The rain is pounding outside of my window, and I love it. Earlier today I looked at the forecast and saw there would be rain for much of the week. Since I did not want to be stuck in the apartment for want of a moving roof over my head, I walked to a local Panda store -and bought an umbrella. The rain still had not hit and so I went grocery shopping at a MAXI, they are here in Serbia, all over the place. I bought ground beef to make burgers, as well as buns, and cheddar cheese.
I also bought myself some daisies, they are very cute , but quite a lot more expensive than buying all of the things for my burger. But they are pretty and alive and I am grateful they are here 🙂
My burger is delicious! Happy I made it instead of going to McDonald’s – I really like their double cheeseburgers. But my cheeseburger was yum. Not better than theirs, maybe equally as good.
I love the sound of the rain hitting the windows, it makes me feel cozy. Had my dinner, getting ready for bed. cozy life is the best life.
The Taliban forbids music in Afghanistan due to its ability to sway listeners. Think about the music that is allowed in your countries. What is it promoting? Why do they allow such music?
if you tell me you are famished I shall promptly gouge your eyes out with a fork you do not know what famished means famished is not minutes, hours or a day it is the days after the pangs become soft you try not to think about it remove food from brain to find place for thought to think thought to find food therefore you sit and think driven to craziness you know of its taste it is everywhere but not for you the moments between expectation and impossibility those moments think thought think so you just think than you think you can do anything for this food to assuage your hunger than you realize you will do any thing it takes to make the pain of longing for food disappear as you walk past plates full of food that people in blissful existence have thrown away they are full too fat too shy don’t care about food they have other things to think of food is a passing thought my thought my though my thought as you watch them a bite balanced delicately on the tongue it dances oh it dances of cabaret proportions to the throat slides to waiting stomach you are more hungry think thought think you can do anything for it kill prostitute you watch her push it away it is being sent to the dump it is then you realize you cannot you won’t grab that gold off that plate as they look at you with pity at your pathetic self shall you climb into the dump and pick the food out along with the disease you realize you cannot then the starvation begins.
Who decides, who is going to be saved on a boat or submarine? Photo by Korhan Erdol on Pexels.com
Who Chooses Who Is Going to Get Rescued?
A billionaire and four other very wealthy people board a submarine to travel to see the Titanic wreckage in the North Atlantic – deep-sea tourism – and there is a malfunction so they are lost. Massive ships, helicopters, and expensive equipment are flown in from around the world to find them over five days. Thousands of millions of dollars in expense to the various countries like Canada, the U.S., the U.K and France as well as private participants.
A fishing vessel with a bunch of people from third-world countries trying to reach richer shores leaves Libya on the way to Italy. The vessel capsizes in EU waters near Greece. A distress call is sent to nearby vessels to help the boat. Those civilian boats save who they can. The rest are presumed dead.
Is it because one group of individuals is more valuable than the other? Is it that one group has more to offer society than the other? Is it that one group are citizens of the first world and the other group are citizens of the third world? Is it that North America can mobilize faster than the EU/? What is it?
I’m pretty sure this book changed my life. The protaganist was a girl living amongst her clan and feeling ostrascized for being different. I don’t want to give too much away in case someone decides to read the book. But her actions and adventures once she decided to throw ‘care to the wind’ made me love her, love the book, live my best life, and it’s been in my heart ever since.
My right hand picked up three sugar cubes and put them to my mouth. I had no desire to ingest three sugar cubes or any sugar cubes for that matter, but I also didn’t want to get into it with my right hand. The growth year hadn’t done him or me any favors. I opened up my mouth and used my tongue to push two sugar cubes toward my left cheek and one against my right and let them melt down.
“Water please,” I said.
Air dropped down a glass of water in front of me, which I grabbed quickly with my left hand. My right hand had lost interest in the going-ons it appeared so I swirled the water around in my mouth and spit out the sugar that remained.
It was surveillance night. Every Tuesday dusk to Wednesday dawn for the past five years, Yeats and I have been patrolling Lambda. The Outers liked the children in this region more than others and so that was where most of the snatchings happened.
Since the establishment of intense surveillance in 3001 we had reduced the number of stolen children from an average of 43 monthly down to just five every two months.
“I hope you’re ready,” said Yeats.
I walked over to my communicator. Yeats regular green eyes were flashing neon on the screen.
Be
They always flash when he has to wait for me. I wasn’t late, but I wasn’t as early as he liked. He doesn’t understand that things happen, like your clothes not appearing when you expect them to.
Silko is an amazing character that does his best to make good choices like how to manage his anger.The third week of March is an exciting time in Shape Town. That’s when spring begins and it’s also when the living rooms go outside.
That’s why Silko Von Cylinder was having a hard time falling asleep on the third Saturday in March. The next day was Living Room Toss Day. You can click down on the book for a free preview of what happens next.
A children’s book about self-confidence, friendship and standing up for yourself.
Chapter 1
Nobody Likes Ugly Mouse Sweaters
Makhan Singh stuck his head out of the front door to figure out how cold it was outside. A chilly wind thwacked his face. He tried to wiggle his nose, but it felt crispy and stiff. That could only mean one thing … it was nose-hair-freezing weather.
That also meant his mom was right—he would have to wear his very warm, but very ugly mustard-coloured sweater vest to school. Makhan was already worried about making new friends on his first day at his new school and wearing an ugly sweater with a mouse on it wasn’t going to help.
“Makhan, did you put on your sweater? Are you ready? Please come and eat your breakfast, it’s almost time to catch the bus,” Makhan’s mom called from the kitchen.
“Coming,” Makhan yelled as he ran up the stairs to throw on the sweater over his shirt. The mouse looked like it was laughing at him.
“Nobody likes ugly mouse sweaters. When my other sweaters get here, I’m never wearing you again, then we’ll see who’s laughing,” Makhan said to the mouse on his sweater.
Two piping hot paranthas glistening with butter and a bowl of yogurt sat on the kitchen table
waiting for him. His 3-year-old sister Parkash tore off a piece of her parantha and offered it to Makhan.
“Thank you, Parkash, look I’ve got my own right here,” he said to her.
She put the torn-off piece into her mouth and munched on it while grinning at him. Makhan thought she was so lucky. Kids in preschool were just tall babies, and babies played with everyone. It was going to be easy for Parkash to make friends.
“Look, Parkash, your brother is going to eat all his yogurt because it’s going to make him big and strong. You’re going to eat some too, aren’t you?” his mom said.
Parkash kept on grinning and eating her parantha without touching her yogurt.
Makhan loved yogurt and buttery paranthas, but today, they made him feel sad. That’s because after he finished eating his last bite, he’d have to take a bus to a school where he had no friends.
“This is a very ugly sweater, Mom, are you sure you didn’t pack any sweaters without mice on them?” Makhan grumbled.
“Makhan, I thought you loved your mouse sweaters, that’s why I packed them in our luggage. What happened?” she asked.
“I just don’t like them anymore, that’s all,” Makhan said.
“Well, the movers are delivering the rest of our things today, so maybe we can find you a no-mouse one to wear for tomorrow. Now, eat your parantha, please. Since it’s a special occasion, I made you a sweet one,” Makhan’s mom said with a wink.
Makhan thought starting grade three at a brand-new school in the middle of November was no kind of special occasion. If anything, he’d call it a scary occasion.
“Good moooorning,” Makhan’s dad sang as he walked into the kitchen.
“Are you kids excited about meeting new friends today?” he asked.
“It feels like there’s a circus in my stomach,” said Makhan.
“Don’t you worry, everyone’s going to think you’re the nicest, smartest boy in the world,” Makhan’s mom said as she hugged him.
Makhan tried to give her a smile, but the circus in Makhan’s stomach didn’t make it easy.
“I’ll drop Parkash off at preschool on my way to work,” his dad said while blowing and slurping on a cup of hot chai.
“Thank you, that’s perfect, then Makhan and I can finish up breakfast and have a nice walk to the bus stop,” Makhan’s mom said.
He felt like a baby having his mom walk him to the bus stop, but he also felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to stand at the stop by himself. At his old school in Toronto, he had a lot of friends to stand with. He even had three best friends.
“I packed you a yummy lunch. I hope it’s ok. Ask your teacher if I should change anything,” said his mom as they put on their shoes and headed to the bus stop.
Makhan wondered if sharing his lunch might help him make friends. His mom was a really good cook and his friends at his old school always loved swapping some lunch with him.
The school bus stop was on the street next to Makhan’s street. As Makhan and his mom turned the corner to walk down bus stop street, they saw a backpack go flying into the air.
“Give me back my backpack!” yelled a girl running toward the backpack with two long pink braids flying behind her.
Just then, a yellow school bus arrived. The circus monkeys in Makhan’s stomach started doing cartwheels.
“Have a good day at school, my most beautiful boy,” his mom yelled as he lined up to get on the bus.
“Haha, beautiful boy,” someone laughed.
“Look at that mouse,” yelled someone else.
Makhan felt his face get hot as he walked up the steps of the bus.
The air raid sirens rang around 6 a.m. at around 7, there was a blast and then what sounded like numerous gunshots. I saw numerous birds flying eastwards and then westwards. Then a silence. I sat on my bed and wondered what to do next. Then another round of gunshots, firecracrackers something in between the two and then a boom. I could see grey smoke rise into the air.
It is a strange experience to wake up to explosions in a city in which only the afternoon before you went for a long walk in a local park, visited the busy main street and shopped before coming home to cook a peaceful dinner before going to sleep.
Those gunshot and firecracker sounds are apparently owned by kamikaze drones sent from somewhere in the south of Ukraine. That doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Just the reality of living in a city being attacked from afar by drones that can touch down anywhere is mind-boggling.
It is so mind-boggling that it doesn’t really set in, so you try to stick to your routine. It’s as though it’s all happening around you, but who it seems to be happening to most are people providing commentary from abroad. The people within the city mostly shelter and stay quiet. Analysts from far off countries shout supreme. It’s a very bizarre juxtaposition.
The biggest difference between the attacks in the last week of February and now, is that people are not flooding out of Kyiv. This is how many countries in the world turn into generational victims of war. Slowly, it is no longer an escape plan, but an acceptance routine and a planted hatred that lasts decades and even centuries without there ever being a conclusion.
Just imagine waking up, and there is a giant crater in your neighbourhood park from another country attacking yours. Do you just pick up yourself and try to go to another country or do you stay and endure or do you just lose your mind or do you become intent on a fixed goal of destroying the enemy.
All the while this is going on in the hearts and minds of the people just trying to live,for others it’s a game.. There are those that can help change it all that won’t change it all because it benefits them magnificently. This is true for Ukraine as well as many other destabilized countries around the world.
Joti Heir 