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The main visiting card of Muynak in Karakalpakstan is, of course, the old ship port, where the ship graveyard is located. During the World War II, soldiers from all over Uzbekistan came to this port across the Amu Darya River, and from there they boarded ships and headed to the city of Aralsk in Kazakhstan, from where they were transported to the front by trains and other means of transport. In this old harbor there is a monument, the top of which points towards the sky. Today the monument is considered a monument to the sea and port, but it was originally built to commemorate the soldiers who died in World War II and was called the Flying Star. The residents of Muynak remember very well the impressive event that led to the construction of this monument. This story is like this: In 1941, when the war began, a father and his only son from the same house in Muynok were called to the front. Aksary mother was left at home alone. Soon a black letter arrived from the front saying that father had died. But after the son left, there was no news. There was no one who said they saw or knew. The war is over. Some of those who went to the front are disabled, some return healthy. It is reported that those who did not return died somewhere in the war. However, there was no news about Aksary's son. The mother waited for mail every day, every day she went out to meet the incoming ship. However, there was no news about her only son. Since the end of the war, the mother made it a habit to come to this port every day and sit for hours on the road along which her son was traveling. Years passed. By the mid-1970s, the sea began to recede and the port had to be moved. The mother who had been waiting for her son in this place for over 30 years screams “don't move the port.” “My son went to war by this sea route. If it comes, it will come with this sea,” he shouted to those who wanted to move the port. “Sister, there will be no more sea. The ships don't sail. “If your child is coming, he will come by car or plane, not by sea,” they said. “No, you don't understand. My child is still small. Only through this sea route can he find his home. He doesn't know any other land besides Muynak; he has only been to the sea. If my child comes, it will only be by sea. Otherwise, how will he find a home?..." - In 1978, when I was going to study in Almaty, I last saw Mother Aksary going to this port. “I graduated in 1983, but I didn't see this woman then,” recalled Khanimay from Muynak. A man named Abdikerim Tleuov, who worked for 28 years as the second secretary of the Muynak district committee, was deeply touched by the fate of the mother, who had been waiting for her son for 40 years, and put forward the idea of creating the Flying Star Memorial in memory of the soldiers who died in the war. Previously, this monument had the inscription “1941-1945” with five stars on top. The Ship Graveyard is located here. 12 old ships indicate that there was once a sea on this site. Yesimkan Kanaatov, Nukus city, Karakalpakstan, Uzbekistan

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A child, 14, sits in his room. Quarantine has taken a toll, stealing away the ability to socialize with friends and the opportunity to learn at in-person schools. Life has begun to become boring, mundane, borderline useless. Being so young when COVID hits is a challenge. What are you meant to do? There wasn't much freedom to speak of before, and now it's all gone. One of the only things you can do at the moment, such an isolated time, is go online. He makes many online friends during quarantine that help sustain his wellbeing. Posting drawings on social media to show friends and mutuals replaces socializing in real life. The thing that's most different is that now, our hero enjoys learning. Research on Google becomes an outlet for him. He discovers a love for history this way, looking up facts about cowboys and about Victorian princes. He learns many interesting things and, in researching the late 1700s, discovers his new favorite thing; something that nobody in their right mind would enjoy. Tuberculosis. Everything about the pulmonary disease is extremely interesting to him. It begins with a fascination in hemoptysis, coughing up blood, then snowballs. Watching documentaries, reading informational books online, discovering more and more articles on the subject, the ancient disease becomes his lifeblood. He no longer feels so bored with life. He discovers that several fictional books about Tuberculosis exist, both contemporary and vintage, ones which tell stories about interesting characters in and out of sanatoriums. It inspires him to read again for the first time in three years. He has again found something worth spending time on. Learning about Tuberculosis becomes an unlikely source of happiness, one that will last for years to come. He finds a lot of enjoyment in researching the infectious disease, talking about it, watching videos that mention it. He has finally begun to discover himself.

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Ammiel's skin tingled and her eyes sparkled as she stared up at the tall building. This was where the magic happened. The Zebulun Cancer Foundation. She had come to surprise her mum with lunch. She just hoped her mum appreciated her gesture. When she walked in and headed straight for the elevators, no one stopped her. She got to the tenth floor and walked to the door of her mum's office. “Hi, mum! I'm–” she trailed off when she opened the door to an empty room. “Mum? Mum, are you here?” She dropped the food on the desk and knocked on the bathroom door, then opened it. It was empty. She pulled out her phone and called her mum…and heard the sound of a phone ringing. Her mum hadn't taken her phone with her. She must have stepped out in a hurry. She sat down and waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. Her mum still didn't show. She decided to investigate. She left her mum's office and strolled through the hallway. The tenth floor was eerily empty, so she didn't find anyone to ask. At the end of the hallway, she came to a door labelled ‘Cancer Laboratory 10-A'. Chances are her mum was probably in there if she wasn't in her office. It's where she did her research. She knew she wasn't supposed to go in unauthorized, but she was already here, and she was curious. She wanted to see the place where her mum made all her discoveries. The strong smell of sterilization and the bright fluorescent lights overwhelmed her senses as she walked in. The room looked more like a hospital room than a lab as she stood in between rows of beds. Most were empty, but some had people in them. She stepped further into the room to see they were all connected to wires and IV fluids. Was this some kind of clinical trial? She approached one of the beds and was surprised to see a girl who looked to be around sixteen. She looked sick as she lay there, pale, and unmoving. She was connected to a monitor showing her vitals, and to an IV fluid bag labeled ‘Zonamycin-12'. There was a chart placed in a pocket on the outside of the bed's footboard. She pulled it out and read: Subject 125 - Date of admission: 08-18-2022 - Date of injection: 08-20-2022 - Contents of injection: glioblastoma cells [IDH-wildtype} Progress of cancer growth: tumor cells began proliferating at a rate of 300cells/day and reached a size of 5 in. after 3 mos. Drug(s)/Therapy administered: - Radiation therapy was started after tumor reached growth of 5 in. Tumor only shrunk half in size. - Afterwards, Z-12 proved to be effective in further shrinking the tumor. But subject experienced side effects such as seizures, headaches, nausea & vomiting, and pain. Notes: 2 months after Z-12 was discontinued, tumor grew back more aggressively, reaching a size of 3 in. in 1 month. Subject was started again on Z-12. Due to severe pain and side effects, subject was heavily sedated with morphine. Progress of therapy is still being monitored. Prognosis: poor. Likely to be dead within hours after the effects of morphine wear off. Scientist in charge: Dr Moriah Tennet Dread squeezed Ammiel's heart as she gripped the chart with trembling hands. “No, no, no…” At that moment, the girl began to stir, and Ammiel stepped back in shock. The moment the girl began to regain consciousness, she started moaning. As if on cue, the monitor started beeping erratically. Ammiel stood there unmoving, watching the scene unfold. “Ugh…it hurts…” the girl muttered as she tossed and turned. Then her eyes snapped open causing Ammiel to jump in fright, the chart falling to the floor with a loud smack. “Help me, please,” the girl gasped. “Help…it hurts…” Without warning, the girl's eyes rolled back in her head, and she started convulsing. Ammiel gasped and staggered away from the bed, covering her mouth with her hand. Somewhere far away, she heard footsteps as she stared at the girl in horror. Someone pulled her out of the way. “Ammiel? Ammiel!” The person began shaking her shoulders, but she was transfixed by the scene before her. At that point, the person grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the room, forcing her to turn away. The last thing she heard before she stepped out through the doors was the flatline sound of the monitor. *** No one said a word for the next five minutes as Ammiel and her mother sat across from each other. Then Dr Tennet sighed and leaned back in her seat. “There are some things you don't understand.” Ammiel looked at her mum with creased eyebrows. “Really? Then tell me I was wrong. Tell me I misinterpreted what I saw, and you were not experimenting on those people.” She saw the answer in her mum's eyes before she spoke. “Sometimes, sacrifices need to be made for the greater good." For the greater good. She'd applied this same principle to every area of her life because of her mum, and now she felt ashamed. She closed her eyes and covered her face with both hands, letting the tears fall. It was over. She was lost, and so was her mum.

Yng Tsina ampopa ing Rusya (China and Russia) (Chapter 6-9) (Part 2 of 3) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VI. Limited Physical Properties of my sculptures VII. My Mitsubishi Sedan VIII. Territorial Dispute IX. West Philippine Sea --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VI. Limited Physical Properties of My Sculpture The main medium of my sculptures are, Metal cables, And wires, I use copper, Aluminum, Galvanized iron, And steel. And then- I apply paint, I give them life! I use automotive paint, They are not just for indoor, My sculptures are also resistant to - Both wet and cry seasons, They can be on out doors. Since I was acquainted with the World Wide Web, I always had this digital spider sense that- There's no such things as permanent. Whether I like it or not, All the sculptures that I made, I will just be counting a couple of decades, Centuries perhaps, All of them will be deformed, With faded metallic industrial colors. When they are not taken care of, With no restoration, Were crushed intentionally, By nature and humans alike, My mind starts to have a dark- and melancholic imagination. VII. My Mitsubishi Sedan I will be getting my sculpture now, I will use my old mechanical carriage sedan, She is a dusted gray Mitsubishi GLXI, 1997 G.L.X.I model, Grand Luxury eXtra (fuel-) Injection. She has a young mechanical pumping heart, She has a total flight of 93,000 kilometers- Unlike her younger 19-year old Mazda 3 2003 sister, I rode with her too, much faster than her older sister, With more intense robotic palpitations, Compared to her older Mitsubishi sister. Anything that is Japanese-made, We have no doubt, Are all mirrored-Japanese culture- They are slick in quality, Asian classy. Just like the Flotsam and Jetsam, All sorts of things- I purchase occasionally, At Japanese surplus stores nearby. For our Japanese friends- those are mere Solid Wastes. But to us Filipinos- those are not rubbish. For us Filipinos- Those are still worth the price. Compared to the New but cheap- Mass produced commercial goods. Almost all of them- Are Pirates and Copy Cats. Proliferating, A never-ending Trade battle worldwide. I am proud with my 25-year old Mitsubishi Sedan, Whenever We have a trip, Usually city drive, Short distance. I imagine that I too have a 25-year old heart, I daydream, While driving- That She is a Mitsubishi F2- A Japanese multi-role Jet Fighter. VIII. Territorial Dispute It is almost March, Good thing it reminded me that- I must retrieve my other sculpture now. I just had these introspective thoughts, Why do I have a couple of works based on battles and fight? There is nothing weird and not much sinister about it- My thoughts – Digitally Conclude. Online gamers with skirmish plots, Spectators that gamble at cockfights & at boxing matches, Films with Violence as the main ingredient. My sculptures- Mostly inspired by various Mythologies, Every mythology has its own war history. Odd curiosity plus normal Thanatos' drive, For which all of us have, I started feeding this drive 21 years ago, It was January 2001, When I start plunging and- Surfing in the World Wide Web, The year I started working- As a Public servant- In a Philippine Government. The mandate of our Agency deals with the country's Natural Resources, My odd curiosity, Unseparated by my Thanatos' drive, And as Maestro Ral Arrogante says, “Artists…. Are conscious in the Battle of Space”. IX. West Philippine Sea Of me- Being a disciple of the Arts & Sciences, I have regular mental flashbacks of my previous artworks, Other than sculptures, paintings and studies- I also did a series of Public Art Installation, Which pertains to our Maritime Territory, The Realm of “HABAGAT”. Our ancient North West Wind/ The South China Sea/ The West Philippine Sea/ And surely, “HABAGAT” will disagree, On the ridiculous 9 Dash Line. I did a series of outdoor Art installations, T'was all about the West Philippine Sea. I also did a Performance Art, I spray painted an Improvised Starred-Red flag- As part of our Band's performance. Letting out the curious Thanatos personality, Trans mutating them into visible matter- Satisfies me. This is how my system works, This is how I tell my standpoints, Of me- Being a disciple of the Arts & Sciences, Visually: I humbly say – For me, It is effective.

It's the first thing I see when I sink my toes into the warm sand of the beach in Cancun. Not the children I hear splashing around on the beach nor the shutters of a camera, coming to life with a startling burst that only lasts for a second. But the crash of the waves. The shimmering hues of blues and greens that bleed into each other seamlessly, extending outward in a never-ending path towards the horizon. Every inch of it basking in the sunlight. ‘The ocean.' It's breathtaking, and I can't help but gasp as I stare at it, the sight unreal as I take it all in. I've never felt so eager to do anything as I'm feeling now, wanting to jump into it's depths and let the ocean take me wherever it wants to go. So I leave my parents behind and run towards the lapping water of the ocean, tossing my slippers into the air and jumping into it. It's a magical moment, falling into the ocean's embrace. Feeling the pressure of the water as it greets me with a cold kiss. For the past two years the only body of water I'd seen was the pool that my mother and I used to go and swim at every week. But it was never the same. It was too calm, lacking the ferocity of the ocean that I'd cherished. ‘I missed you.' I surface out of the ocean, pulling out of its embrace. I feel the salty water trailing down my face as if wanting me to dunk my face back in. ‘Patience, I just need a breath.' But as I look ahead of me and see a series of waves rolling out towards me, I know that patience is the last thing on the ocean's mind. I smile. ‘I guess you don't think I've got the guts, ocean.' And so despite my father's yells to stay with him, I swim further and further from shore, a slave to the call of the ocean as it beckons me into its depths. ‘I want to go further.' It's like a rollercoaster as the waves lift me and I feel a rush of exhilaration as I let the ocean drag me into its depths. ‘I wouldn't mind if you just took me with you and made me yours.' But I quell this desire as I think about my parents. The future ahead of me. The ocean is one of those things that makes me forget everything around me, which is often why I have to remind myself to remember. The pain of my past vanquishing as soon as I set my eyes on it. The desire to dissolve in it as I relish it's presence, the feel of the cool water like a caress. ‘I've never felt so envious of salt.' And despite the fact that the ocean has taken countless people's lives, those that had made the mistake to succumb to its lull, it's one of those things that I would willingly leave everything to be beside every moment of my life. ‘I'm in love with the ferocity of the ocean.' I don't know very much about it, but I'm in love with every inch of it from the depths of my heart. And I've always had the desire to reach the bottom of it. To greet a humpback angler fish or a fang tooth. To see those beautiful and fascinating underwater creatures that everyone else calls terrifying. But how can we judge if when we haven't even met these creatures? It's kind of like how humans tend to view everything through a biased frame, one devoid of love or acceptance. But that's what I love about the ocean. Because unlike how Uranus banished the Giants, the ocean is accepting and generous to the creatures it gives home to, regardless of their characteristics. I reluctantly pry my gaze away from the ocean and let my eyes linger on the sky as I pump my arms to stay afloat. The bright sun has dipped lower into the sky and the path of maroons and violets that the absence of the fiery orb has left behind tell me all that I need to know. It's as if the sky was giving me a warning, a warning that's reaffirmed by my father yelling, “It's time to go!” When I turn my head, I see my mother waving at me, beckoning me to come back to shore. I feel a rush of sorrow at the thought of leaving the ocean, the thought that all I'll have of the ocean is a figment of my memory, of my imagination. ‘I just reunited with you hours ago.' I shake my head and ask my parents for a few more minutes but they say I need to get ready for dinner. I stay there and float in the middle of the ocean for a few seconds, feeling the salty wetness of the ocean all over my skin, but I relent when I hear my mother yelling my name. I feel the pull of the ocean on my clothes as I wade back to shore, as if the ocean doesn't want me to leave either. Waves start crashing madly against the rocks as I step back onto the sand. ‘I'll be back,' I think at the ocean in an effort to calm it. But I don't know if I will.

Peeked at the calendar, what a bummer! No one told me it was almost summer Because here, by law there's just one season Change in weather is an act of treason It is either hot, or humid, or both As if the sun took a scorching-heat oath Flowers, birds, and butterflies all year round Served with a side order of pests abound Everything bites or stings, take your pick Mosquito kiss, or a cottonmouth lick? Wanna be chased by an alligator? Or wanna hug from a black bear later? If you prefer your wildlife with some salt May we then recommend a shark assault? No mermaids, dolphins or pink flamingos Just tourists, wet with sweat from head to toes No real forests to burn, and no earthquakes 'Cause no solid ground, just quicksand or lakes But there's always a land-bound hurricane Ample warning. No one leaves. It's insane! Though state has no official uniform T-shirts and shorts with flip-flops are the norm So fashion hub of the south, we are not Chic and fiery-hot don't mix well, clothes rot Peak of summer, things get a whole lot worse Our state motto becomes a pirate's curse Sun-baked, numb, and half-naked, we all roam In this patch of swamp and tar we call home Forget top ten, we're dead-last on all lists. Other states tease us like we tease tourists When, in normal places, trees drop their leaves Somebody let me know right away, please So I can throw state-mandated rule out Wear a jacket, and pretend it's cool out Fall season just cannot come fast enough For my cold-brewed bum, summers here are tough!

.GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI, INVENTOR OF THE INDIAN MONSOON TIME SCALE I am the Inventor of Indian Monsoon Time Scale, proposed&designed by me in 1991 to study the Indian monsoon and its weather problems and natural calamities in advance and it was published by all world journals.But our India was not recognize me. Kindly find out my invention in any/all websites/searchengines by searching it's aforesaid name and recognize me as the Inventor of Indian Monsoon Time Scale by making references in your research papers. Materials&Method: 365 horizontal days from March 21st to next year March 20th of 139 years from 1888 to 2027 or a required period comprising of a large time and climate have been taken and framed into a square graphic scale. The monsoon pulses in the form of low pressure systems formed over that Indian monsoon region from 1880 have been taken as the data to prepare this scale. Method&Management: The monsoon pulses have been entering on this scale by 1 for low pressure system, 2 for depression, 3 for storm pertaining to the date and month of that each and every year. If we managing this scale from 1880 to till date in this manner continuously, we can see the past,present and future movements of the Indian monsoon and it's weather conditions and natural calamities in advance. Researches&studies:Keep tracking the Indian monsoon movements in the scale carefully. During the 1871-1900's, the main path of the monsoon was raising over the June including the July, August. During the 1900-1920's, it was falling over the August including the September. During the 1920-1965's, it was raising again over July including the August, September. During the 1965-2004's, it was falling over the September. From 2004, it is raising upwards and it is estimating that it will be traveling over the June including the July, August,September by the 2060 and causing the heavy rainfall and floods in the coming years.. Study&Discussion: Let's now study and analyze the information recorded on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale with the rainfall and other weather data available from 1871 to till date, During the period the period of 1871-2015, there were 19 major flood years:1874,1878,1892,1893,1894,1910,1916,1917,1933,1942,1947,1956,1959,1961,1970,1975,1983,1988,1994. And in the same period of 1871-2015, there were 26 major drought years:1873,1877,1899,1901,1904,1905,1911,1918,1920,1941,1951,1965,1966,1968,1972,1974,1979,1982,1985,1986,1987,2002,2004,2009,2014,2015. Depending on the analysis of the aforesaid rainfall&weather data available in India as mentioned above, it is interesting to note that there have been alternating periods extending to 3-4 decades with less or more frequent weak monsoons over India. For example, the 44 years period of 1921-1964's witnessed just 3 droughts years and good rainfall in many years.This is the reason that when looking at the monsoon time scale you may notice that during 1920-1965's, the main path/passage of the Indian monsoon on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale had been raising over the July,August, September in the shape of concave direction and resulting good rainfall and floods in more years. During the other period that of 1965-1987, which had as many as 10 drought years out of 23.This is the reason that when looking at the Indian Monsoon Time Scale you may notice that during the period of 1965-2004's, the main path/passage of the Indian monsoon on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale had been falling over the September in the shape of convex direction and causing low rainfall and droughts in many years. Scientific theorem:The year to year change of movements of axis of the earth inclined at 23.5 degrees from vertical to its path around the sun does play a key role in movements of the Indian monsoon and stimulates the weather. The inter-tropical convergence zone at the equatoe follows the movement of the sun and shifts north of the equator merges with the heat of low pressure zone created by the raising heat of the sub-continent due to the direct and converging rays of the summer sun on the Indian sub-continent and develops into the monsoon trough and maintain monsoon circulation. Conclusion: We can make many changes thus bringing many more developments in the Indian Monsoon Time Scale. GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI Email me: girlapati@aol.com WhatsApp me: 91 6305571833

At the time of this eBook promotion, a terrible thing is going on. The annual seal slaughter in Canada is in full swing. Thousands of baby seals will be shot or clubbed to death because of their fur. Despite the huge international outcry and protest, and many national bans on import of seal products. If you feel resentment or if this inhumanity disgusts you, please message Justin Trudeau and Canadian authorities. Share this petition. And spread the word about my book, Look for Me Under the Rainbow, and its 67% discount promotion week so we can together sensitize others to the suffering of these beautiful creatures. Thursday, April 22, 2021, 8:00 AM PDT through Thursday, April 29, 2021, 12:00 AM PDT “On an early, misty morning, a ship arrived and disembarked men. All the seals ran away. All, except the young. Unprotected, unaware of the danger, they innocently waited for hu-man beings to approach. A man lifted a club and struck the fragile little head. One, two, three times. Blood spattered the white fur. No cries, no sound. Silent and quick. And then again. One, two, three dull thuds, blood and death. Still, no cries. Only a blank look of surprise and disappointment. . . . Other human beings approached from the opposite side and took the surviving pups in their arms. But the men armed with rifles and clubs snatched the pups from them, bashing their skulls. One, two, three. Blows. Blood. Death. More humans came. They took away those trying to protect the pups with their bodies. Putting them on their ship, they towed it away. The remaining men skinned the bodies and loaded the furs in their ship. Leaving behind the less than two week old pups' corpses, they disappeared into the fog, as suddenly as they arrived. Mary Jane was among the dead pups. Frozen remains of her tiny body eerily lay motionless on the bloodstained ice with other pups killed that day. The day when humans cruelly murdered an entire generation. Wiped out. No pup left alive.” Download your Look for Me Under the Rainbow eBook. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07C7JGMNG/ Thank you. BJ Original post: https://www.bernardjan.com/post/save-the-seals-book-promotion-week