.

Lucia Berlin
(1936-2004)

Lucia, Daughter

Northern lights in the sky
over Alaska her father
deep in mines, engineer
moving from mining
town to town
to tar paper shacks
to a boarding house
to a log cabin in the woods
long johns and a baby sister
then Father off to war. 

Waiting for him, waiting
under a treeless sky
air heavy with heat, dust
in El Paso with Granpa
the town dentist, mean
drunk and her mother
shut down, closed off
in a dark bedroom
with a bottle. 

Father’s new job: Arizona
a real house in the hills
the bright evening star
in the dark night sky
Mother in pretty dresses
baking cakes, playing bridge
picnics and potlucks
until the next move.

A prestigious position
in Santiago, Chile
a two-story Tudor
green lawns, fruit trees
purple iris, a gardener
Mother in bed all day
with a bottle.

Teenage Lucia the hostess
for her father’s social events
private school, rich friends
skiing, swimming, movies
dressmakers, hairdressers
nightclubs, balls, boys
then a dorm in Albuquerque
her girlfriends still in Chile
married with mansions
busy with children
but after the revolution
all her old friends
murdered
or suicides.

Lucia, Wife

She’s tall, lean, svelte
dark hair, sapphire eyes
at 17 still passive
when her parents reject
her 30-year-old lover
a Mexican-American veteran
throws her out of his car
never sees him again.

A few months later
she marries a sculptor
who rearranges her
hair, clothes, stance
and avoids the draft
with their first son
with a second on the way
he’s off to Italy
on a grant, with a girl
doesn’t see him again
for sixteen years.

A musician called Race
kind, quiet, a good man
talented Harvard grad
from a big warm clan
playing gigs on piano
gone while she’s home
with the babies
in a cheap rural rental
outside Albuquerque.

Dusty, silent except for
horses, cows, chickens, dogs
red chili on strings
drying in the sun
in an old adobe
rounded, wind-softened
the same dirt-brown
as the hard-packed earth
no phone
no stove
no running water
loads of diapers
she’s too alone
this pretty young girl.

Lucia, Lover

Race moves them
to an unheated loft
in New York City
he’s out all night
at his jazz gigs
she’s up all night
typing stories
while wearing gloves
while the kids sleep
in earmuffs and mittens

until a way out arrives
with a bottle of brandy
four tickets to Acapulco
another Harvard man
Race’s buddy Buddy
dark, handsome, rich
bad boy
with a drug problem

offering the sexy allure
of escape to hot sun
sky blue pools
white sand beaches
and crazy love
with a heroin addict.

She bites, writes
bears two more sons
an electric life
flying in Buddy’s plane
landing like crop dusters
for detox and retox
always fearful
of his dealer friends.

To keep him clean
they move away
to another land
live in a palapa
with a thatched palm roof
and a beach sand floor
on the edge
of a coconut grove
surrounded by mountains.

The boys love it there
amidst parrots, flamingoes
spearing eels and fat fish
dark nights in hammocks
swaying under rustling palms
in the soft ocean breeze
heady with gardenias
their paradise life

until Buddy gets bored
and the drug dealers come.

***

Lucia Berlin shared the stories of social outsiders with her own special brand of detachment, humor, and economy, presenting the brutality of blue collar life tempered by her compassion for human frailty. She was relatively unknown until eleven years after her death when a collection of her selected stories hit the New York Times bestseller list.

Born Lucia Brown in Alaska, she spent her childhood in mining towns all over the west. After her mining engineer father got promoted to an executive position, the family lived in Chile in relative luxury. She moved to Albuquerque for college, returning later for graduate school. 

Married multiple times, she lived in Manhattan, rural Mexico, and New Mexico. After leaving her third husband, a heroin addict, she took her four young boys and settled in California. 

As a single parent, Berlin worked odd jobs including cleaning woman, physician’s assistant, hospital ward clerk, and switchboard operator. Her stories were based on incidents she experienced herself in her difficult life. She would type late at night while the boys were asleep, a bottle of bourbon at her side. 

She eventually gave up the booze and remained sober, teaching writing at the San Francisco County Jail, Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics, and University of Colorado Boulder. Lucia Berlin died in California at age 68.

Her books: 

A Manual for Cleaning Women: Stories

Evening in Paradise: Stories

Welcome Home: A Memoir

Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan hides out in the lush ruins of South Florida. She writes pulp fiction, literary crime, and psychological thrillers. Her poems have appeared in literary journals and chapbooks. A collection of biographical poems on 20th century poets is in press with Clare Songbirds Publishing.

Rain

Walid Alzoukani – Syrian Poet

The rain, resembling old coins,

tinkles 

beneath the dome of my high poverty.

It rubbed the goat of the night 

with myth

and placed its wet finger

on the lips of the sorrowful horizon.

It kissed the fingers of the rose 

to open her eyes.

The rain, rolling on the shy windows,

bleeds laughter,

piled beneath my window,

entered my heart,

which is poorer than a tree,

 without permission.

Mother!

Mother! I can’t find words to describe you.

You spend tons of sleepless nights.

Your heart is white, your words If I am sick, you pat my head. white, your intentions are white,

Mom, I love your smile

When you laugh, there is always joy and no sadness.

You are the joy of the family, my mother.

Without you there is no happiness and no smile

Rakhmiddinova Mushtariy Ravshanovna was born on March 1, 2011 in Gulistan district, Syrdarya region. She is currently a 9th grade student. Mushtariy is interested in writing poetry, reading books, drawing, and playing sports. 

So far, she has read more than 100 books. She appeared on television in kindergarten at the age of 3 and still appears on television. In the “Bilagon Bolajon” competition, she took 2nd place in English in the 2nd grade, and 3rd place in Reading in the 4th grade. She also took 1st 2nd 3rd place in handball and was awarded with medal certificates. She is a participant in the regional stage of the “Young Book Reader Kids” competition. She takes part in many competitions and projects. In the future, she will become a sign language teacher. She is preparing to enter college.

Her dream is to make everyone proud of Mushtariy and travel abroad. She has also participated in many anthologies and webinars. Currently, she has won more than 50 books, received more than 500 thousand in cash prizes and international, official certificates. She has participated in Olympiads and won honorable places.

National Values — The Heart of the Nation

Every nation has a heart. As long as that heart beats, the nation lives, awakens, and endures. For the people of Uzbekistan, that heart is our national values. Values unite the people, bring them back to their roots, and awaken pride and love in their hearts. In today’s rapidly changing world, preserving and remaining faithful to national values means safeguarding spiritual independence. National values embody a people’s history, language, religion, customs, beliefs, and way of life.

Main Part

National values are the spiritual roots of a nation. Just as a tree cannot survive without roots, a person cannot live without values. The values of the Uzbek people have endured through centuries and never disappeared. In every era and generation, they have acquired new meanings and served as a mirror of our nation’s spirit.

From ancient times, our people have lived by the belief: “The homeland is sacred, parents are dear, and the guest is a blessing.” Traditions such as weddings, holidays, hashar (community work), Navruz, and Ramadan all teach kindness, compassion, and respect for one another. These customs reflect our people’s moral world, dignity, and love.

National values are not just historical heritage — they are a living part of our everyday lives. For example, greeting our parents every morning, beginning a meal with bismillah, and treating guests with honor — these simple acts represent the living expression of our culture, formed over centuries.

In the era of globalization, some young people are influenced by foreign cultures and tend to forget their own values. However, modernity must never contradict national identity. True progress is achieved by relying on one’s national values while striving for innovation. As President Shavkat Mirziyoyev stated: “National values are the soul of the people, and preserving them is our sacred duty.”

Indeed, our people’s hospitality, patience, tolerance, respect for women, and trust in youth all express our national pride. National values are also vividly reflected in folk art: love in our fairy tales, bravery in our epics, and life lessons in our proverbs. Sayings such as “He who is one with his people will be honored by them” and “Serve your people as you would honor your father” have long called our nation to unity. Today, national values play a vital role in the education of youth.

Because today’s youth are tomorrow’s leaders, scholars, teachers, and farmers — the future of the country. If they know and cherish their national values, they will never fall under alien influences. They will be proud of their land, language, and flag, and see service to their motherland as their sacred duty. Therefore, every educational institution and family should plant the seeds of values in young hearts. National values unite and strengthen a nation — they are the spiritual chain that binds generations together. By preserving and harmonizing our values with modern life, we can elevate our nation to new heights.

Each value carries within it our people’s historical memory, dreams, and honor. The heart of a nation beats within its values. If that heart stops, the nation loses its identity. Therefore, we — the youth — must love, protect, and pass down our national values in their purest form to future generations. National values are not only the memory of the past — they are the pride of today and the foundation of tomorrow. As long as they live, our nation’s heart will continue to beat — strong, proud, and eternal.

Ruzimbayeva Quvonchoy Jamoladdin qizi was born February 8, 2007, in Urgench District, Khorezm Region, Republic of Uzbekistan. The participant of the regional subject Olympiad in the 2023-2024 academic year.Currently a student at Urgench State University.

Kindness and Humanity in the 21st Century

In a world driven by technology, competition, and constant change, the true value of humanity often fades behind the screens of our digital lives. The 21st century has brought incredible progress — artificial intelligence, global communication, and medical miracles — but at the same time, it has created a silent crisis: the decline of kindness and genuine human connection. Kindness, once seen as a natural part of life, is now a conscious choice that must be protected and practiced every day.

Kindness is not just about smiling at strangers or offering help to the poor. It is a universal language that connects hearts and builds trust between people. A kind word can heal emotional pain faster than any medicine. A single act of generosity can inspire hope in someone who has lost faith in humanity.

Unfortunately, modern society often measures success by wealth, power, and fame — forgetting that true greatness lies in compassion. In today’s world, many people are so busy chasing their goals that they forget the importance of simple human gestures. We scroll through social media seeing tragedies and suffering, yet we often move on without feeling empathy. Virtual likes have replaced real emotions, and digital messages have replaced face-to-face communication. But humanity cannot survive on technology alone. Without empathy, the world becomes colder, lonelier, and more divided.

The COVID-19 pandemic reminded us of how fragile life is and how much we depend on one another. During that time, we witnessed incredible examples of kindness — doctors risking their lives, volunteers helping the poor, and neighbors supporting each other. Those moments proved that no matter how advanced technology becomes, the heart of humanity still beats with compassion.

To restore kindness in the 21st century, we must begin with ourselves. It starts with small things — listening carefully, forgiving easily, and helping without expecting anything in return. Educational institutions and families should teach young generations not only knowledge but also empathy, respect, and moral values. Governments and organizations must promote social responsibility and create opportunities for people to do good. Kindness is contagious. When we treat others with respect and care, they pass it on.

Imagine a world where every person chooses kindness — there would be less hate, fewer conflicts, and stronger communities. Humanity’s future depends not on machines or money but on how we treat one another. The 21st century is not only the era of innovation — it should also be the era of compassion. Kindness does not make us weak; it makes us human. In every heart, there is a light of goodness. When we let that light shine, we make the world a better, warmer, and more peaceful place for all.

Dildora Khojyozova is a third-year student at Urgench State University, majoring in Geography. She is an active, creative, and ambitious young researcher with a strong passion for education, honesty, and environmental protection. Dildora has successfully participated in various academic projects, conferences, and writing competitions, earning several certificates and awards for her outstanding achievements. She is also one of the active members of the “Map of Honesty” project, which promotes transparency, integrity, and fair competition among organizations and educational institutions. Through this initiative, she aims to inspire young people to value honesty and social responsibility. Dildora believes that kindness, hard work, and knowledge can change the world for the better. Her ultimate dream is to become a well-known scholar, continue her studies abroad, and contribute to the sustainable development and bright future of Uzbekistan.

Golden child,

On the dark red of the earth

Mark your tracks

In weakness and Uncertainty.

Barren roads, disturbed and Flooded

Of the vile nature of the one Who has decided to steal Everything from you

Of whom in his ignorance The I AM was believed.

Golden children,

May your shine never fade

Access to believe, to dream, To grow

To have clean air and Electrifying food.

May the rain caress your feet

Multiply bonanzas

Let the rain irrigate you Hope

To build your story and build.

I apologize

For the damage done to the earth

On behalf of my parents, my grandparents,

The ancestors, who by doing nothing, we did everything

I ask your forgiveness for those who

They watered the crop with blood

That today reaches your Mouth as the only food.

There’s no way to erase the past

I don’t mean to

there is no coupon that exchanges life

if there is, I don’t have it…

what I have is hope and will

I want to share with you and inherit your resistance and resilience

Invite you not to give up even in the biggest fires

Invite you to dance life

Every time you can.

What I can do and do is give you my voice

for the calling

share my passion for this life,

Activate awareness and decision

impact transformative leadership

and fight hard in the face of uncertainty.

Let us consistently stop the actions that lead us to this deterioration and devastation.

The tension at the maximum limit found a home,

the earth catches fire, little will freezes us,

natural imbalance is our reality

we have to write, paint and dance

the world we deserve to have

as long as the oxygen reaches.

Nepantla, The Tipping Point, Deep Time: A Conversation Between Worlds

By Kandy Fontaine

In an exclusive interview I conducted last year with Weird Fiction master and vertebrate paleontologist Caitlín R. Kiernan, she spoke with haunting clarity about the concept of Deep Time:

“Human history is nothing more than a thin film floating atop the abyss of geologic time… Lovecraft’s god things… creatures that had ‘filtered down from the stars when earth was young.’ … Gothic literature where the phantoms do not haunt castles merely ancient by human standards, but by the standards of the cosmos.”

Kiernan’s words do more than illuminate a literary device—they expose a rupture in perception. Deep Time is not simply a scientific framework; it is a psychic terrain, a confrontation with scale so vast it destabilizes the ego. It is the abyss beneath our myths, our politics, our identities. It is the stage on which cosmic horror unfolds, but also the backdrop against which our most intimate transformations occur.

We are not merely living in historical time. We are drifting in Deep Time, where the boundaries of self and species blur, where the past is not behind us but beneath us, pressing upward through the thin crust of human memory.

The Tipping Point

We are at a tipping point in planetary history. The forces of what Hunter S. Thompson called “old and evil” have rebelled against the inevitable progress that comes with mutation and sudden shifts in consciousness. These forces are not abstract—they are embodied in regimes, in cultural gatekeepers, in the machinery of repression that clings to outdated notions of power, gender, and identity.

As a transfemme author, I have had to negotiate multiple spaces—some of which rejected me outright, others that claimed radicality but recoiled when I didn’t fit their aesthetic mold. The question isn’t whether I’m “better” than those gatekeepers. If Caitlín R. Kiernan—a writer of staggering intellect and vision—entrusted me to curate a literary tribute to her work, the answer is already clear.

What strikes me most about the current despotic regime that has nested itself in the White House is not just its corruption, but its fear. Fear of mutation. Fear of multiplicity. Fear of people like me and Kiernan, who embody a future they cannot control. They cling to an ignoble and outdated concept of masculinity while covering up for systemic abuse and moral rot. These things are not separate issues. They are symptoms of a deeper refusal to evolve.

Imaginary Crimes and the Politics of Projection

Among the most risible accusations leveled against Caitlín R. Kiernan are claims that she is a white supremacist and a transphobe. These are not critiques—they are projections, often made by individuals who have not engaged with her work, her life, or her legacy in any meaningful way.

Kiernan is a transfeminine author whose fiction has consistently challenged normative boundaries of gender, species, and time. Her protagonists are often liminal beings—neither fully human nor fully alien, neither male nor female, but something else entirely. Her work is not just inclusive; it is expansive, offering readers a vision of consciousness that transcends binary thinking.

To accuse Kiernan of transphobia is to ignore the lived reality of her identity and the radical empathy embedded in her narratives. To accuse her of white supremacy is to flatten the complexity of her Southern Gothic heritage, her critique of American mythologies, and her deep engagement with the monstrous as metaphor.

These accusations are not just false—they are symptomatic of a cultural moment in which nuance is sacrificed for outrage, and where the politics of purity often mask deeper insecurities. They are part of a broader pattern of imaginary crimes, invented to discredit voices that refuse to conform to the aesthetic or ideological expectations of the moment.

Kiernan’s work is difficult. It is unsettling. It does not offer easy answers or moral clarity. But that is precisely its power. It invites us into nepantla—the space between worlds—where transformation is possible, but never comfortable.

Nepantla: Walking Between Worlds

What many critics lack—especially those who’ve passionately excoriated Kiernan for imaginary crimes—is a nuanced understanding of nepantla, a Nahuatl term popularized by Gloria Anzaldúa. Nepantla is the space between worlds, the liminal zone where transformation occurs. It is not a place of comfort. It is a place of friction, of contradiction, of becoming.

To live in nepantla is to be a walker between worlds. It is to inhabit the gulfs of Deep Time while navigating the immediacy of cultural violence. It is to be trans, bi, straight, neurodivergent, nonbinary—not as fixed categories, but as fluid rotations on an axis. This is not chaos. It is rhizomatic, as Deleuze and Guattari described in A Thousand Plateaus—a network of overlapping consciousness, not a hierarchy.

Sexual identity, gender, and orientation are not static. They are dynamic systems, evolving in response to pressure, trauma, joy, and revelation. We are not fixed points. We are constellations.

Beyond Speciesism

To walk in Deep Time is to recognize that speciesism—the belief in human supremacy—is a delusion. We are not above the plants, the fungi, the microbial intelligences. We are among them. Our pleasure, our delight, our grief—they are not uniquely human. They are part of a larger ecology of being.

We must evolve. We must embrace mutation. We must see ourselves not as rulers of the earth, but as beings in Deep Time, destined to be recycled, reimagined, and reborn. This is not a metaphor. It is a biological and spiritual imperative.

Let us explore the manifold species of pleasure and delight. Let us decenter ourselves in the fullness of being aware that consciousness is multiple and overlapping. Let us maintain our grip on logic, even as we dissolve the boundaries of identity. Let us walk between worlds—not as exiles, but as architects of the future.

This is the work. This is the walk. Between worlds, across gulfs of time, toward a future that is not merely inclusive—but expansive. 

About Kandy Fontaine: Kandy Fontaine is the transfemme alter ego of author Alex S. Johnson, first manifest in the story “The Clown Dies at the End,” published in truncated form in 2015 in Imperial Youth Review. Their short stories, poetry and essays extensively explore liminal states. Forthcoming from Fontaine/Johnson as of this writing is the first issue of Black Diadem: Magazine of the Fantastique, which reproduces the Kiernan interview in full alongside “Ballad of a Catamite Revolver,” a story written by Kiernan for her Sirenia newsletter. Next year Fontaine helms The Language of Ruins: A Literary Tribute to Caitlin R. Kiernan, at her request.