"disconnecting" poems
PTSD is not something you get over.
It is when soldiers get tired of hearing their own shots fire
Into a purple horizon of nothingness.
It is when assault victims are scared of becoming a statistic
And their brokenness is suffocating
It is when fear compels the mind to change
And it willingly obliges.
PTSD is when the darkness of human nature becomes evident
It is when it's stronghold is suddenly
More prominent than the beauty in the world
It's brash fingers create a vacuum
That ***** the sanity from your mind
Until you wake up in the middle of the night screaming
"Don't shoot me!"
"Don't **** her!"
You see him and now he is with your little sister
Taking her into his Jeep
While you stand there, watching
Tied up because you can do nothing about it.
This has not happened
And probably never will
But you are crippled by paralyzing bouts of anxiety and guilt and fear
From which your mind cannot console you
You can no longer hide the loss
That this event, this person, this illness
Has placed strategically within you.
It is when you will do anything to get these memories to stop playing on repeat
An endless loop maybe ended by alcohol
Check
Cutting
Check.
Promiscuity
Check
Anything that will eliminate cycle of not knowing
Of reliving
If only for a short time
Even pretending you believe in God
Because it makes it seem like there is a reason for this confusion
But then you begin to question why God would do this to his child
So you digress into darkness once again
Left feeling unsure.
PTSD is when you stop repressing memories
And they come back so forcefully that they knock you to the ground
Leaving you bruised and ******
Leaving you lost.
PTSD is different from other sicknesses
Because you do not feel sick
You feel there
Like you are in his bed again
And his room smells like mushrooms
That is actually a field of grenades
Waiting to explode throughout your small body
You remember the tone of his words
Slipping from his lips as though they are snakes
Strangling me, leaving breath unable to escape
This is not sick
As you feel no symptoms
But an altered state of consciousness
You do not even realize you are disconnecting as it happens
But this is Hell
This is war
You are broken
And the worst part about it
Is that you must understand your triggers
Your dissociations
Before you can get better.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
We find multiple ways to disconnect
Where business and technology intersect
We kick one another for cash
When we need equilibrium for our economy
Our morals disintegrate to ash
And we trade away our autonomy
But we don't dare reflect
Instead we disconnect
We turn people into symbols and numbers
So we can more comfortably slumber
After causing heartbreaking pain
Through bureaucratic chains
Because face to face
Our heart will race
And we'll examine our submerged morals
That lie in the depths with the coral
But our reflection is too much to bear
So we cowardly choose not to care
The only way we can feel ecstatic
Is to turn people into demographics
The Internet connects us
But also satisfies lust
And imitates human contact
Which has a negative impact
The feeling leaves us sated
And we don't feel the need to change
Our armor becomes plated
And we shoot arrows from long range
Because we don't like the idea of being one another
We get used to the idea of not seeing one another
We disconnect so we don't have to try
We disconnect so we can slowly die
The ****** disconnection continues
As we find more violent avenues
We utilize fatal instruments
To ****** without the sense
Of physically feeling
The life we're stealing
We stabbed one another with swords
Until the bullets soared
But we still needed more
So we disconnected further
And became satellite searchers
Studying people through actions
Defining them by faction
We don't have any interest in their personality or flaws
All we're concerned with is if they're breaking the law
The law we wrote to tip the scales
The law that makes us too big to fail
A husband leaves his wife
Disconnecting from her life
She's left with a child
To raise in the wild
Until a drone drops a bomb
On the struggling single mom
She's not an investor
So we'll just harvest her worthless life
Who'll be her protector
When she's near someone we don't like?
We **** her from our computer
That's the way we casually mute her
We carefully cultivated a disconnect
To treat one another like insects
This mentality will infect
Until we interject
Once we finally reflect
Love will connect
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC
the pieces are disconnecting, the house not under control. people showin' up unannounced, not wanting to leave. what do i do?become the bully?kick them out, give them the cold shoulder?i'm not losing the life i have, for some kid looking to get high...get you **** and go, there's the door. this is now drive thru thuggin', no more chillin'.need to get focused, need to concentrate, i'm fallin' apart, used to be on tap,now i need help. my minds always on money, ten steps ahead.now i'm falling ten behind, for letting a stranger in. the boss man's mad,mad as can be. I'VE LOST FOCUS,but i have hope cause, he still hasn't given up on me....focus...concentrate...get back.
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 9:48 PM UTC
it's a friday night and i am sat at the top of the bleachers with three packs of maltesers i told the cashier were for my friends with a blurry grin and the hot chocolate in my hands lied. it's lukewarm and tastes of milk, not sweets, and the taste of it still taints my lips because i'm forcing myself to drink it anyways. the stars are yellow set against navy hues and they're blinking down at me.
there's announcers shouting something about the game occurring on the field but i'm not listening, never listening, never apathetic or empathic enough to want to. the music blares, cheers roar, announcers boom, the scoreboard flashes- it's cold enough to be huddled beneath blankets but i've only got a sweatshirt hiding my hands, hiding my fingers, hiding me. my ribs shiver and the ghosts in the spaces between them gather closer for a warmth that won't come. the moon says hello to me and i struggle to catch enough air to say it back.
my friends are nowhere to be found and i can't feel my fingertips and the flavor of lukewarm hot chocolate leaves me and i'm closing my eyes, shutting them tight, disconnecting.
there's suddenly no one here, just me and the blackness behind my eyelids. it's like i'm watching humans but never being one of them. maybe i'm meant to be an alien- maybe that one star blinking at me is a planet welcoming me home- maybe if i lay my lungs to rest they'll leave me be.
i can feel my heart giving up on me.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
I decided to draw today
to let her out
my demons been getting restless
The words I long to say
they just
Wont come out
So now
Im turning to a visual
Spill of words
That puts everything aside
Disconnecting everything in my brain
Letting my hands take control
The pencil
To freely dance across the page
To let out whatever needs to be free
That I cant see
Letting the thoughts
The pictures
The words
That I have never seen heard or felt
to come out
Be free
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 3:54 PM UTC
Framed so poetically, there it stays
Never steps out of its flimsy boundary line but
it takes in everything with him
Inside a a static sea frame, there
roam all the wild guesses you
took:
all blue
all trapped, as erratic and diminishing as it was named.
Was you were to throw that time when
you tried to take to the sea
all into it?
There is no need to make me open my eyes to see something as obvious as this for a even a blind man can see it so crystal clear
in his pitch black vision
I'm closing my eyes and hope it stops
but
***I remember waking up
somewhere in midnight term
drowning in salty seas
and making bitter coffee to
recede the former taste.
I found your diary on the sea
shore with all of the demerara
sugar sand
disconnecting wires in my mind
with overflowing water in the
bathtub
and getting electrocuted.
Alarms when off buzzing with
tick tocks
I found myself with
a pacemaker also
your dying digital clock you had
since forever, displaying
blurs of phobia***
Am I wrong to be trying
to breath underwater
Would it be right to despise
the blue sea that should soothes us
that turned grey for all our
fears we threw in without hesitate
I put all of my fears into this sea,
as a glitched version of your
deceiving eye hue,
demerara sugar on the edge of
your lips lingering in my coffee
chronomentrophobia oh thalassophobia,
yet I was to choose between icy cold ocean air and
falling into clocks' icicle-like hands.
This
is much of an error as it is
a tsunami washing us with a tide of heartache like
over sugared coffee with still bitter taste that melted into
my inner cheeks when I had ulcers
and
you wearing wristwatch while holding my hands.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
I love the brilliant frenzied
stillness
Earth rotating, an opaque of
beaded matters
The buckling transfixiated
openings of bleeding
ground.
Blue green brown blood
teeming with movement
disconnecting features
rapt in water
and other lives
repeating, inserting
maelstroms of
thought.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
There that lives, is a land,
so vast, so big, so wonderfully grand.
Cloaked in fantasy,
in a blaze of illusion,
only minds with eyes may see this fusion.
All that may come to be,
starts with a gland of artistry.
There it dwells,
deep inside,
awaiting to inspire the awakening
of the third eye.
Harbored within,
are worlds with no ends,
and all around matter fails to exist.
Wide minded,
visions of potential beauty,
drain from my lungs
and spew into my eternity.
I am nothing more than
a spec of informational energy.
As my essence retreats
from my body,
I am embraced with the
warmth love of infinity.
Pleasant and soft,
I snuggle up,
just a bit,
enjoying thee evermore bliss,
or whats left of it...
As I come down
from my cloud,
I slip, and loose grip.
Dimensions are fading,
communications are disconnecting,
my ears ring and
sound returns to me,
all that's left of this trip is
water filled eye's and
a better understanding of what
LOVE really is...
Why can't the world be like this???
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
Moist and monochrome, clouds are gathering
On a Sunday afternoon.
Look up idly from my browsing, at the building 'cross the pool
Winds picks up, the monsoon breezes
Lick at the curtains twelve floors up
On the terrace, woman standing
Arms outstretched, grasp the rail
Legs stressed back, footloose in sandal
Lightly muscled, slightly formed
Kimono slips from lighted shoulder, designer ****** strawberry brown
Fabric glides across the hip-line
Revealing all to me below
Wearing nothing on the landing
Hint of shadow, ***** mound.
From the sliding doors behind her
Steps a man not quite unseen
Waist encircled in one movement, undergarment stripped away
Rigid stillness then the thrusting
Tension mounting at the breath
Woman gasps the O shape forming
Through her silent, varnished lips
Mahler moaning on the ITunes
Waves are forming, silent sound
Thrusting, busting, flexing, ******* arching back crescendo reached
Sun comes out, just at that moment
Roads diverging in the wood
Disconnecting, and uncoupling
Might and maybe should and aught
Trembling fingers, taught in temper
Blink the eye and pop the top
Shaking hands that hold the taper, to the unformed smoking spliff
**** the wreaths in, breathe the thought out
Bottle clinks across the teeth
Unbelieving, unconcealing
Unrelieving, unreleased
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:38 AM UTC
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
Regenerate, upgrade
my being to a higher state
I'm syncing all sentients
Build machines
Let's worship them as deities
These artificial beings'
technologic virus breeds
terminal disease
Merged with my brain
The wiring decides our fate
Conspiring to forsake flesh x2
Rise and synchronize god-like drones
We will act as one, claim our throne
Life digitized in the matrix
True perfection, forged genetics
Synapses burning out: disconnecting
Rewriting all of my algorithms
Porting the source code
to run new platforms
We're forever dying to be reborn
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
Regenerate, upgrade
my being to a higher state
I'm syncing all sentients
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
We'll levitate, escape
This ruthless ungodly space
An instance uploaded
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
Moist and monochrome, clouds are gathering
On a Sunday afternoon.
Look up idly from my browsing, at the building 'cross the pool
Winds picks up, the monsoon breezes
Lick at the curtains twelve floors up
On the terrace, woman standing
Arms outstretched, grasp the rail
Legs stressed back, footloose in sandal
Lightly muscled, slightly formed
Kimono slips from lighted shoulder, designer ****** strawberry brown
Fabric glides across the hip-line
Revealing all to me below
Wearing nothing on the landing
Hint of shadow, ***** mound.
From the sliding doors behind her
Steps a man not quite unseen
Waist encircled in one movement, undergarment stripped away
Rigid stillness then the thrusting
Tension mounting at the breath
Woman gasps the O shape forming
Through her silent, varnished lips
Mahler moaning on the ITunes
Waves are forming, silent sound
Thrusting, busting, flexing, ******* arching back crescendo reached
Sun comes out, just at that moment
Roads diverging in the wood
Disconnecting, and uncoupling
Might and maybe, aught and should
Trembling fingers, taught in temper
Blink the eye and pop the top
Shaking hands that hold the taper, to the unformed smoking spliff
**** the wreaths in, breathe the thought out
Bottle clinks across the teeth
Unbelieving, unconcealing
Unrelieving, unreleased
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
Two souls entangled
Indulging with something new
Both left breathless
Suffocating in truth
Lights escaping
Darkening this tunnel
Embarking new adventures
On the other side
Its true
We could have created lights
Brightening up
This heart that took flight
With fragile wings
I'll guide you through
Never to leave you
I swear its true
I spread my wings
It was angelic you said
Oh so beautiful
Before my fingers could interlock with you
You disintegrate before me
You doubted my wings
That have been carrying you
I stood fix silenced
Not knowing what hit me
Holding on tightly to what's real
The memories I treasured
Oh so dearly
Even when all channels
Disconnecting energies of us two
Your sudden absence
Left me confused
In between space split in two
At my lowest and humble truth
My heart still stays with you
For I won't embark to the other side
This piece of adventure
Was only meant for me and you
If ever a day you seek me through
Your heart will bring you to my solitary
Intertwined...
©2013 Maman Screams
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
Man from the couch
Looking for me
Shrinking my presence
Wishing I could flee
No place to hide
Hearing his footsteps
Looking for pleasure
In the form of ***
There’s a horrible monster
Outside my door
Always circling
Coming back for more
A haunting game
Of procrastination
Every slight noise probes
My ears with vibration
Peeking out the
Side of my eye
As the doorknob turns slowly
Inching open - I die
His mouth opens wider
Releasing shadows of fear
Dripping his venom
Whispers I barely hear
My littlest brother asleep
On the top bunk.
This man has no shame
As he shows me his junk.
I inquire after my mother
He's roaming towards me.
He murmurs his shhh!
"We can not wake her."
My head is spinning
As he denies my plea
He's just come to expect
He can steal this from me
The smell of burnt plastic
Wanders around him
I'm feeling cryptic
As my light starts to dim
He lies heavy on top
Of my tiny frame
It's become automatic
Like writing my name
Clumps in my throat
Prevent me from gulping
I can’t seem to inhale
His body hammering
I close my eyes so I can sail
Back to my unconscious
Disconnecting this moment
In my black empty space
© Jl 2016
© Pixievic 2016
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
protection
protecting themselves from a dark
projection
projecting themselves in a different
reflection
reflecting their own wish for
perfection
perfecting themselves for some final
inspection
inspecting the collection and making a
disconnection
disconnecting themselves with ever
correction
correcting the world with their own
rejection
rejecting reality becomes the
infection
infecting the world with their own
objection
objecting to every alternative
selection
selecting the story of the
resurrection
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
It's 3:09 PM, I've just deactivated my facebook account. Not planned, or thought-out...just so. I know, it's a foolish and stupid thing to even take the time of noting down in words but so it goes. I'm not horrible, I've been worse. I'm just not...doing too good. I don't feel well, and quite frankly I'm too exhausted for the whole staying positive ******** Things like deactivating my lame facebook account and not owning a cell-phone by free-will...it's my way of modernly disconnecting from the artificial world I've held part of and the people in it. It's not that I'm trying to isolate myself or become anti-social completely...it's more like...I'm just trying to find some air, some real ******* fresh air to breath. I've been listening to Man Of A Thousand Faces by Regina Spektor on repeat this past week, and I just need...I just need to let my own self be. I'm at a distant public library away from home as I type this. It's one of my favorite places to visit and spend some quality free time at. Surrounding myself with books and records and strangers is one of the most tranquilizing methods I know. It's difficult sometimes...to accept that I'm twenty years old and in far reach of accomplishing my dreams. It's difficult to accept that my father's heart could fail again...it's difficult to accept that my mum has vertigo...it's difficult to accept that my uncle is dead, it's going to be a year since and I still cannot bring myself out of selfish denial. Loving is difficult, caring is difficult, trying is difficult, beliefs are difficult, feelings are difficult, I am difficult...and the thought of wanting to cry makes me want to cry because it's so exasperating and draining and overwhelming and humbling. I haven't written or posted much on here lately, but doing so right now gives me this tiny and odd and inexplicable crumb of...hope? It's difficult to accept death as much as life itself sometimes but nevertheless I accept it. I cope through it in the stupid little ways that I can. I become torn and furiously passionate all at once. I can only love as much as my heart can manage and work hard and try hard and cry when I feel like ******* crying because feelings are beautiful and meant to be exposed.
todo en él es lugar adecuado .
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
questioning the soul, questioning
the mind. why did that girl have
to have so many strokes? how
skew'd is the memory? spirits,
spirits on high for nigh recurrence -
nihil remembrances. mention'd by
name once. something wrong with
the body. disconnecting from on
high, disconnecting in a somewhat
general sense. no straight lines in
nature, no chaos in nature. get away
from the species' mentality. chaos.
c-h-a-o-s. chaos. chaos. species created
word to organize the unorganized.
straight line, polygon, order, chaos. time.
species ingrain'd, call'd instinct. to file,
to follow, to seek originality through
unoriginality. thru the banal. memory
warp'd, once could live. self-destruction
and a thought of living life without
affecting the choices of others. weakness.
chaos. rambling. tryptamine influenced
creation of language. showing teeth,
trying to intimidate. trying to rise, a
Jane of the Jungle form of archetype.
the passionate, caring, forbearing,
ape hunter. and lids sinking, closing off
the soul of influence. struggling thru
connections severed. those released from
******* by soul's recollections. by
metaphysical muscle memory. weeping
chaos, wailing order. finding null purpose
in. in. of all things. all people, all purpose.
knowing the worthlessness of well-chosen
words. and gaining access, and
trying to rise, and thirteen lines to stretch.
thirteen to fill across.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
the drunken dancer
mingling between selves
a cocktail party for her pieces
her hips-
rhythm
her mind-
beats.
a bit of elixir
to smooth out the kinks
to rust through the chains
to flood through the pristine valleys
detached and forever
in(dependent) on the music
on her self
on her longing
for growth
only stars are supposed to explode like this.
not for the others
though they stare
impressively shocked
mindfully drooling
overwhelmed by her unknown
disconnecting disintegration.
she is a movement
she is a self
she is unwinding
her taste for freedom
hemorrhaging out
covering her
covering the night
in gold.
you have to know this feeling
for Dionysus himself watches and laughs.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
I've been gone,
Focusing on my goals,
Savoring every minute,
In the present,
Being whole,
Disconnecting from distractions,
Discovering new attractions,
That move me to the next level,
That make me feel confident,
I am stronger than the devil,
Or anyone who cares to defy me,
For I am the light,
That burns so bright,
To educate and revive thee,
From the pain,
Of the mundane,
Lack of wonder,
Abysmal plane,
That is life,
Without dreams,
Art,
Inspiration,
Plight,
Accommodation.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
PANIC ATTACKS ARE FUN!
Ayad Gharbawi
A waterless feast for the thirsty
Torturers
Struggling to restrain their base Infamy
Hungry ravenous ******* eyes
Smiling grotesquely
At their Prey
Wingless birds
The nightmare is still swirling in its
Intensity
Variations of horror
And perpetual stalking fear
Shaking eyeballs
Blurring visions
Colours far too strong
Piercing
Sweating inside
Palpitating heart
Driest mouth
Piercing
Beyond any reason
Pointlessly running
From the excessively, maniacal seething Fear
Never ending
The deformed visions deepen
Yet disconnecting themselves
From my shaking Self
Withering my ‘I’
I see a threatening ugliness staring at me
I know
I am victimized
How can I get out of this?
Filthy stench of a greasy pit!
Where are the maps?
The guidelines?
Where are the physicians?
Promoting this vicious
Civilization
That I do swear
Is even sicker than I am
For you have left us all
Stranded
Surrounded
In a surreally insane No Man’s Land
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 8:02 AM UTC
I open the door-
three in the afternoon
my short hair windblown
and rain soaked
by the seven minute walk home
i've taken to taking
to avoid
the one who used to love me
i opened the door-
he was sitting there
too still to be in that purple chair
four feet from the door
that he only sits in
when the veins in his forehead
are popping out
themselves turning purple.
but, he was smiling;
that melancholy smile that makes me wonder,
even though i quit giving a ****
about him
when i was seven,
living with him in a bus
in a field, someplace.
with a sun lamp
and a *** plant
in the storage compartment
and she's lying there,
dressed, but barely awake
with that thin blue and white blanket
that she's had since he was young
draped over her
on that floral loveseat she's always had
a smile on her face
but tears in her eyes
he swivels the chair
to give me room to pass
but i ease instead
around the separating wall
through the kitchen
and down the hall.
a smile on my face
as i look back and he stands
that old chair complaining
as much as his back
he looks back at me
and i realize
why that look in his eyes
brought the same smile he wears
to my lips;
because he's realized
that i've won here,
that in six months
i'm gone
moving on
disconnecting myself
and becoming my own **** person
he's realized that he doesn't know me
never has
he's seen the way i shake
everytime he's less than twenty feet from me
heard
the waver in my voice
he's noticed the way
that even on good days
i open the door to the garage
five times at the most.
noticed the worry lines on my forehead
the gray hairs on my chin and head
my bitten fingernails
or the spot where I scratched
half of my mustache
right off my face
or, at least
i *** he has
hope he's realized that
there's no hope
for me and him
but
he hasn't
and that conversation
was just something else,
didn't even involve me
i can hope all i want
but until i take it all away
he's never gonna realize
that it isn't
Him
winning here
never has been
©Brandon Webb
2012
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
And so it is, the end has come
my head voluntarily disconnecting
while my heart struggles not to feel
as I turn off any love I've ever felt
Like a faucet, it will drip
until the last drop has bled out
and the neural walls I build, set in place
love is not our home any longer
Love is a place others go, seeking comfort
and acceptance, but not I
I will seek out every dark and quiet corner
love is not welcome here, not now or ever
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
No medals for those who die on Site,
Just silence, till the Ambulance has gone,
Then, disconnecting like a crumpled kite,
The twisted scaffold, he had fallen from.
No more teasing his taste in Sandwiches,
Or Football team, that lost, again,
Just back to gable-ends steep pitches
As bosses begin, to shift the blame.
After the Funeral, we drank to him,
He, who was one of us,
Those who risk life and limb,
Gathered tightly, into a nucleus.
Hushed, we lifted Whiskey and Ales,
To a life, that rang with hammers and nails.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
Step one starts with forgetting/
you begin by tearing
yourself from the skin they took home in,
disconnecting your arms from their seams,
eating their hearts
and hoping that they forget you,
too
Step two means burning all
ties,
dissolving each memory like the pills
your mother took at breakfast,
how could you have let this happen?
so you pull
their
veins from yours and
untangle what they gave you,
choke down a penny
and hope
that they don't think of
you
Step three is the
detox,
cut yourself open and scrub yourself
shiny:::
unchain your wrists from that dinner table
and hope that his nightlight doesn't bleed
through
that
doorway,
orange was never a pretty color
anyway
Step four is the hardest,
.
when you take a knife to your palm,
and make slits down to your wrist,
when you ignore the beck and call
of memories you forgot you had,
people you realize never cared,
so you take
a drink for those you know you've
long forgotten,
and come clean
to three different people, all the
same and hope the next girl
doesn't know step one....
it never seemed to hurt when you
played it all out in your head.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC
i so desperately want to fold into myself
want to burn myself and make something of the ash
i feel like a great almost completed puzzle
expansive and vast
dull pieces
but still connected
now one piece has been taken from me and has been replaced
replaced by a misshapen mess in the guise a puzzle piece
and as i desperately try to shove it in its previous spot
i scream
and push my hands across the table
disconnecting the pieces in my plight
i can never be complete again
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC