"differential" poems
you ‘why’ her.
While she is thrilled & happily beside you,
Telling you when she’s up to something new.
Your pre-existing notion of setting a “ya” for her limits,
Persistent "no" to her wishes,
She grows up to know that,
if she got to do something new
She got to fight over the, 5 Ws & 1 H!
Ow! & you convince it’s out of distress not mistrust!
And by the Indian parenting manual,
questionnaire weighs heavier at a girl.
ultimately,
“This time”, “That day”,
" This place", “Those people”
Would impregnate her!
Sons of yours -
Son of nights! freely hatching eggs past curfew.
Not foreseeing the evenings his sister would come crying.
Parents when you talk on equality & empowerment,
Let broad mind not hit the very ceiling of your house
Let rest mindset that proclaims gender roles,
The differential idea you set on them,
From who uses broom to who chooses groom.
If misogyny is permeated in the roots of society
Cleansing and changing begins in the family,
Before there in your minds, first.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC
on the other-side of a grave wall
there may rightly be a water-vessel
that is chicken-hearted by birth
there may not be around her
a stretching of water-body
do remember
when we all went that day to catch the train
the room of the rail-station was totally vanished
after enquiry it was revealed that
it had gone to observe holidays with its family
in the yolk of the eggs of the snipe
before opening the no-door to take a leap i also knew
that the top-branch of a green and large grasshopper
was mainly made up of white-stones
i did not also have
any mystic words
given by the moon
to recite silently
so without caring for the water
i made a all-complete ocean
with sands and cement
throughout the year
solvency gets down
from the body of the traffic signal
even-then
the monsoon this year
has been under the poverty-line
and the ray of hope is that
it is this circuitous route
leading to the top of the himalaya
that would one day
play the tune of differential calculus
on her guitar
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 6:58 AM UTC
Foreigners are people somewhere else,
Natives are people at home;
If the place you’re at
Is your habitat,
You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
But the scales of Justice balance true,
And *** leads into tat,
So the man who’s at home
When he stays in Rome
Is abroad when he’s where you’re at.
When we leave the limits of the land in which
Our birth certificates sat us,
It does not mean
Just a change of scene,
But also a change of status.
The Frenchman with his fetching beard,
The Scot with his kilt and sporran,
One moment he
May a native be,
And the next may find him foreign.
There’s many a difference quickly found
Between the different races,
But the only essential
Differential
Is living different places.
Yet such is the pride of prideful man,
From Austrians to Australians,
That wherever he is,
He regards as his,
And the natives there, as aliens.
Oh, I’ll be friends if you’ll be friends,
The foreigner tells the native,
And we’ll work together for our common ends
Like a preposition and a dative.
If our common ends seem mostly mine,
Why not, you ignorant foreigner?
And the native replies
Contrariwise;
And hence, my dears, the coroner.
So mind your manners when a native, please,
And doubly when you visit
And between us all
A rapport may fall
Ecstatically exquisite.
One simple thought, if you have it pat,
Will eliminate the coroner:
You may be a native in your habitat,
But to foreigners you’re just a foreigner.
5.4k
The blank page stares at me
mockingly, an empty wishing well
of impermanent desires, my
thoughts a herd of nomadic
feral cats to be coraled.
It is a mathematical permutation
of the identity matrix, imaginary
numbers and exponents,
fractional divisions with
no order of operations.
Solve me for x, given y,
yield absolute value at
absolute zero as my
function crosses Cartesian boundaries.
| x | = y * (universal truth / personal experience) ± squareRoot(-1)
y = zero; go.
Factor in gravity (9.8 meters per second^2),
we have lost cabin pressure.
Please show all work, points will be deducted,
this is a test.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
Crystal White Pearl paint,
red racing stripes,
MX-5 traced
on the side
Lightweight aluminum
alloy, seventeen inch
wheels wrapped in
205/45 summer
performance tires,
Limited-
Slip Differential,
rear wheel drive,
Six-speed manual
transmission, weighted
shift **** perfectly
palm-sized
Black sport clutch
bucket seats, seamed
racing red stitching, a clutch
worked with a snap
of the heel, a flick
of the wrist.
Crystal White dash panel,
red racing stripe
MX-5 traced lines
match the stripes outside.
Piano Black
mirrors match
bucket seats
and the cloth
soft top
unfolds on summer days,
spring nights, fall
mornings.
Heaven/
Nirvana/
Happiness
found
now
with a snap of the heel
& flick of the wrist.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
The Physics of Love: The Equivalency Fallacy
the poet places his Sunday porcelain coffee mug
upon his bare chest, purposed to heat the heart to a
higher degree, equal to hers, next door, three feet away,
in their communal bed
two identical alarm clocks, one on each nightstand,
confirms the degree differential, for far beyond time-telling,
it informs on me, providing the room temperature,
and her side of the bed, 5 degrees warmer
the collegial scientists posit theoretical excuses,
the rooms wind currents, proximity to the A/C, body mass,
all refuted after visual and mechanical inspection,
all indelible proofs of the Equivalency Fallacy
despite the visual evidence abounding all around,
despite the surrounding starlike quantity of busted,
love songs, poems and the other artistic churn,
depicting the principle, one requires love physics to validate the
living principle for the living, that love is rarely identical
in quantitative quality, typology, representation and
manifestations measurable
each greets the other with morning declarations of
mutuality, trying to find those hundred different ways
to love her/him today, employing imaginative artifice to proof
the impossibility, that in every aspect your living love ability
is precious capital precision equal
and ha! each love is the greater...
you knew this?
then you knew, his coffee spills (intentionally?) and the
Fighting Fallacy rules,
every thing is fair in love and war, for they too, are
identical and equal, in so many ways,
but never quantifiable exactly
8:33am, 73 degrees, on my side
11/12/17
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
kiss my sorry *** and imagine
a differential. divide it by two,
see? this will give you the
circumference of existential
convulsion; you will see past
the freaky book you can't read
for lack of knowing and how
absurdism scares you if you
believe it. that's why you dropped
The Myth of Sisyphus part-way
through cuz what came to mind
with all the drippy Dali-mentalscape
spa of shread-dread WHATSyness!
was Camus coming to so many a pessimists
ending he had to turn it last second to say
'but in the end, we must assume that
Sisyphus is happy' and all you see in your
minds-eye is pursuit of this absurdist
paradise for nervous thought-drawn chain
-smokers is a gun to your head with one
last glance at the ocean.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
my love brought
me tranquility.
my love bought
me tranquility,
in a Manhattan bodega.
late at night in my city,
everything is for sale
where least expected
in mini marts, local delis,
greek coffee shops, spanish bodegas
pizza parlors, hardware stores,
all selling
salves for late night salvation
purveyors of
differential equations of
differing soulful sustenances,
certain imports that will probably never be
for sale in Walmart after midnight
all, readily available,
twenty four seven
in my miracle Manhattan heaven
My woman,
mapper of the byways
of my ****** landmarks
worn broad~ways,
his-toric foot trails of tears,
lines of laughters,
even a
purported dimple
I call a crevasse.
a sole survivor of
a mother's birthing skill marker,
duly recorded by her upon my visage,
in my miracle Manhattan
She knows, as do
some of youse guys,
that my poetry is
water born(e) and water soluble,
but Peconic Bay always
ain't right handy,
so bring on a
substitute teacher,
a hot bath,
helps me to enunciate
my verbal visitations
my love brought
me tranquility.
my love bought
me tranquility
in a Manhattan bodega.
pour the aromatherapy,
my love brought me
for inspiration into and upon
my liquid writing table,
"Tranquility,"
a summer garden aroma
It soothes
my bad memories,
the herbs salve
accursed ancient wounds
that will never
ever fully heal
or be forgiven
my love brought
me tranquility.
my graces restored,
this poem offered in
grateful appreciation
with unlimited adoration,
something,
maybe even the
very one thing
**that can't be bought,
even,
in my miracle Manhattan**
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
i came in two sides,
one with four, one with six.
but the two never collide,
broken that could never be fix.
one with too many confidential ,
the other with too much guts.
the two have not much differential,
though they could never be in the same hut.
from the outside they seems fine,
sweet yet full of history,
i should think i'm one of a kind,
maybe i was from a different family.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
Through all this strife
We create life
It's not wrong or right
It's humanity's plight
Whether it's with a wife
Or a stranger
We create life
Despite danger
There is a new addition
He could end repetition
Of negative patterns
And social ladders
But there is a competition
Between the new editions
Of positive versus negative
He'll be the one ahead of it
In a world plagued with stabbings
By the greedy money grabbing
Not to mention the beastly bombings
That endear retribution wronging
And elusive peace longing
There is a birth
Amongst death
That makes it worth
That first breath
Which provides hope in promise and potential
When they could be the positive differential
That could change this planet
And the hearts made of granite
We are born screaming
And never stop
We find ways of teaming
To be cops
Imposing our will on others
Through fascist force
There are many ways to cover
How this ruins discourse
But I sense a new sheriff in town
Our old ways he'll bury in the ground
He might be one or two now
But he'll change the world and I don't know how
For he brings hope
To a world with none
He helps me cope
A compassionate son
He'll make the world brighter
By not being a fighter
In a world of strife
He'll create life
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
As the rate of change of life seems
To increase ever more as
Days pass, I would hope to approach
You asymptoticly-
Forever approaching you
Closer and closer
Until finally
We cross
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 4:53 AM UTC
They keep ratcheting up the pressure
They keep hatcheting for good measure
They keep laughing at their leisure
They keep blasting guns for pleasure
Creating a series of tubes
Where every which way I lose
There's an existential
Differential
From my potential
That's unintentional
For I want to be better
Than the scarlet letter
That's my resume header
And my pain embedder
But there's a series of events
That keep happening
That leaves everyone incensed
They start attacking me
Until I take my mask off
They uncomfortably back off
Get in their rocket and blast off
Until it's humanity I'm the last of
There's a pattern
That gives me purpose
So I climb a ladder
Of fruitless searches
For a freedom purchase
From a shame merchant
Who offers the joy of fantasy
At the price of a crushing reality
So I can hear Satan answering
As a doctor trying to cure my malady
I feel shame
Then humiliation
This repetitive game
Provides inspiration
To avoid every friendship
Because my love will end it
And bring a torture endless
So either way I'll be friendless
After I reluctantly ask
And they say no
Am I still expected to bask
In their beautiful glow?
I see a range of emotions
From pathetic pity to anger
Always leaving the notion
I live in a city of strangers
And walls of concrete
That can't be beat
One must take a seat
And accept defeat
Then repeat
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 4:04 AM UTC
While they spent a couple years in college learning calculus, I was emotionally imbalanced and so behaviorally challenged.
When I was on meds and learning music, they were learning differential equations, linear algebra, and real analysis.
When I changed majors to philosophy of religion, they were reading hundreds of math papers from journals in grad school.
When I was getting a master's in criminal justice, taking my first statistics course, they were working on their dissertation.
When I was getting an electronics degree, they were getting published and doing research at universities.
After that I started studying physics, then math.
I struggle still to finish basic Calc 2&3 problems, and find it hard to get help with linear algebra.
All I know is that my trajectory is anything but common.
And the way I cover material would not be taught in most schools and universities.
It is more like the Montessori schools: I have an innate path to psychological development, and I act freely, supposedly creating my optimal way.
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 5:10 PM UTC
wife beaters and boxer briefs
for wife beaters and boxer briefs
we share an affection affectation in common,
for these understated, statement accoutrements
indeed I’ve caught her bare chest
hiding out beneath, via my side view mirror, revealing,
what hints lie beneath
my armless hair-shirt more than once
she loves the freedom of the stolen land grant
she's claims only to have borrowed
her deed and title, she says was
god given
she seems to enjoy as well the
impertinent attentions of this suckling pig,
driven by the hints of her pertinent robusts,
which have proven poorly resistant to the woodpeckers, ahem,
lips
but my boxer shorts she ignores,
as the differential in waste size,
about a Subway foot-long
so no wonder why
when she asks if I own any suspenders?
***who me?
Yes, you, Mr. Sinner?***
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 3:12 PM UTC
a teeny tiny
whited-out blank space,
the tenuous boundary that separates,
higher man from untamed beast,
so powerful when respected,
the crowning hallmark of human acclamation
we all do wear by right of birth and breathe
you see it right?
that invisible peaceful white
spatial, tiny yet palatial dot that separates
us from rack and ruin,
the mighty differential pause between
in civility and incivility
come not to preach or harangue,
my counsel kept within the
between beats of a mournful drum,
respectfully and slowly banged
each silent separation a prayerful plea,
the inserted peacekeepers of our spoken words,
employ well those powerful pauses that refresh
the speaker and the listener so well
leave behind your
self-righteous disbelief in others' beliefs,
that morphs into no toleration,
an arrogant surety,
that surely the anal-ytical results of
your thoughtful processes,
inevitability correct and brook no resistance
the shrill strumpets
of either side
confidently worship at no church
but to the false gods
of their own mirrored reflection,
who smiles back approvingly
at those who scream the loudest...
outlaw the outrage of your rage,
come to my white clothed table,
put aside the wrath of overbearing,
represent your disparate conclusions
with harmonious, breathable pauses
to reflect and respect
our distinctive and distinguished differences
no one ever lost a reasoned argument
that began with a considered, well tempered
good morning
*what has this to do with
only love poetry?*
***well, everything...for you must love thy neighbor
as you love yourself***
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 9:38 AM UTC
*plots of land that dance in spasms
slam dancing
bed frames with slots of wood
parallel lines on the oud
should i bother
with all this fruit
i choose to rot a while
in style of course
so much nonsense
this is truly ***********
a store bought chemical wedding
a slow decline into nothing
ship me your wisdom
and i’ll fly you to the moon
we’re departing sooner than you thought
you dream until noon
selves are made from solitude
i command you to commune with your soul
solid is a word
worlds are frozen in dreams
after the apocalypse
there is ice cream for supper
among the rubber and the forest
there is a carpet of grasses and herbs
left to dry in the dehydrator
upon the lowest setting i am making
the bed and taking my shirt off
stores demand consumption
yet in purchasing you are corrupted
assumptions of negligence
thread our hearts with your effulgence
i sense you are suffering
forever there is a differential
a disintegration of the essential
once upon a time i spoke in rhythm
made sense and could suspend judgement
now there are no more words
only thoughts
when the thoughts end nothing will be left
i’ll be suspended
like a balloon or a parachute
like a woman who seeks to become president
can you show me evidence that we are not asleep
the blossoming rose
has stolen my clothes and returned our damages
shelves of shadows on hungry tiptoes
i seek necessity in your eyebrows
streaks of lightning shape your features
i see incandescence throughout your water
you are a natural teacher
seeking meaning for the most high
blessings upon the eternal
in splendor the triumphant allegory
crowns thy falsehood victorious over demons
we dwell in the arbors of willows
as complacent shadows fall upon
the rubied lips of all of our relationships*
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
today,
walked the river arcade,
by the river~side.
same,
where, & when,
a decade earlier
and a laugh ago,
we performed
a daily differential calculus
of the distance to that line,
a watermark,
where my accidental drowning
would be insurance covered
don’t recall, if back then,
poetry writin’ was a good
a daily companion, or-even
a mere passing acquaintance
but went to
all-in-all-alone-freedom,
found riches,
yet still pressed in rags
of remorse, mourning surely,
until & still a
woman, or
three, rated me a
good looking edible,
even
if only didn't always dress
in black, head to toes, like an
extra cool new yorker, or an
attendee at my own fun~ereal
since those days,
gallons millions, zillions
of brackish seawater has flowed
out to sea as far as
England, Philippines, New Zealand,
whichever be connected to the
rain water of Adirondack mountains
flowing past East 57th Street,
my salty tears replenished,
but time changed the causation,
from oy to joy in simp terms
that rhymes…with me and yours
water woman water woman water
makes the heart capable of weeping
tears of joy,
oh! happy drowning
how do
you cross from woman to water,
that, now I walk on a
water bridge of loving
hard, steel & liquidity of
concrete, smooth roughness
became the path to loving living
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 7:13 AM UTC
Legs rusting in cement
re-barb poles of anchoring
but no foundation suffice
for the feelings of neglect in childhood
the bricks arise
the mortars set
but in a misshapen pattern of mangled misanthropy
and charred remains of humanity
a family is for one thing,
comfort in an odd place.
holding to conformity,
telling you who you are, when you are not.
when it all goes awry, the suns still in your eyes,
eyelashes cant curl enough to make you pretty in asides,
poems monologues that you speak don’t take time to preach,
pain and hiding that you try to flee from during human touch or human speech.
I cannot handle myself much less others.
I cannot speak with anyone so I have to speak with you.
Or I have to hold back a heart mired in loving glue.
horses died to allow me to roam, trees die still to make my home.
I still cant fashion pictures true of a family of five with six that are real
alive alive
I jig and strive to dance away my hate for life
it waltz's its way upon my ears and kills my familiarity fear
I want life in its sake
I want death timely
we all want things that just feel right,
feel just fair.
I want Disney land to not hurt when I get to the entrance
because it all turns out right
suburbia is not a Moasist country frilled with soulless black eyes
no sparkles.
all the glitter is very much silver and also the gold of the joys of souls
the way I feel is that if these wrought iron fencing’s could help to divide me any more
I could be one with them. Solitary atom.
They could be my home. They could coincide with differential turnings in my brain and eventually destruct me into molecules that would inherently be of their own. Be singular
but in the current state of matters.
I must depend upon all matter to be the one thing that holds me together
what life is this?
this makes me brittle
makes me short
controls me into any contortion that is to them beautiful
for now
I must be beautiful.
**** that.
To contort and retort, when we only wish to wobble and pulse with Brownian motion. My own happiness should not derive from people; I wish to not be near nor around in any small sequence,
they are merely dead to me.
Non-animate.
this is the platonic family we create.
This is life that we see from dead, dank, and sorrowful eyes.
Pity.
Forced.
Relations.
Consummate. Indelibly.
You people should be ashamed of yourselves for forcing love. By any means.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
photo-sensitivity of touch devices
(notably a samsung tablet)
translated via a differential
content encoding...
i.e. expose a touch-screen to
excessive heat,
via, such as this godforsaken
intake of sunlight in
england...
and all the verbal / commentary
videos?
start jittering,
breaking-up...
not exactly punk:
as in - scratched transmission,
but cyber- "funk"...
music videos?
clear transmission,
no "vinyl scratching" interludes,
no instance of a rough
coughing edit...
mind you...
did you know that if you encode
a scratched CD into mp4 format,
and load it into an iPod
the iPod translates a hardware
fault?
yeah... the ****** thing
breaks down!
starts getting the "jitters"...
as if an auto-censor stuttering...
do the same with an mp3 device...
no problem...
it's that sort of observation akin
to playing the Sims,
and using the VR puppet to
play the computer...
while you're playing the computer:
that's how i got out of the game...
wormhole weirdness...
but a scratched CD translated into
a mp4 device will break -
mind-boggling!
just like apple computers are
immune to trojan viruses (etc.) -
iPods didn't seem to have the same
immunity when you followed protocol
of copyright,
i.e. buy a CD, and translating it into
the mp4 format...
reiteration:
a scratched CD encoded into mp4
will break the device...
in mp3 you can actually hear
the scratch-jump across a music track...
but the device continues
to function...
same with touch-sensitive devices...
expose it to too much sunlight
and all pure-verbum (talking)
videos begin to unfold
as is DJ sensitive -
scratched, jittering...
but a music video?
plays out without a single "paradoxical"
indentation.
oh hell, apple ios great...
but no one really gave an example how
faulty hardware (scratched CD) translates
into a faulty device (a "stuttering" iPod)...
which is basically a generic
standard computer virus -
default software a priori:
an "original sin":
the "no man's land" of thesis and
antithesis -
the parenthesis -
perhaps even the supreme (sic) example...
but it's "out there": this mp4 format
of translating hardware...
the software inherently
copies one fault (scratched CD)
into another ****** up iPod).
to be honest, i was only going to write
the following, entitled (ode to my ex):
every **********
i've ever met
was 100 times
more responsible
about
getting pregnant;
i've imagined
prisons with less
shackles
and far better
excuses
to: "settle down" with a man;
i'm no more a monkey
than she is a mantis.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
Earth is a pretty
Messed up equation
Of quite hastily
Made up solution.
We are but numbers
Of different values
Every sign matters
In this set of issues.
Many were born real
Physiques built evenly
Few quite look odd and
Imaginary.
Some are but factors
Serving evil's loots
Denominators
Of ungodly roots.
There are radicals
Who've got point of view
So are rationals
To speak a word or two.
We're discriminant
To other religions
Differential rant
To other opinions.
Can't we simplify
This complex squirm
And instead unify
To a common term?
We're just variables
Merely dependent
On the valuables
Of our environment.
We were given one
To be shared by all
Equality's gone
And this is our call.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
As night descends
Upon the light,
Our cages slumber
And prisoners reduce
In number.
Fear belated.
Calm ecstasy
Flies free,
Happiness,
Just a wish away.
Space,
The prisoner’s only trail,
Freedom.
Time no longer
The strings
That bind.
To soar
Through emptiness,
Eternity.
The only factor.
Imagination.
The limit.
A being
Awakened.
No longer blinded
By the drives
Of embodiment,
The soils
That pains
Grow from.
Just a self;
A personality.
No condition
Of humanity.
Myself with myself,
Floating
In unreality;
Alone.
Now
I’m losing
The border between
Space and time;
A lost child
In the storm.
Where unity
And so much more
Is the favored factor.
Here all
Organic life exists,
And I just am.
Loneliness
Becomes my only
Cleanliness.
My lost child screams
By fear are found.
Sniffing me out,
A hound cloaked in drear.
Ecstasy stolen.
Happiness
Becomes a bleak at best
Probability.
I sink my only differential
Into darkness,
Where time’s spiders spin
Their binding strings.
Imagination
No longer the limit.
Instead
The constraints.
Locked
Back in my cage.
Fear has thrown
The key away,
And turned my trail
To the skittering dark.
Where light
Destroys
The night.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
I could paint the walls behind my head
Red and grey shades of intellect
An abstract portrait of Picasso potential
The spaces between are the differential
The tachytelic nature of my mind
Seems to want my body to unwind
To fall away to the wind
A metanoia, I have sinned
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
I wish I bled messy, black ink
to spill on your computer-coded fingers,
to blot out your terabyte blue eyes
from looking down at me.
I don't know differential calculus
and your ribs are engraved with unknowable equations
unsolvable to me, though I hear them
whispering to your heart in the quiet mornings.
I wish I understood the sighs
that fall from your logarithmic lungs
as they labor so intensely
to inflate your data ridden body.
Beryllium, Lithium, Nitrogen, Carbon
spill out of you like names of lost lovers
but they never sound so entrancing
on my own poetry-stained lips.
So while you chant them like worship
I'll be searching for divinity in those no-use words:
Incendiary, Ventricles, Ancillary, Phantasmagoria.
They fall from my mouth easier than even your name.
The deepness in your voice echoes outer space
Both vast and complicated
cold and distant
deep and so, so far away.
I can't touch you.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 10:15 PM UTC
is it only me, in western society,
that would decide to look
at Ki Bo Bae as the desired beauty
and keep all others bound to
Promethean Paparazzi?
guess i am... ** ** ** i get the asian
squint differential to boot...
porcelain skinned Koreans and Japanese,
the yellow-tanned south Asians
with less squint... or as i call it:
the optic-murmur flat-line...
the Chinese are just generic, given they're
the majority.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC