The Doctor Is In

There was no Grace in the late afternoon. The ordinarily green, groomed lawns were typically filled with the laughter of children. Not to say the little ones were absent from expressing their imaginations in play, but instead the yards were in disarray. For she wasn't to be seen. The afternoon just wasn't the same. No energetic wave. No smile. Not even a story from the adventures of her youth, as she usually provided just after exiting her car. The neighborhood had grown accustomed to her car turning the corner just three houses from her driveway and thereby illuminating faces like sunshine in spring. But she was late. It was dark. The sun had set on another autumn evening. The streets were vacant, but there was vacancy in her heart for those she missed. However, all the children were summoned by the twilight which just passed before she walked home from the nearest bus stop. A streetlamp flickered until it reached its full illumination.

There was Grace. The other passengers on the bus had never seen this new face. The interior lights flashed on as the bus driver exclaimed his disgruntled opinion about his employer and wondered how the lights worked after their lengthy disorder. The typical non-conversational atmosphere was broken by the first person who mirrored the silent salutation of her smile. The surrounding passengers were enthralled by the tale of the Great Physician -- a story she often relayed to new people in her travels. It gave them something they usually had not experienced.

She made her way up the path toward the front door of a beautiful multi-gable home situated on the left of a sleepy cul-de-sac. The motion sensor of the front porch did not trigger the light. She trembled for what was to come. She pushed away her fear and fumbled for her keys. She sighed with her head cocked back to seek relief, she took a deep breath which exhaled into a prayer. The porch light flooded her vision which restored the smile in her heart. Just as she crossed the threshold, a darkness challenged her resolve. A hidden front of heated verbal assaults and icy secrets in constant retreat, lay in wait. 

The air was stale -- not a scent of any culinary preparation. Despite her fatigue, she offered to anyone in ear shot, "What shall I make for dinner?"

"Go ahead, make my day." Her husband swore at her with his usual fiery finesse while flipping channels with a grimace locked on his face, like that of Clint Eastwood. He had been out of work for years, but it hadn't taken long for him to labour his hand toward the bottle. One, already emptied and filled with cigarettes, now displayed on the end table next to his recliner. He sunk in the dank room. Once used to entertain friends and family, it was now his lair -- his dungeon.

She dared not ask the status of her vehicle's replacement -- the one her husband loaned to a so-called friend who was equal in inebriation to his own. Instead, she asked her husband, "Where's Crystal?"

"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer," he half-fired another heated metaphor reflecting the current programming. The rest of his superlatives riddled down the front of his t-shirt. 

"Drake. I calmly asked a simple question. May I please receive a civil --"

"Say 'hello' to my little friend!" He violently interrupted as he swung the back of his clenched claw in the direction of her face. He missed his intended target as he was barely able to rise from the cage which had trapped his mind as well as his heart. Concerned the same disease had seized her daughter, she gazed from the edge of the room down the hallway. Her daughter leered in returned. 

"... you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!" Her daughter was an astute apprentice of her father in the art of profanity. The darkness already soaked into her wardrobe, her hair and around her eyes, which reflected her opinion of the world around her, and overall. "Houston, we have a problem," she exclaimed. There was no turning back from these words. They both cried. Each of their tears reflected differently. The adolescent's tears instantly chilled.

"May I have my cigarettes please, nurse ..." Drake loved to fire that insult at his wife. It was one of his ways to make himself feel he was better than her. She was a doctor -- a well-respected psychologist. He once held a high office. Now, in a crazed state he stumbled out of his chair -- just as he had fallen from the chambers of court -- toward the study adjacent from where the three stood. With his blurred vision he examined the plethora of framed diplomas and scholastic achievements. He hurled an empty bottle into the room. He missed again. His words were true in aim, but not entirely in content. Law had failed him, and he failed the Law. He falsely accused his wife of healing others over her own family. She knew he exchanged the word caring, as his tongue tripped over his teeth. Her expression betrayed her heart.

The charge and response did not go unnoticed by their daughter. "Exactly. There's no way to win." Crystal's opinion of her dysfunctional family ranked at DEFCON 2. This was no game. Like her father, her poison was not only the bottle. But another escape route existed. Undiscovered. Her room was always locked – as was her heart. Negotiating at this point seemed futile. 

There was Grace. She remembered the story, the gift of the Great Physician she recently relayed to those on the bus earlier. Those who would listen. Listen, and hear. The story of dire importance amid an explosive environment. The same story she told to her family in the past, years gone by. The same story her mother passed down. But not everyone receives this story as a gift. The gift of healing. The gift of peace. "What you want is temporary. What you need is permanent. But it takes time," she pleaded. "I'm not a magician," she cried. It was the most she was able to say without interruption in a long time. Nonetheless, as she began to add, "Please allow --" her words were met with frigid ferocity.

"What we’ve got here is failure to communicate," he slandered her good name.

Crystal outperformed her father and invented her own style of profanity. In cracked vulgarity she haphazardly stung her mother's heart with an icy response as she stormed back in the direction of her room, "Strangelove, or Strange! Will someone call a doctor!"

There was Grace. In a house with two others, she stood alone. Her tears fell short to warm the heart of her daughter. Her husband plastered to the wall in seared rage. She turned and faced the light streaming from under the back door. She softly whispered as she wept, "The Doctor is in."

Secondary Light

(ladybug auspicious, ajna awakener, skate the night, the lady guru is around, for she lives in Electric City)

where is the secondary light? I used to have two. by this I mean lamps. no, three. one was green and one was orange and one was blue but with a white light and built w/a stone base. that lighting was better. the world it illumined more mysterious, the hard edges of reality faded, like in certain good dreams or possibly astral, other world lands filled w/feral reeds dancing for a cosmic breeze, and I stand w/canines beautifully alone, seven of them,- and there was, I was thinking, no end to the lands,- they are literally infinite in all directions. we begin walking, and we are happy beyond the world, a fine and wonderful and boundless joy. 

which brings me to the dream. 

but first the ladybug. a ladybug visited me in the middle and midst of the long lonesome cold dreary winter. it just was there on a wall beside a rosary I bought long ago in Mexico. 

decades and the ladybug.

 I think it is auspicious. and the dream is also…

big strange city, lit up at night, many many sections, perhaps miles long and wide, think Blade Runner meets Wizard of Oz meets The Rolling Stones music, and I am skating on roller skates fast and well, downhill, but not too steep a hill, experts following me that see me and it’s my first time but I can skate fast and they notice.

after perhaps five sections I meet the strange lady eclectic who is the leader, a leader in that faraway section of the odd metropolis, she talks to me briefly. I was there to get salt and vinegar chips of all things, for my beloved and the leader lady’s people couldn’t help me but she threw over a bag but it was a strange unknown brand to me. 

these are not the right snack, I tell her. 

she says, oh ya?- and we begin talking. 

she is beautiful and powerful and dressed in business attire a black skirt and white blouse, and asks if I want my third eye, the ajna-psychic chakra,…touched. 

I say yes. 

She touches it.

For about ten seconds. 

I suddenly see rural pastoral scenes like a highly advanced animated art form moving fast, and in one a duck chases after a bike going from left to right on a property and the scenes and the feeling is that it is free spontaneous living alive not contrived and it has a high energy. everything is in green blue and black. 

the lady stops and says to return later. but she speaks. like anyone. doesn’t use telepathy though I am sure she could. 

I go back to where I came from amaz-d,- to find Tara. I find her finally and tell her I have to go back to see again the lady that touched the third eye for she had said to come back again. 

there are people on the outskirts of the city. 

walking. 

talking. 

people being people. 

Tara says ‘If you must-‘

a luke warm response. 

and I go back again. Or try to. the strange lady is halfway there,- waiting, leaning against a wall. she knew I was on the way think. – and smiles and is happy I am on this way- and turns to have me follow her. 

she is somehow a part of my people spiritually but knows much more than I, at least about that strange city of electric light. 

I am skating. 

I yell out w/ joy at the top of my lungs at how fast and free I am going amidst those places, primal great real real real real real joy. I jump and fly through the air for a bit. 

but then I go where I should but can’t find her. I keep looking, scrambling. she is not reliable. but I don’t right off want to admit it to myself. 

something is wrong. 

why does this have to happen like this?

that whole place is hard to navigate. 

a security agent at a check point stops me and says something. I can’t hear him. I 

think I am in trouble though have done nothing wrong. 

He repeats ‘zoom’. 

I ask, ‘Zoom?’

‘You should zoom,’ he says. 

I say, What?- and he says then, ‘…zoom,…it’s what is written on your bag so you should do that.’

I wasn’t really aware I was carrying a

bag, but he was right. 

Like a white duffle bag or duffle bag type thing. but the same route is taken to further off, like an arcade type setting. I see someone I think could be her, that looks like her, but when I get closer it is not.

disappointment. 

no other would do save for she. but she is nowhere to be found that strange gifted chakra lady, that master of third eye manifestation and manipulation. 

though there are many people around, everyone is a stranger. 

I go back. 

I find Tara. 

But it’s not before a long journey, to parts of the night electric city that don’t work- like an escalator that doesn’t function. And the people walk on it knowing it hasn’t worked for a long time and that part of the city is on the outskirts, not as interesting. but the people take it literally in stride. 

Tara wears white. 

we begin to leave, and i steal a glance back. I can see that in many parts there are so many lights that you’d think day was breaking or dusk had barely begun. 

they must hum like a spiritual download but I can’t hear them then. 

and i knew, as in reality, that it was still night. where was the electric city? Electricity spells electric city. that is strange. was it real, was it imagined, or somewhere in the middle somehow?  was it on an astral plane? why did it feel hyper real,- and who exactly was the ajna awakener?

I longed to know the answers even before I awoke. 

then the dream vision ended. 

I remained still. ‘Remember remember remember,’ I told myself. ‘What were the curving streets I had skated down made of?’ some had interlock brick, I told myself,- yes I noticed that. and the buildings?- how about them,- every different design one could think of,- even an architect, I reminded myself,- yet I didn’t remember anything too high, more than say,- five stories. and more- beyond words also- the feeling,- the connection w/the guru, if she was a guru- master of some sort. and the fast skating, a certain freedom even in a strange place. 

and a thought…hadn’t I deserved to skate like that, having skated my whole youth and adolescence in real life from age seven or eight onwards?- nothing it seems, but skating. I had began not being able to hardly stand on skates, and by the end I was usually the fastest skater on the ice. 

‘Remember remember remember, because even when you think you have remembered everything or much,- there is often or perhaps always something recalled that you had forgotten. The bigger the chunks of dream you remember,- the more chance you have of arriving at some other memory within the chunk, around the chunk….’

I even tried to re-enter the dream. a long time ago, I could often to this,- by quickly forcing myself back asleep. I must have done it thirty times successfully through those past years. 

but i couldn’t do it this time. 

some skills you lose.

hopefully others you gain. 

and I breathed deeply then the fresh air from the close open window, air clean and against logic and reason, full of the good and robust and coldish night. I felt a tinge of sadness as the dream slipped away further from me, and more sadness when the FEELING the dream brought began to recede further and further. 

I had always wondered where dreams went when we left one another. 

And I had always had the idea that it would be interesting to view one’s life in dreams from birth to death, a biography and chronology of dreams. 

I stood and looked out the window then. 

some streetlights lit the world somewhat and softly. bits of snow wafted down if you looked a little closer, like some invisible or hidden  someone was up there just a above the electric light dropping handfuls of it. 

I liked the bulbs and glow even if I didn’t love them. 

I guess they would have to do as secondary light until I found a lamp again. 

~~~

Uber Alles

Ha!
Germans’ children’s
toys are weapons of war
and the cuckoo
mustache
adorning
the upper lip
of their women
run little flame
light
burn
live!
sweep all
clean
my little 
Hitelburger
in the real
Olympics
world conquest 
in war!




Real Man

So humble
I didn’t know
or remember
to worship
adequately
my father
as a God.
I do not think
he would approve
however.
Thankfully.


When Did You Stop Beating Your Olive Tree?

Life is like a message
in a bottle telling
you there will be
thunderbolts
and you’ll be
happiest just
before you die.

My Teacher
(To my teacher Nozima Qodirova)

You are the joy of my beautiful life,
Your words, the motto in my strife.
May your flower-like face always be bright,
My kind teacher, Nozima, is a guiding light.

For us, you gave your knowledge freely,
Gathering flowers from paths thorny.
Your entire life you dedicated,
We stand tall, by your love elevated.

Today, everyone knows my name.
Your hard work brought me fame.
The world recognizes me today,
Thanks to the efforts you displayed.

You spread knowledge without measure,
So students could grasp its treasure.
Your hair turned gray with time,
Ensuring we remember every line.

Your pupils eagerly attend the class,
Slowly learning maps and paths.
Joyfully they approach the globe,
Lessons pass smoothly, hope in strobe.

So many years have flown away,
No one forgets our teacher’s sway.
In everyone’s mind, the names remain,
Columbus, Khosrow, Bellingshausen’s fame.

A thousand thanks I say to you,
For filling my life with joy so true.
In every task, with Allah’s aid,
I’ve understood your worth, never to fade.

Every step, I remember you,
My teacher, you are healthy and true.
With open hands in prayer, you stand,
Supporting me with a guiding hand.

You made me who I am today,
My pillar, Nozima, come what may.
The healer of my wounds, you stay,
My solace, Nozima, every day!

Sobirjonova Rayhona was born in Bukhara, Uzbekistan. Currently, she is a 9th grade student.

Ecology and me

What do we mean by ecology? Ecology is a complex of biological sciences that studies the structure of systems, populations, biocenoses, biogeocenoses, that is, the structure of the ecosystem and the biosphere, the processes that take place in them. The term ecology was coined in 1866 by the German scientist E. Haeckel. He proposed to define relations with it. Thus, he introduced this term to science. 

Ecology emerged as a science in the 18th and 19th centuries. It developed rapidly in the 20th century. The influence of man on ecology and ecology on man is great. Although ecological environments can sometimes deteriorate under the influence of natural conditions, they can cause damage and disorder due to human influence.

Disturbance of the ecological balance has a deep and bad effect on human health. Therefore, do your best to prevent and eliminate environmental problems!

What can you think of as environmental problems? One of the main problems is air pollution and global warming. Due to the humidification of the air, the ozone layer is collapsing. The cause of this problem is the harmful gases emitted by businesses and cars. If we talk about the problem of global warming, as a result of this, glaciers are melting and animals living on these glaciers are dying. Especially polar bears. Due to this, it is necessary to reduce and eliminate the occurrence of such problems.

Kurolova Dilnura Shokirjon's daughter was born on October 15, 2009 in Gurlan district of Khorezm region. Today she is a 9th grade student of the 30th school in the district. She knows English and Turkish. "Kenya times", "Raven Cage" and "Classico Opine" magazines published creative work. She's part of the "Dillmir" free volunteer movement and "Intilish" free volunteer movement organizations volunteer and general manager and the "Golden wing" free volunteer movement organization district coordinator and Young Leaders club. coordinator. She is the holder of about 50 international certificates. She also appeared on Khorezm region television for taking pride of place in the book competition.

Ah Smothering Slumbers                                       

Peter? Paul here. Yas that. One Paul here. That is precisely what I said, do not lay down the game-play of your usual fairybabe of a long tail over me. That is because. Wait wait wait. 
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha smothering slumbers ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha 

Okay say that hoot what you will be ready this time though. This time will be different because I will be because I will be scribing I will be scribing down will be scribing down a be scribing down a precise down a precise and a precise and a precise and a tangible and a tangible a tangible record record of your entirely-entire line of the usual spew. 

Wait I hunt up.
It’s been weeks since then what fool can’t look this over in an hour it were me they’d been off my land by dusk that day. 
I hunt up a.
That day. You know?  Ha ha ha ha. 
Hunt up a writing.
Ha ha ha ha ha smothering. 
Up a writing implement.
Slumbers come over kmaerflentefpohawt. 
A writing implement. 
Whheartf tahtiesr all is ha ha ha.
A suitable writing implement of the necessary.

Ha ha ha is all tahtiesr whheartf.
Sharpness to show up no matter. 
Kmaerflentefpohawt overcome slumbers.
To show up no matter how.
Smothering ha ha ha ha ha. 
Show up no matter how long.
Ha ha ha ha know? You day. That. 
Up no matter how long it.

Day. That dusk by land my off been they’d me were it hour an in over this look can’t fool what then since weeks been it’s. 
No matter how long it lies.
Peter? Paul here.

Peter hey Paul here hey hey hey listen; ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha slumbers smothering ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha which all gets all true no matter how long it lies unread. Hello welcome to Weathering’s Wheelsup-SuperBalanced-storage-acid-fishing-sinkers supply house and brainypup breeding farm. Because it may lie a very long time it may lie a very long time unread may lie a very long time unread and unread, Peter lie a very long time unread all over all under, Peter my lie a very long time unread down under all over its varying selfnesses, Peter my man a very long time unread. 

That’s as if lost in the woods and coming into a pack of wolves. Peter my man, because very long time unread. Peter my man, because there long time unread. Or out in a grove of wild feral beasts, it would not know fear. Peter my man, because there may time unread. We’ve all up to four souls. Peter my man, because there may be Peter my man. Four only no more availably after our last inventationary. Because there may be no my man. A tiny man. 

Because there may be no one more adequate man, because there may be no one with because there may be no one with the urge to wilding down and down and, there may be no one all over this space. No one to step out leading in many more other tinier men. With the necessarily there may be no one with the necessarily strong be no one with the necessarily strong stomach no one with the necessarily strong stomach to be one with the necessarily strong stomach required to be with the necessarily strong stomach to there yell hey hey hey, Barbazee. 

Peter up? Paul here. Yas that—go on.
Okay to be able the necessarily strong stomach to be able okay to necessarily strong stomach to be able to okay okay dispassionately strong stomach to be able to dispassionately review, but when the wrong okey-dote is like a bulge on the throat cross all this house of scale model non-barbary ape people in their big gamer’s village, the stomach to be able to dispassionately review. It would not know fear, lacking the experience and having no reason for fear. The to to to to be able to dispassionately review the red be able to to to dispassionately review the red streak able to to dispassionately review the red streak sinewy to dispassionately review.  

Beforewhich stands that—that—that being there uh! That black pepper! The red streak sinewy steely dispassionately review the red streak sinewy steely and review the red streak sinewy steely and strong the red streak sinewy steely and strong!  Add in green bell pepper, red bell pepper, onion, and mushrooms and red streaks all sinewy steely and strong in its streak sinewy steely and strong in its graphicularity sinewy steely and strong in its graphicularity. Is it because of—but—consider a career as a technical specialist, in Man Vessel’s new citrus house emergency cedar weevil treatment service. Is it because of that business about—to boot! 

Jawohl, steely and strong in its graphicularity and pull and strong in its graphicularity and pull out strong in its graphicularity and pull out the in its graphicularity and pull out the bit its graphicularity and pull out the bit parts. Is it because of that business about tipping the bellboy? Graphicularity and pull out the bit parts. The blood normally harmlessly flooding the body will act as a poison. All and pull out the bit parts. By speaking so softly as to be indecipherable. All needed pull out the bit parts. 

No point the inside. Et et. All needed to out the bit parts. That business about and about and. Inside the outer-side.  Tipping the bellboy? All needed to nail the bit parts. Cook over medium high heat until evenly brown. All needed to nail you bit parts. Tipping the bellboy and tipping and tipping? And know the real secret is that all flameheights are regulated by the single frontwise master control panel. All needed to nail you as needed to nail you as being the to nail you as being the one nail you as being the one—a true innovation only at Bison’s tree service! 

Having as being the one having pressed being the one having pressed me the one having pressed me down one having pressed me down in torment. Down in torment. Down in torment.  We learn of the techniques of illumination from two sources: from uncompleted manuscripts that allow us to observe the interrupted stages of the work and from the directions compiled by medieval authors. Torment unceasingly through this all. Okay? Through this all. Here I am armed. This all this all torment there. Now me I the ready-man. There I found out the guts. Yah readily ready the man all unafraid. To say it. 

Hippo. So say it I’ll scribe it down Peter. Peter pete and repeat eh et ah. Say it now I will scribe it down that’s all as the Kmaerflentefpohawt overcome slumbers.
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha slumbers smothering ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Okay Mack, now. Now you get a turn.

The Echoes of Kindness

In a world where shadows often play,
A single act can light the way.
A gentle touch, a tender smile,
Can make a moment truly worthwhile.

When hearts are heavy, spirits low,
Kind words can cause a seed to grow.
A helping hand, a listening ear,
Can wipe away a silent tear.

In every life, a chance to give,
A way to show how hearts can live.
Through simple deeds and caring eyes,
We find the strength to rise and rise.

Kindness, like a gentle rain,
Falls softly, easing every pain.
It blooms in places dark and drear,
And whispers, “I am always near.”

A world that’s kind is one that’s bright,
Where every soul can share the light.
For kindness echoes, never ends,
It binds us all as loving friends.

So spread it wide, and let it be,
A beacon for humanity.
In every heart, in every land,
Let kindness take us by the hand.

Nargiza Farxod qizi Xusanova was born on November 30, 2003, in Khatirchi district, Navoi region. She graduated from the Khatirchi district general secondary school №78, Navoi region. Currently, she is a 3rd year student at Bukhara State Pedagogical Institute. She is a winner of the “Student of the Year” competition, taking 23rd place among all universities. In 2024, she authored a monograph on the topic of “Determining the Stable DC Bridge”. She is currently working as a coordinator of the “Mushoira Club” at the institute.  Nargiza is also the coordinator of the Student Girls Committee of the Bukhara State Pedagogical Institute Youth Union, the coordinator of the “Girls’ Voice” Bukhara City Sport and Health direction, and the coordinator of the Young Politician Girls Club at the Institute. She is an active member of the Bukhara City Youth Wing of the “O’zliDep” organization.