2nd stage student of Samarkand State University named after Sharof Rashidov

Printed book or an e-book. Which one is better? 

Today, the Internet has become a part of life. Even without phones and social media, people feel sick. This situation is observed all over the world. Unfortunately, this is a bad habit. Because sitting on the phone and computer for a long time in the same position damages the back and other organs of a person. If a person does not take his eyes off mobile devices for three days, his sleep pattern will be disturbed. And the production of necessary hormones in the body slows down and leads a person to dangerous situations. The light emitted from the phone screen causes eye diseases.

As with the other side of the coin, the Internet has several advantages. For example, we can read the book we want sitting at home. It is always with us in our pocket. And publishing a printed book requires a lot of trees. If trees are cut down, the ecology and environment will be damaged. These are the advantages of electronic forms of reading.

But we must not forget that the book is the secret of man, the solution to all problems. The book serves as a blueprint for what we want to do. So, don’t forget about the book. Since ancient times, scientists have not achieved knowledge, goodness, wisdom through this book, many sources are hidden in the depths of books. So… Who can reach this treasure? Of course, this is us young people.

(Central Asian teen girl with dark hair in a white sweater with black objects. She’s at a wooden desk in an office holding a pen over a newspaper).

One Night in Bombay, India

One wild night in Bombay, India

I walked into an evil bar 20 drinks too sober

On the wicked wrong end of a Friday night booze run.

On the bad side of the Moon over by where the Martian dudes

Sat drinking their Martian whisky, ogling the Venus maidens.

Leering at the earth women who were walking by

Wearing skin-tight pants made their eyeballs hurt.

I gave in to the spirit and went over to the Martian dudes

And got drunk on the Martian madness, shot after shot

Smoking some good old-fashioned Mars dust.

And flew off to the planet Jupiter

Just to have me some fun with a lady

Who said she was from Saturn?

I did not know she was from the planet Pluto.

Until I woke up the next day, naked, under the alien Sun

In jail on the Planet Alpha Centura, light-years from home,

A million miles away, a thousand years in the future

And I had no money, no honey, no way home.

Still 20 drinks too sober, I just sat down in that jail

And started drinking away my time

Drinking fine cold assed Centurion wine

and Pluto Whisky.

One day I woke up

 and found me back in Bombay

Standing outside that evil bar

in the miasmic mist

Over by the Martian whorehouse,

 down by the Gate of India

And I walked up to

the Saturn-Pluto babe

And said,

“Man, that was some bad shit

Bad craziness.”

Let’s do it again someday,

she smiled, and I had my way

Knew the day would come again.

When I would be drinking with the Martians

And something wicked my way would come

Just another night of wicked fun

On the wrong side of the Moon

On the right night

in the mean streets of Bombay.

I SOLD

If they say I’m bad, I’m sorry

I wished you the best.

I worked hard to create my beautiful garden,

I put it on my wrist.

If a weak servant goes astray and loses his way,

Shaking my heart, I walked down the aisle without answering.

They made me cry from pain,

I put the stone in the brass.

Dilbar is happy, and he is unhappy with malicious hearts.

I put my dignity in walking straight as a bow.

CREATIVE GIRL

       Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna was born on March 5, 2007 in the Karshi district of the Kashkadarya region.

   She is currently the 10th “B” student of the 43rd school. 

      Dilbarhan is the queen of poetry, the owner of creativity, a singer with a beautiful voice, and a ghazal girl.

      She came first in the “Leader of the Year” competition.

        1st prize in the regional stage of the “Hundred Gazelles and Hundred Gems” competition.

         She took part in the “Children’s Forum” category and won first place in many competitions.

          She is currently the coordinator of the training department of Tallikuron MFY in Karshi district.

          Kamalak captain of the opposite district.

          Head captain of the “Girls There” club at school 43. 

         The articles titled “Memory is immortal and precious”, “Our School” and “Mother” were published three times in Kenya Times International magazine in 2024.

     In 2023, the first poems were published in the poetry collection “Yulduzlar Yogdusi” of the creative youth of the Kashkadarya region.

      In 2024, ghazals of the creative youth of the Republic were published in the poetry collection “Youth of Uzbekistan”.

dollar store kimono clown me a second jeff

—

anonymous rice a little bird’s elbow

—

the chef won’t cook it faint green glass

—

bio/graf

J. D. Nelson is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.

Tears of the Clouds

Clouds blanket the sky's wide embrace,
Shielding the sun's glowing face.
A gentle breeze whispers soft and light,
Stroking the clouds in its flight.
The world feels draped in sorrow's shroud,
Veiled completely by the cloud.
The wind, at times, takes clouds away,
To distant lands, they sway and stray.
Moisture glistens in the clouds' eyes,
Perhaps the wind has paused its sighs.
Tears known to all as gentle rain,
Fall and soothe the earth again.


Umida Jonibekova was born on December 18, 2002, in Arnasoy district, Jizzakh region. Currently a fourth-year student at Jizzakh State Pedagogical University. Has published several articles on methods of teaching English as a foreign language in international journals and is an active participant in international conferences. Additionally, one of the top 10 participants in the United Kingdom's "National Poetry Competition."

That Rotten Kid


There once was a boy named Eddie. And

clearly there was something very wrong

with this nine-year-old. Ask anybody: they'd

tell you, with an eye roll, that Eddie was

disruptive, distracted, and inattentive in the

classroom. It was 1962 and Eddie had just

been enrolled in the third grade.

 

He was forever shouting out non-sequiturs,

throwing his pencils and erasers across the

room and striking other students and

teachers; constantly making his unwelcome

presence felt.

 

No one knew quite what to do with Eddie.

He had been held back in school and so was

bigger and stronger--and more destructive--

that his fellow students.

 

Though it was suspected by some school

officials that he was, deep-down, quite

intelligent, Eddie was unable--or, they

thought, unwilling--to work with other

children or to complete an assignment. 

Rarely could he finish a single written

sentence before his attention wandered

again.

 

Other children tried to ignore him, as

they were instructed, but he was a

handful, always out of his seat, in

everybody's business and fighting with

the class bully, who couldn't quite

grapple with Eddie's size and manic

strength.

 

Teachers washed their hands of him. He

was sequestered to a far corner of the

room, but kept dragging his desk, like a

security blanket, back amongst the rest

of the students, on the other side of the

room. He got lonely. Teaching him, they

discovered, was impossible; he was

admonished to "just sit and be quiet." For

Eddie, however, that too was impossible.

 

After the third grade, Eddie ceased being

a student; once again he had failed and

been held back. No one I knew ever saw

the young man again.  Word had it that he

was declared "unteachable" and "incorrigible"

and institutionalized. One teacher was heard

muttering about "That rotten kid..." Eddie's

departure came as a relief to the

teachers and the other students, but in a

sad way.

 

ADHD was not officially inscribed into

the Diagnostic Manual of The American

Psychological Association until 1987.

Today there are more than 6 million

children diagnosed as affected by this

condition.

 



Incorrigible

 

Bob sat at his desk in the 1st grade classroom,

blinking his eyes and rolling his head to first

one shoulder and then the next.  This drew

the unwanted attention of his teacher, Miss

Edison.  She stepped briskly down the aisle.

 

"Robert, I've told you before to cut out the

antics. You know you're disturbing the other

children."  Bob sneaked a glance at the boys

and girls in his class, saw their happy grins;

at the moment, they were happy not to be

him.

 

Bob coughed nervously.  "And that cough,"

said Miss Edison.  "I've sent you to  the school

nurse a dozen times but there doesn't seem

to be anything physically wrong with you." She

laid heavy emphasis on the word "physically,"

which set the other children off laughing. "So,"

she concluded unfeelingly, "if you're trying to

get out of class, you can just forget about it."

 

Bob's face grew hot, his skin a bright pink.

He stared down at his desk.  He wished he

could sink through the floor.  "Now, you sit

there and don't move a muscle for the rest

of the day or you're going to be in big

trouble. 

 

Bob laid his hands flat on his desktop and

tried to hold himself still.  Miss Edison

hovered over him and everyone was watching

expectantly.  Suddenly Bob's head turned to

the left. his arm shot out straight and he

coughed hoarsely.  Once again the children

exploded in gales of laughter.

 

Miss Edison blew out a disgusted breath and

told the class to be silent, that this wasn't

funny.  The teacher intoned somberly, "A class

cut-up did no one favors." The classroom  

settled down, listening to every delicious word.

This was how delinquency and a life of crime

began, she added fiercely.

 

Bob stole another look at his classmates, again

saw their derisive, toothy grins.  "You can just

stay in class for recess and when the rest of us

go to lunch!" proclaimed the teacher.  "I wash

my hans of you.  You are, Robert, truly

incorrigible"  And she stalked back to her desk.

 

Little was known of Tourette's Syndrome in the

1950s.

 

 

 

———————————————————————-

scribbling down some poems

sitting in the

waiting room

watching all

these people

come in and

decide to sit

on the other

side of the

waiting room

as i’m sitting

here scribbling

down some

poems

crazy wins

again

————————————————————-

better when drinking

she had eyes

of the deepest

blue

i was too poor

to even think

i could get a

chance with

something

so beautiful

she bought

me a drink

one morning

after work

we started to

talk and play

a little pool

she didn’t know

i play better

when drinking

apparently,

i was supposed

to let her win

——————————————————-

hello is a better choice

a steamy eyed

vixen says hello

my first instinct

is to ask how

much money

does this cost

i figure hello is

a better choice

of course, a few

days later and it

will be questions

of how much can

i spend on a gift

card or anything

for them

humans have this

constant ability

to do nothing

but disappoint

me

—————————————————————–

the better of me

i once asked burroughs

to cook me up a shot

fucker kept it

for himself

i used to dance naked

in the rain until time

got the better of me

she tasted like clove

cigarettes and trouble

i should have married

her on a tuesday

coltrane plays me

down from the ledge

yet, i can’t shake the

haunting feeling that

all good men fucking

jump

endless regret wrapped

inside a lover’s lament

yet another tootsie roll

i won’t get to lick

flirting with death

like a whore at last

call

i never thought

loneliness would

be the hill i’d die

on

—————————————————————-

the simmering rage

say hello to the pain

to each wrong step

that brings about

misery

say hello to fucking

traffic

bumper to bumper

for no fucking

reason at all

say hello to the anger

the simmering rage

and the final days

where you’ll be able

to control it

say hello to dysfunction

the guiding light

through every dark

day

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is slowly wasting away in the suburbs. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash Quarterly, Mad Swirl, The Beatnik Cowboy and Disturb the Universe Magazine. He has a few copies of his book with Casey Renee Kiser, Altered States of The Unflinching Souls, for sale. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.

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