The Painter

The compact red book I ran around with:
Crowley’s Book of the Law. I was goaded
into knowledge that a reckoning was at hand.
An archetypal Goddess had manifested as
a tactile reality in my life. An image had been
seared into my mind; a painting called The Vessel;
it was hers, & yet I was a married man. The only
path forward that tempestuous autumn of ‘01 was to
cheat. The book laid down a gauntlet of what 
it meant to act in the world with a genuine sense
of destiny; to be a man who had the mettle to be
a real force of nature. She knew, my wife, that I
had been possessed, & that winds were blowing
me in a new direction, towards the forbidden. 

I had, it seemed to me, no choice. The night I
spent with the painter, in a studio in PAFA, I
discovered what it meant to have a hinge to 
true will about matters of the heart. She kept
paintings there, of Dionysus & Apollo, & she
would make me a myth, too. We shared red
wine that had the effect of being blood between
us; our chalice was the air, the sound of water
pipes late at night in an old building, darkened
corridors meant to hold only us, bathrooms
which could be used as portal-ways into starry
worlds. As I gathered steam, I felt the book
hover in the air as well, a piece of text writ in
boiling blood, pummeling towards spring. 



Adam Fieled is a writer based in Philadelphia. His books include Equations, Cheltenham, Apparition Poems, Beams, and Opera Bufa. A magna cum laude graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, he edits the journal PFS Post.    

***
“Hello,” – the butterfly whispers quietly with the flapping of its wings,
The caterpillar moves its antenna in amazement.

“I was you,” – says the butterfly, – “
And I know what you are waiting for.
Your dream will come true very soon,
And you will fly into the sky, beautiful and pure."

That evening the caterpillar died, but the butterfly was never born.

***
The voracious phone is roaring loudly
Crocodiles of papers held together with a paper clip
Boss instructs to drink ink blots letters
Chitin grows on the back and computers glitch like rabbits
A piece of sandwich has dried up on my table
The head of the laboratory does not know that the work was paid for in blood
Another day when I have to report
Another day when I apply for a grant
Another day when I quarrel with environmental activists over laboratory rabbits
Another day I can't find a cure for cancer cells

***
the wind speaks
because someone knows how to listen
autumn gives birth to sensitivity

***
wife licks the spring wind
puddles of clouds cut in half

first part for death
second part for waiting for death

and the mirror is cracked
and the cracks are mirrorfull

the future is spreading over the sunday pan
the sun ripens like an apple
snakes twist like vines

the past burns out in the corner of the trash bin
cigarettes are the thing of the present
time flows off cheek like spit

birdsong awakens forgotten memories
lips trying to kiss silence
wife stealthily licks the spring wind

***
The noise that doesn't exist
Nobody came this time
As always

We have no choice but to let our shadows out into the street so that they knock on our door

Knocking on the door - sounds full of desperation
It is clear that there is no one there at the door
Obviously no one will come

***
black ridges of autumn
grow in the pupils of a bird
shot with a gun

***
The bread of black heads is getting stale
Someone is knocking on the door

The aluminum bird breaks all the hinges
Worms devour the remains of flesh

***
Let's pretend there's a blue sky overhead
Let's pretend that we live on a blue planet
Let's pretend that blue blood flows in the pipes
Let's watch the blue cats in the blue cemetery
Let's paint the blue people in the colors of the blue rainbow
Let's turn into blue butterflies on blue bushes
No words can convey the heavy blue sweat on the cheeks of the deceased

***
no one is born without a body
everyone is born without sin

weapons scream at the future dead
people don't fuck with strapons but kill each other with guns

man is a red triangle
the throat of the torn night itches with a ballistic rocket

***
night knocks on the back of the head and breaks the skull with a cast-iron finger
no one rises again
only the cemetery cries at the sight of flowers
flowers in turn dream of living without graves and mourning ribbons
and God's assistant presses the wrong button again

***
no one will crucify Jesus once again
because he will die

on the threshold of a silent tree
on the very first morning
of burning poverty

***
kitten in the red night sleeps motionless
abdominal dreams do not
bother the one who is not to be born

feline cat jesus went on vacation in order
to have a story

dead cat jesus went on vacation
to hang himself

***
the sky screams at the ant
because the ant is insanely small
and prays to the grass

grass is home
grass is glass
glass is a scar that will never heal

***
Dad came from the street and said that the air is red
Is it because the tulips are blooming? I asked my dad as I stumbled over my school bag.
That's why, dad replied.

I came to visit my dad with a bunch of flowers
I said to the grave photo: the air is green now
Is it because the tulips are blooming? - asked the father from the grave

For some reason I kept silent
A bird screamed on a lilac branch
It was still dark around
Morning still hasn't been invented

Reprint: The Wise owl

***
The loneliness of antiquity befell the cemetery
Butterflies played a symphony of heritage with their wings:

They were once in a cocoon
They once cocooned themselves
They were once their own parents

Flowers tickle themselves with playful wings
How much is the life of a butterfly if thanks to a butterfly spring comes and the cemetery lives again?

Reprint: The Wise owl

***
The sky is strangled without a noose
The word death is almost the same as the word deal
Who knows how to control death?
How competently does someone use their talent?
Body that belongs to Nobody

In the middle of the road, the body that was allowed to go to waste
Where does the unpronounceable road lead?
The gold of the red walls scratches the throat
Where does the path lead us along the night?
Black mother-of-pearl coffins underground
The wooden vision of a dead man blooms like a rose
Nobody knows what the word dead means
And overhead the black sky
And overhead the dawn of darkness

Reprint: The Wise owl

***
The child is looking for bruises
The child is looking for knees
The child is looking for legs
The child is looking for a torso
The child is looking for himself

A broken ladder rushes upwards

Reprint: Тriggerfish critical review

***
The weather forecast deceived
Tears instead of rain

Nobody is resurrected
Dahlias have blossomed

In every petal a breath of air
In every breath of air

God was called by his patronymic
Couldn’t imagine it as a feminine

They believed in God according to the national
Calling a patch of unfortunate land a state a country

Ripe apples in the garden
And tomato juice floated through the veins

In the spring, lips kiss
Because they can’t stand their ugliness

The weather forecast deceived
In the spring, bones come down on the grass

And nothing happens

Reprint: Тriggerfish critical review


***
belly torn in half by the birth of love
I'm leaving you kissing your leaving shadow

distance is the castle in which I placed myself
my love is your gift to me

you kiss in the dark with others and then fuck and I'm happy for you
you will forever remain unimaginably beautiful on the other side of the castle

I build distances so as not to harm you with my love
we say goodbye to each other like trains that never dare to approach each other

you will love and be able to make anyone happy
you can give anything but not to me

Reprint: Ouch!  


***
Three fingers crushed us with emptiness
A knot has wrapped the air around my neck
The alarm siren and explosion fatigue are drawn to the eyes

We fuck like corpses that will never be separated from each other again

Reprint: Ouch!  

FUnowTUwasRE



Ecstatic electricity freezes into pulse as biologies become magnets / your eyes lip my cheeks / my koi mouth plumbs your pond / our trunks forest together, organs tromboned by desire fingers / perpetual fleshmachines yinyang existences / masses gasseate / consciousness shrinks to cosmos / our my-your selves merge, we share atoms

we downlings deitise



TAKE ME IN



"Take me in," the poet said, "take me in." The prophet hid.

"Take me in," the poet prayed, "take me in."

No banker paid. "Take me in." The soldier fled.

"Sink or swim," the lawyer pled. "Take me in,"

the poet said, "take me in."

A woman did.



"Make me warm," the woman cried, "safe and warm."

The poet sighed. "Words are thin," he did reply, "weak and thin.

But yet I'll try. Weak and thin, but yet I'll try."



In the bin by page by page,

in the bin the books were laid,

inch by inch were set ablaze.

Line by line the match was lit.

Word by word

the poems all went.



"Now I'm warm," the woman said,

"safe from harm. But poet's dead."

Poet dead?

Poet dead?

He lives on inside her head.

Words go on inside her head.



ESOTERIC



as eager initiates

in lovers’ freemasonry

that true and ancient order

we are illuminati

of the night’s old mysteries

through its well-established rites

its scripts, shared grasps, finger codes,

its postures, pledges, passwords

we advance by slow degrees

our prescribed intimacies



CONTRETEMPS



The tense contentment of the nights before

now in contempt

give way to temptation.



YOU SAY I SAY



You say

your bees come alive

when I prod your hive.



I lift your balloon

and hold you to ground.



I say

I pour and pour ghee

and you absorb me.



...

Activities in vocational schools!

Vocational school — educational institutions that prepare personnel at the initial professional education stage aimed at social support of 9th grade graduates on the basis of educational programs corresponding to the 3rd level of the international classification. Purpose, content, size of the lesson determined on the basis of lim standards (curriculum, program, textbook and manual). The lesson is conducted in different ways and means, depending on the nature of the academic subject, the content of the material being taught, and as part of the educational system, it provides complete knowledge and creates a foundation for mastering the next knowledge.

What is the work being done in the Vocational School of Shaikhontohur district today? Shaikhontohur District Vocational School mainly covers areas related to the automobile industry, students are trained in diagnosis and repair of car engines, repair and diagnosis of car bodies, maintenance of electrical and electrical equipment and other areas. theoretical and practical knowledge is being given. Also, the boys and girls studying in the dual education direction of the vocational school are also acquiring theoretical knowledge of their professional activities and receiving monthly salaries after doing internships in their assigned areas.

Also, many events and meetings are organized in the vocational school within the framework of the GIZ project. For example, on March 27, 2024, a meeting was held by the GIZ project “Supporting the process of reforming and modernizing vocational education in Uzbekistan (TexVET)” at the Shaikhontohur district vocational school in Tashkent. ‘tdi.

Representatives from the Ministry of Higher Education, Science and Innovation, Ministry of Employment and Poverty Alleviation, Ministry of Preschool and School Education, Institute of Pedagogical Innovations, Institute of Labor Market Analysis took part in the meeting.

Vocational guidance is the formation of professional activity, development of work experience and skills of students through studying and practicing in a vocational school. At the meeting, there were discussions about the orientation of students to the profession and what profession they should have in the future, and the need to further develop the qualifications and skills of teachers and production masters for it.

Various games and puzzles were solved with the teachers. This serves to increase their qualifications and experience as pedagogues. Meetings and events held in vocational schools serve to further increase the knowledge, skills and qualifications of teachers and students.

Tuliyeva Sarvinoz
Teacher of native language and literature at Shaikhontohur District Vocational School, Tashkent.

Abstract:   The role of psychology in our lives and how much it is needed by children, especially teenagers

Key words: psychology , Jalaluddin Rumi , me , family , research

          Let’s look at one sort of psychology—family psychology—to better comprehend its role in our lives. According to Jalaluddin Rumi, “There are two conditions for building a happy family, one is to be able to choose a good spouse, and the other is to be a good spouse.” Education is one of the parents’ and the family’s other major responsibilities. The family is not a site where the construction of the human person ends with the foundation; rather, it is his final brick, or responsibility. the location for which the designated father is accountable until the completion of his parenting duties. Since the family is where a person first matures. He grows, succeeds, and is respected there.

    “Scientists compared the difference between 15–16-year-old boys and girls 90–100 years ago and today,” an article I read stated. Sexual and physiological puberty have progressed by 2-3 years in the last century. Although puberty truly happens between the ages of 12 and 13, it currently happens at 15. In the past, girls and boys who entered puberty between the ages of 15 and 16 were ready to get married, but they had a job. These were people who worked in farming, cattle breeding, or other occupations and had surmounted both material and spiritual challenges. Children become adults at the age of 12 or 13, at which point they enroll in an 11-year vocational program at a school or lyceum. In conclusion, it will take them 20–21 years, and for some of them, 23–25 years, to become independent. At this point, family building is included along with their development. Then, a lot of obligations and changes will fall on them; regrettably, this is what leads to divorces in our culture, with children suffering the most. Had everyone taken a psychology course prior to marriage, they would not have been disappointed to such an extent.

A person needs to be able to discover his or her “ME” before getting married, as I previously stated. The idea that a person discovers his or her “I” during this transitional stage between childhood and youth—a time when experiences are more nuanced than at other stages—astonishes me. This time frame roughly corresponds to students in the fifth through eighth grades. Every child and every type of young person exhibits the completion of this phase. Adolescence is often referred to as the “transition period,” “difficult period,” or “crisis period” by some.

Adolescence is a challenging and complex time due to changes in many facets of growth, including moral, social, mental, and physical. Puberty is when this time frame starts. He will have an entirely new relationship with both himself and other people. He has a unique perspective on life. His values, self-awareness, and assessment shift, and his interests also do.Even folks who don’t seem to like anything can seem to have nothing they need at times. His “I” and the significance of this “I” to him.

     It is reasonable to state, in conclusion, that psychology is a subject that needs to be researched. A person who studies psychology gains knowledge on how to interact to others, communicate, and navigate challenging circumstances. These days, a lot of people require psychologists. As you can see, psychology is essential to us regardless of where we travel or what we do. The application of psychology is personal.       

References:                

1.oila psixologiyasi (Toshkent2008)

Anxiety

Today was a different day than any of my other days. I was in a hurry, in a hurry, and I didn’t manage to do anything. My class seemed like eight hours, time passed very slowly.  Well, I started to get bored as if I had passed this subject all day. While I was sitting in the classroom, it was as if four walls were coming closer and closer to me, as if the air was choking my throat, as if our teacher was singing an unpleasant opera to us, as if I were imprisoned in this room with my classmates, and even the door could not be opened again. I was writing on the blackboard.  Every time my friend walked around, a sound like a squeal-squeak from a broken cable would disturb my nerves. I wonder why I’m disturbed…