The sound of people trying their best to live in this harsh society
I thought i wasn’t getting much sleep these days
These people don’t sleep at all
I lay in my bed
My body devoured
I lay there staring up in the ceiling
I think to myself
It must be freezing cold outside
How can those people have the motivation to go out at this time
I feel a chill down my spine
Somethings not right but i don’t know what
I think eating a snack would solve the problem
I stand up and go look for some food
I sit down with all the food i scavenged
A tuna can, some leftover chicken and some ramen
Todays hunt was successful i thought
I will make it my mission to finish this as fast as i can
I dig in quickly
I eat til there is nothing left
except the last chicken leg
After this i can finally go to bed with a full stomach
I pick it up
And I..
Beep beep beep…
wake up
Injury to insult
The only time i insult someone is when
I get insulted that’s why you should
Add injury to an insult
You have to stand up for yourself
When you insult them
Make sure to injure them as well
And don’t just minorly injure them
Permanently damage them
So they don’t have to come to school
So that they don’t have to all this nasty homework
I wish I don’t have to come to school anyways
I’m not sure about you
But personally i was taught to never take any disrespect from anyone
Me personally i would have to add injury to insult
School
I wish that it ended. She keeps talking and talking. I’m not listening, who is? Nobody listening there, all sleeping. School is such a waste.
I wish that time stopped. I never thought it was fun. Schools should host more parties. We stayed there until 9. It ended in a flash.
I wish that he didn’t. Throwing that beautiful ramen away. I’m inside the school starving. While he wastes that ramen. My poor beautiful delicious ramen.
Andrew Ban is a student attending an International School in South Korea. He loves writing in his free time, and his other hobbies include cross country and bike riding. He was recently published in Inlandia: A Literary Journal, Dunes Review, The Elevation Review, Rigorous and Mortal Magazine.
Eugene Han is a student at an international school in South Korea. His artwork explores themes of identity, culture, and nature, often blending abstract and representational elements. Through vibrant colors and textured layers, he aims to capture both the complexity and simplicity of the human experience. Eugene has been honing their artistic skills from a young age and is passionate about sharing their vision with a global audience.
“Myth, Symbolism, and Patriotism: An Exploration of Turkia Loucif’s The Legend of a Squirrel”
The novel “The Legend of a Squirrel” by Turkia Loucif is a captivating literary work that draws inspiration from mythological and symbolic heritage to present a national vision. The story revolves around a conflict between good and evil, with the squirrel representing friendly peoples who helped Algeria in its revolution against French occupation. The castle symbolizes the homeland, while the faeries represent evil forces seeking to take control.
The novel explores themes of patriotism, sacrifice, and the struggle for power, with a unique blend of fantasy and reality. The author’s use of symbolism and mythological elements adds depth and complexity to the narrative, making it accessible to a wide range of readers.
The translation of the novel into English by Ahmed Farouk Beydoun and the Albanian proofreader Kujtim Hajdari has made it possible for a global audience to experience the story. The novel’s success is evident in its bestseller status at exhibitions held in Algeria, and its translation marks an important step in the author’s literary career.
Dr. Mohamed Bashir Bouijra’s critical review highlights the novel’s artistic and literary merits, noting its unique blend of fantasy and social commentary. The review also praises the author’s use of language, which is both accessible and engaging.
As the linguistic reviewer of this novel, Kujtim Hajdari notes that Turkia Loucif’s writing style is characterized by its clarity, precision, and mastery of the Arabic language. Her use of vocabulary is rich and nuanced, and her sentences are structured in a way that is both logical and aesthetically pleasing. The novel’s themes of social justice, power, and the human condition are timely and thought-provoking, and Loucif’s exploration of these themes is both nuanced and insightful.
The ascended sun putting the night to sleep. At the evening walking, a frightened stray dog ran incredibly fast past us to pause down a dirt road looking for its way into the verdant shrubbery and trees where it lived. What was it running from? It was grey and black, big,- and that poor guy or girl, we thought, w/out a forever home, more alone than so many.
The Spanish style terra cotta roofs wait across the way, and they and everything receive the early afternoon sun. Hot. Humid. Breezy. Fine grain sands and long wide beaches, two silver fish came in near my legs and looked around at the shallow world briefly. My God how much like paradise with the turquoise waters gently rolling around under azure sky sometimes holding puffy white cumulus clouds. It had rained but the land is magnanimous and forgives such things quickly,- transitioning back to normalcy.
Tans. Supermarkets. Many different cultures looks and languages from all over the world because the sea and the sun is most certainly the world ‘word,’ the earth cosmopolitan-language that all agree on. Several languages…English, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Dutch, Papiamento.
Blue gecko lizards. Palm fronds. Glimmer of light upon objects. The friendly cabbie. The plane in the sky, the slow moving cruise ship, the smaller vessels of the harbour and patio drinks,- beer, soda, Pina Colada. Flags flying in wind. Silver trinkets in the sun. Atmospheric serene. Walk and walk. Jump in the sea. Sit on chairs or in the sand. Conversations about the world and things,- talks w/friends. Pictures and prose poems home….
TWO
A Prose Poem for the Night, the Sea, the Sky and the Sun Scenic
The night is full, robust, obviously dark. From the balcony one can see shapes and there is some soft light upon the palm trees and stucco structures.
Then the break into light, but it’s a quiet and such a minute break. It knows its way and does this every day, this daybreak, this ancient and new movement of existence.
A bird begins to sing. Eventually more. A pelican arrives up the way as every day, in order to look at a certain set of balconies or the roof. Terra cotta condominiums, green fronds, potted trees, the Divi Divi trees, coastline, looking southwest for the trade winds that travel across the region. The parrot that arrives the first day to great Tara hasn’t been back, and though real is more like a spirit message, an auspicious sign of some sort. (Things like this often happen to her, especially w/birds. The birds sense her spirit and essence and like her very much).
Walkers. Joggers. Workers. Awakening world. Bus. Taxi. Later perhaps the cruise ships docking. Electric bike. Electric scooter. Soft gentle breeze. Parachute pulled by motor boat. An elderly soul, a man, is walking towards the sea. I think now the sun has risen enough,- and it’s not too hot or oppressive in brightness and humidity, that I will begin to gather my things and also go to the ocean and into it for a little swim. Yes,- I’ll let the singing birds and curious but coy geckos be, and venture off to see the sea, the six o’clock hour sea…
THREE
Meditations on the Night and its Moon
Inside the night the clouds definitely moved in. They appeared to make a magical fluffy frame around the moon. Below, the stucco resorts, palm trees green lit by electric lights. More distant lights also. Then, it is the rain’s turn to act. Slow dawn and early morning showers. Then the perennial ‘torrential’ downpour, but that’s okay. The cars scatter. The trees become frumpy. The sand turns a darker shade, brownish. Maybe later it will stop and the bright rays of light will come again,- warm, nurturing, healthy, joyous, calm, kind,-
Sitting for now though,- balcony way,- musing pensive philosophical inward in the outward, two birds come by making their morning rounds. It’s not that they are necessarily a sign and there for me,- for this is THEIR home, but…it’s nice they are not afraid of me,- don’t feel or see anything in my spirit that is acrimonious,- and look at me, walk right to my side and feet.
‘I don’t have anything for you birds,’ I mention for fun,’ not this morning…’ it’s later I shall feed them, by palms and stucco walls where iguanas live also under that continual afternoon wind.
And they jump up and make the rest of the rounds. I gaze momentarily out. A sea of rain, mist, foggy-type atmosphere of the tropical arena of abodes and dwellings, restaurants and passageways to the beach, to the scenery of sand and sea.
FOUR
Of Time, Travellers and the Beloved
Rainy. The clouds have won today. That’s okay. A different atmosphere for the orange city by the sea. Verdant kelly green shrubs. Kittens. Lizards. Shapes in clouds moving. The flora and fauna need the rains. We still got to swim in the ocean. Tides changing and a plane. A pelican. Even the inland ants and little birds. Nice enough. Let’s take a walk after getting snacks and some change of clothes.
Stucco buildings. Bright yellow flowers. Pink ones too. Tall palms. Pastel visions of structures light blue and green and orange. The shapes of buildings. Balconies. Breezes. A pontoon boat and a tour boat. The world there. Nice people. Sand. A shell, an old conch shell. Ghostly wind. The trade winds again that blow over the island entire and head south west. What’s this?- thunder- how interesting and different. Capricious weather- sun shade rain sun shade rain wind breeze calm.
Interesting. I notice again how Tara is so beautiful,- a smile and dimples and shining eyes true and intelligent, curious, knowing.
Love. We love the sea, also like an old true beloved soulmate. We love the sand, like the greatest and trusted of friends. And we love the sky, its sun and cloud, even its rain-like shroud…yes we love even the rainy sky, for so many reasons why!
FIVE
Through Dawn, Rain, and Day
Dawn brightly announces itself and the winds that have remained travel through the worlds of verdant palm fronds and the stucco buildings. A blue lizard, a gecko, my favourite type, watches, plus a green one beyond. There is the pool, plus the green grasses where cats play and friendly tourists feed them.
Cruise ships bring in thousands of people but for the most part, the lands absorb them. Some noise and conversations. Many souls want to see the blue and turquoise sea, the white clean and clear fine grain that is somehow not even that hot to walk upon barefoot.
Dusk, sun beginning a descent,- up steps across the way to a fine restaurant for pizzas and pastas, drinks like Cuban-style Mojitos, Sangria, and even plain water and Coke Zero. Of course coffee also. Nice. Many more souls. Italians. Americans. South Americans. Canadians like us, plus others. Walk home after,- the darkened sea for nocturne beside us to the right, and the electric lighted buildings to the left. See the pool illumined by various lights electric. Then,- balconies and calm conversations plus soft music.
Coffee. Tea. Water.
What dreams will arrive via the night?- good or bad or mixed,- and,…these strange times marginal imaginations like when one floated in water earlier with ears covered by the sacrosanct sublime scene of sea…- staring up upon the clouds moving not fast or slow but just right with wizards gnomes people buildings spaceships spirits as if appearing then dissolving and travelling inland outland across to here-there-everywhere both north and south,- along and over this whimsical wondrous Orange City,———……
“Andy Warhol – Federico Fellini – Federico Wardal”: a case of “muses”
This is a special story, one that emerged after a full 50 years.
About two years ago, an Instagram fan of mine, who knew I had been an inspiration to my mentor Federico Fellini and vice versa, sent me an Andy Warhol collage. My fan asked me if it was me in the photo, below the one of Liza Minnelli, second from the right, in a famous Andy Warhol collage, which also features Sylvester Stallone.
I replied to her that it wasn’t me, fully noticing that the Andy Warhol’s model in the photo appeared like a lookalike of me, wearing makeup, clothes, and attire like me at the time. The conversation between me and my Instagram fan was public and spread across social media and elsewhere, becoming popular. This is the real story. In the 70s, my photos (aka Wardal, my real name is Federico di Wardal) reached Federico Fellini and Andy Warhol via the film agencies of Franco Brel and Yvette Louis. Fellini chose me as the “adolescent alter ego of Casanova” in the first edition of his film “Casanova”, then entirely stolen, shortly before it appeared on the screens and then reshot.
Andy Warhol requested a contract from my manager Mr. Drago to be able to use my image in his compositions, but the agreement did not come to fruition. Surprisingly, it now appears, as I said, that Andy Warhol’s model Mrs. Iris, strongly resembling me, dressed and made up like me, was included in the attached photo, in the same period in which my image was exclusive to Federico Fellini. Fellini had chosen me not only because my aesthetic characteristics fit into his imaginative world , but also for my “metaphysical” personality, but at the same time intense and physical. My image, however, also fit into Warhol’s imaginative world, aside from my personality.
Both Fellini and Warhol always chose characters that no one forgets, and this is certainly positive for me, since for 50 years I have continued to galvanize audiences. But there is one aspect or challenge that has always fascinated me: the power to cancel or obscure my image, when I perform a show, through intense, pregnant acting. That said, Federico Fellini requested me not only as an “image,” but also as an actor, giving me the opportunity to express myself through acting, while Andy Warhol focused only on my special facial expression and my look, and rightly so, since Fellini is a great film director and Andy Warhol is, I think, above all a great visual artist.
For an artist who has a galvanizing image, everything can become very difficult, since producers make you play roles that are more linked to the image and not to the abilities and skills of an actor. It is truly a hard struggle to impose on producers roles that we artists believe in, roles that we feel and love.
In my case, I have been very lucky because I have inspired many directors, authors, writers, poets of different genres, ages, cultures who wanted me in roles that I have immensely loved. The names? Federico Fellini, Carlo Lizzani, Alberto Bevilacqua, Dario Bellezza, Mario Fratti, Franco Cuomo and now Enrico Bernard with the film “Lila” (A Monster Called Lila) https://youtu.be/aURAiSWSK1Y?si=Oqv5RbnlOfRbhrDQ. But also young and very young talents from California, Egypt, Italy , they are inspired by me.
This entire “story” turns 50 this year and will be celebrated in Italy in Pompeii, an ancient city and archaeological site, from December 3 to 13, 2025, during the sixth edition of the Vesuvius Film Festival (vesuviusfilmfestival.it), dedicated to my mentor Federico Fellini. The festival is chaired by Giovanna D’Amodio. I, who always love to act, not just to appear, will give the performance: “FELLINI’s Dream,” directed by the president of the Historical Archive of Italian Cinema, the authoritative film critic Graziano Marraffa. Key partners of the Vesuvius Film Festival are the Vesuvius National Park Authority, chaired by Raffaele De Luca, and ANILDD, chaired by engineer Lino Marasco.
The foreign films in the international section of the film festival are highly anticipated, such as “Kamilah the Miracle Filly” by Angela Alioto, with Joe Mantegna as narrator, and the other film is “Anita” by Wardal and Ceccomori, with Wardal and music by Andrea Ceccomori. The film is under the auspices of the national Giuseppe Garibaldi association, chaired by the descendant of the hero Francesco Garibaldi Hibbert, a special guest of the film festival. https://youtu.be/VMBSioZfN-U?si=f-h04f_CAYd40RVx. I will be accompanied by Maria Luisa Lo Monte, an international television personality. At the Vesuvius Film Festival, a photographic exhibition on Fellini and I will be inaugurated, with photos by the famous Pierluigi Praturlon, but we will also talk about Andy Warhol and the story I told you.
In his crisp and taut collection April No Longer Comes, poet Yucheng Tao evokes fragile, transitory moments of elegance that seem to fade away even as the speakers appreciate them.
A speaker recollects a museum visit with his now-deceased sister to see a Rothko exhibit. He later imagines a blue horse carrying her from her casket “to a spring which never ends.” Spring, and specifically the month of April, show up later in the collection in some very short pieces on butterfly wings and in “Fever,” a longer piece on a speaker’s recovery from illness. The winter imagery of snow and mist in many other pieces (“Snow,” “We,” “The Glory of the Snow”) becomes a counterpoint, burying or shrouding beauty in a way that is itself graceful.
Tension and a subtle melancholy permeate many of Tao’s works, even those otherwise vibrant and full of life. In the first poem, “The Fading Light of Dead April,” about a couple enjoying a pizza dinner at a restaurant, Tao shows us the delicate bubbles in clear soda, yet ends lines with “bitterness” and “cutting off the clarity,” leaving readers with confusion and angst. In “The Glory of the Snow,” the speaker watches a beautiful woman dance, with picturesque imagery of her red lips against the white mounds of flakes, but then, ‘a clumsy dancer,’ she falls to the ground.
Death makes an appearance throughout the collection, directly in “Mr. Raven” and elsewhere as an aspect of our existence. In “Arrival Before the Rose Dream Ends,” a man eats out with his girlfriend in Portland, Oregon, the city of roses and the shadow of Mount St. Helens’ past eruption, and dreams of the volcano when he passes away in his sleep. In “Mr. Raven,” the speaker’s ticket to the afterlife “is written in the age spots on his hands.” Even an inanimate scarecrow (“The Scarecrow”) becomes less alive as bored teenagers and the weather wear down its body.
Coupled with the many natural images in the collection, mortality here seems as natural as the change of the seasons, whether characters choose to drift away peacefully or beg for more time. As Tao says in “We,” “Things shift, change, and transform: birth, death, and beyond.”
Our hopes, dreams, and identities here can be as fragile as our physical bodies. In “Where,” a speaker searches a rose garden looking in vain for a particular flower, comparing himself to Adam and Eve cast out of Eden when the blossom remains out of sight. The protagonist in “Untitled” puts on the face of a clown to cover his emptiness after his reflection, his identity, falls all around him with the shards of a broken mirror. The very last piece in the collection, “Mary’s Secret,” shares the story of a little girl rescued by loving people from an abusive situation, who attempted to bring spring into her heart.
The short lines and reserved, non-grandiose language of the poems in “April No Longer Comes” ground the sentiments in reality and make the motifs of the book more universal. Many readers can relate to “lost Aprils,” times beautiful yet delicate, now fading into memory.
Yucheng Tao’s April No Longer Comes is out now from Alien Buddha Press and available here.
