Art

the desert finally won the argument. There sits the old magician, head and shoulders protruding from a giant goldfish bowl half-buried in sand, beard swirling like kelp in the private ocean he carries everywhere. Below the waterline his tentacles idle, one still clutching a half-smoked cigarette that refuses to go out underwater—because some habits outrank physics.Above, the sun is a fat yellow coin someone glued to the sky as a joke. Pink clouds drift past like cotton candy

the red-and-white mushroom just remembered it’s a rocket.All this time we thought it was here to scramble our egos, but no. The cap was the fairing, the stem the first-stage engine, the spores the payload. Yesterday it got bored with the charade, inhaled a lungful of forest duff, and lit the fuse hidden beneath the universal veil.Whoosh.Up it climbed, polka dots strobing like re-entry lights, leaving a contrail that spelled a single word across the sky in tangerine fire:OOPS.

In the realm of psychology, few figures loom as large as Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist and founder of analytical psychology. Known for his profound insights into the human psyche, Jung's perspectives on grief offer a unique lens through which to explore the depths of this universal experience. Dear Fellow Travelers, In the labyrinthine corridors of the human soul, grief stands as a formidable adversary. It is a journey that each of us must undertake at some point, a desce

In the labyrinthine recesses of the human psyche, there exists a phenomenon that many of us have encountered – the feeling of being utterly fried. This state of mental and emotional exhaustion is a modern affliction, born of the relentless pace of life and the ceaseless demands of our technological age. As a student of the human mind, I, Carl Jung, am intrigued by this curious phenomenon. For in the depths of our exhaustion lies a profound truth – that our psyche, like a deli