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.
Poetry from Mykyta Ryzhykh
*** “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!
Photography from Isabel Gomez de Diego
Poetry from Duane Vorhees
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. ...
Essay from Tuliyeva Sarvinoz
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.
Essay from Madina Toxirova

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)
Essay from Mashhura Abduhalilova (needs to be published in May)

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…