.”

~Richard Foreman

Rus Khomutoff’s poem Kaos Karma suggests an encounter between a body of literary writing and a body of magickal/philosophical writing, thus crossing (nonstop) various thresholds of consistency. This despite the consistent all caps no punctuation of its form that positions it on brink of resembling Jenny Holzer’s Truisms (1978–87), though she did not center the text as Khomutoff usually does. 

So I read Kaos Karma as an abstract machine that consists of formed and unformed formal functions expressing the relationship of literature to a philosophy of cut-up chaos magick (and vice-versa). As such, Khomutoff offers a way of saying something about the philosophy of poetry that began with Stéphane Mallarmé’s Un coup de dés jamais n’abolira le hasard, but also of the philosophy that is claimed by and for, and sometimes of, chaos magick’s labyrinthine conception of multiplicity and singularity.

In Kaos Karma the reader is not linked by means of period, genre, nationality, style, theme or political ideology; for it has a relentless high-wire flow of exposition that exposes a conniving with transcendence. Especially when its apparently cut-up philosophical transactions (without transitions) are underway. It is with this privilege I am according to Kaos Karma the sign of art that can force thought. This, while at the same time, it is busy effectuating dispersal and fragmentation, rather than totalization.

Khomutoff, on an aesthetic plane, screams in all caps urgent questions that confronts the reader with phrases from different disciplines as the poem oscillates between manifesto and chance. Yet the jump-cuts encountered in Kaos Karma are an encounter between a poetic discipline which decrees a level of specificity and irreducibility. The poet has an immanent manner when he is considered on quite another terrain: that of literature ‘itself’. For, Kaos Karma is important for what it can do as an ABSTRACT MACHINE, rather than for what it might be said to mean. 

This evaluative enterprise involves an assessment of the degree of affect produced by Khomutoff’s dramatic work as an impure intercourse between literature and manifesto. But Kaos Karma has a very particular slant deriving from two distinct (but intimately related) bodies of work, Beat literature on the one hand, and the rhizomatic philosophy of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari on the other, as it gestures towards the preposition of its title. 

Of course rhizomatic philosophy is itself already subjected to particular encounters with connectivity in our poetic thinking, but the liaisons found in Kaos Karma reads as if the writer is pushing the reader to be impatient and to get on to the next phrase without pause. There is a privileging of a certain speed-flow of words here that merges the possibility that some of Kaos Karma is inscribe or prescribe with a heavy dose of something irrational.

While I would not wish to stress this view, what emerged out of reading Kaos Karma a number of times, is a fact that certain words used here (more than others) gravitate comprehensively towards specific mysteries around passion through the text’s emphasis on being and judgement.

It might be objected that the encounters with passion I found in Kaos Karma are arbitrary (validated by a mere coincidence). But each poem page, to a greater or lesser extent, bears the imprint of a coincidence of this sort. 

To identify a specific philosophical passion or problem in each of the pages of Kaos Karma would be reductive and subject the poet’s word-flows to the demands of rationality, instead of feeling. My point, however, is quite to the contrary, even though Kaos Karma read the third time through illuminated through these encounters with passion the philosophical tradition of Deleuze and Guattari for me. Particularly, their critique of interpretation which they together launched in The Anti-Oedipus. In that sense, Kaos Karma may assist the reader in the unlearning of romantic word-image-thoughts which have dominated the poetic discipline. 

This is only in part explained by the frequent recourse which Khomutoff makes in his work to ecstatic celebration. The uniqueness of the pertinence of the colorist Dionysian non-space he creates as a form of modulation questions the relationship of poetry to passion to the extent to which the magickal chaotic philosophy of Austin Osman Spare pervades his practice. 

Transfiguration forms the corpus of Khomutoff’s writing in this dramatic poetry. But the reader does not encounter a programmatic statement which might be applied by one attempting to write about literature and philosophy in the manner of, or after Kaos Karma. This singular body of work enters the bloodstream of this reader at a rate quite distinct but similar to William S. Burroughs’s Beat poetic transfusions. And yet there is a noncorrosive quality in these Kaos Karma poetic interventions which renders any attempt at a general theory of literature decadent. An intellectual-artistic enterprise doomed in advance. 

For me, the reading of Kaos Karma required an exploration of my memories of the work of Antonin Artaud, James Joyce, Henry Miller, José Saramago, Maurice Blanchot, Comte de Lautréamont, Samuel Backett, Jack Kerouac, André Breton, F. Scott Fitzgerald and the stream of consciousness writing that originated with Surrealism and the works of psychologist William James; even as the poem invents unknown or unrecognized affects and brings them to light. For Kaos Karma outlines a plane of consistency which enables, activates or prolongs mental fluxes and becomings as it unfolds a possible world of declaration which secretes and promotes incommensurability, heterogeneity and multiplicity. Such an encounter with such a world entails the crossing of a threshold of becoming, a displacement which scrambles positions of psychoanalytic or karmic interpretation. It consists of a stream of semiology which is anti-psychoanalysis. 

This banging bit of poetic writing is precisely an affair of becoming, but it is important to note that becoming in Deleuzeian terms does not entail the attainment of form by means of identification, imitation, or mimesis; but finding, rather, the zone of indiscernibility such that it is not possible to identify or distinguish this or that specific thing. It is a process, that is, a passage which traverses the livable and the lived inseparable from becoming. 

~Joseph Nechvatal

joseph@nechvatal.net 

Joseph Nechvatal is the author of Venus Voluptuous in the Loins of the Last God, available here.