"disorientation" poems
Indulge me for I'm sat looking at a scarf
As I transport rather splendid G and T
To its final destination
Not mine I hasten to add, my scarf that is not the gin
Purple not my colour you see
I had issue with burgundy as a child, frightful memories
I digress but it was left behind like a signature
Not intentionally just in a sweet forgetfulness
I can't pick it up, crazy as it sounds
I mean if I did it would be real not imagery
The moment lost, but no real moment as I can't feel it
Do you understand ? Perhaps not
I have admittedly been reminded of its presence
I imagine it's scent, no I imagine her scent
Her presence in the room, her smile lifts me
I mean it's just a scarf I mean it can't exist can it?
Do we leave a little of ourselves behind?
Emotion like lost property
I don't know, I honestly don't
Is there a course for metaphysical disorientation and the re repatriation of lost purple scarfs?
I guess not. I'd probably fail in any case.
It will still be here tomorrow. In plain sight, just hidden from my reality
Goodnight scarf.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
Discombobulated
beyond a miles’ worth
of snapped and razor-weight
wires, my roots have yellowed
and have split into insanity
My mind is crippled
By conditioning
Corruptive chemicals diffuse
shattering senses, imbalancing,
Dancing in an inverse orbit
Around this crumbling mind
For nausea and disorientation
My mind is crippled yet again
By the **** conditioning
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
The taste of bitter toxicity
The feel of obsidian
The sound of inhalation
The excitement of exhalation
Heart racing and it begins
Butterflies start to dance
Rushing flow of ecstasy
giddiness embracing
Flying higher and higher
Freedom and happiness
awareness with every touch
bliss
Heart compressing
Stampede of hysteria
Slow crawl into desolation
Loosing grip
Falling faster and faster
servitude and disorientation
Restlessness with every thought
desperation
The taste of bitter toxicity
The feel of obsidian
The sound of inhalation
The excitement of exhalation
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 12:08 AM UTC
We are trapped in our own river of Time
being pushed forward faster the longer we live
We can see behind us to where we have been
before us we can only guess what will come
There is madness being thrown into the rapids
confusion and disorientation fills my mind
as the cold feelings fill my lungs and heart
I long to sit in a steady pool of water
a lake of peace or an endless ocean
anything to stop this maddening journey
I cannot keep up with the speed of the water
everything that I was has washed away
I am drowning in Time, the present does not exist
constantly moving forward, nothing is now
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
Look at yourself
All *****
Blackened with a sour demeanor
Rip the top off
Take a look inside
An endless carousel
See the stars
And be thrown to the next page
Never to come back again
The stories for the next chapter
Clenching to previous excursions
Remnants, recollections of once new beginnings
Once you start you can’t stop
Can't turn and have second thoughts
Once you’re out
You’re gone
Falling to pieces
Smoking, dangling
A mental spasm
A lapse, relapse
Push them away
They speak too loud and bright
A half baked scheme
It’s something to pass the time
Hedges of red
Busted fence posts
Inconspicuously
Punctured shell
To the roots
Vibrations to my brain
Purple furlough
Roofs fall
Pedal till they bleed
Bleed dry to the bone
Till the bone breaks
And the pain grapples me into submission
We ignore the fruits in front
Of us for the mirages
We pretend are real
Putting In hope and taking out lies
Riding the ignorant air of pride
Crawl in desperation to continue
It wouldn’t lie
Stick to the plan
Raise the voice
So they hear and believe
We won’t stop till it’s found
They won’t stop till I’m in the ground
Buried, out to pasture
Fresh fertilizer here
I hear his deceit meshed
Deeply in his voice
Yet I fool myself to
Believe due to my denial of doubts
It won’t let me continue
Smile for no reason
When I think about it
Disorientation follows
Don’t utter another word
The grass is dead on both sides
So let’s make them equally green
Plant the seed
Pack a lunch
As we walk, we remember
The lesson we were taught to never
Tread here
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
Somebody call Ben Affleck
We got phantoms in this *****
This endless haunted mansion
Their presence pervades
No company
In this lonely labyrinth
Only phantoms
The only figures resembling humanity
Are the corpses of those before
Who couldn't navigate this torturous structure
And of course, the masquerading phantoms
My soul they aim to puncture
I tried closing my eyes
But I just kept running into walls
I tried sleeping through it
But I just sank deeper into the basement
When I attempted to join the phantoms
You were there
You waited until I was hanging there
On the rope
And eviscerated everything
Lycanthrope
The rope in shreds
Your heart then fled
Leaving me alone again
Lying in my exhausted blood
The phantoms sensed my desperation
And took advantage of my disorientation
So I ran to the darkest recesses of the basement
To retrieve my blindfold and sledgehammer
But is my hammer powerful enough?
Will visual impairment abstain the trickery of ghosts?
I put Sisyphus to shame
With the determination I utilize to demolish these walls
But the phantoms are devious
They ***** new facades
Thicker, sturdier, with odder textures
I destroy them all the same
It just takes a bit more time
And time means nothing
To a man who's sole purpose is knocking down walls
And cowering from apparitions
Yet a man means nothing
To a time ruled by phantoms
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
The thoughts crowd me
Scratch at my mind,
A thousand crows fly around
It rains black,
Feathers float down
In slow motion like snow
Each different, unique,
They continue to fall.
My mind confused the feathers
Bloat out light of thought
Confusion,
Disorientation,
Am I losing my mind
I see a mirror dive though
Serine,
Calm,
Like after a storm,
The thoughts that scratched
Now flown away,
All that is left is a single feather,
A reminder that thoughts
Can claw, scratch at your mind
Consume you in darkness,
But wash it away,
And all that is left is you and a clam mind.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
Barely Walks.
And does not sleep
day squinting
night in trance;
Moonblinked
& Anomie doesn’t speak
What she thinks
Until she drink
Apart; life projector spreads in sheets
Anomie not loveable
so off she goes
with dogs in sheets
that bark and bones
& in the padded womb
zaps milky-Light
synthetic-filtered-bright
A spotlight for the bees
Getting Drunk between her Knees
Confusion explodes confetti
disorientation takes the plow
*** the only how
An ****** or a fake hopeless meow
She lives in mental corners
watching window borders
They push in; she falls out
Brand new day
Teeth on pillows crack
Anomie's mind
has to react
She's fast to split-
Spit out a rebuttal
method witty-tactix kit
No one tells her time to go
But when Bee's belly full
She-goes - Self-loathes
Morning Glories still shriveled in their pods
They own the glory of her story and her song
Hiding in sarcastic retreat for clean feet
under ***** water bathes
wipes off the meat
Not your friend
She's trouble to love
The dirtiest dove
Anomie is naked and she's hated
Take away the curtain glove
eye slit under sunlit
She recovers
Don't judge
it's all her love
but you ****** Anomie anyways
just because
The Thrill
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
Like eyes knew your mind was already at home within that lonely-love of yours.
Feeling distant frustrates the lost. The deep look for that girl that has a beautiful soul inside.
17 longer feeling years, tainted, waiting, deserves a cold man to be close to. One with a true heart.
Wishing on hopeless petals as an excuse to avoid the galaxies-worth of thought you contained in that bitter brain of yours.
Cold cheeks cried out for softly captivating lips.
Twistedly committed to searching through constellations, inviting those whose hearts were like a vortex.
To the point of disorientation, when all the constellations start to blur, creating disastrous patterns.
Fear, flawed lungs, struggling to breathe.
Cruel whispers to **** your hope of ever finding love.
Like looking past the light and into a mirror, you see him and suddenly you're not so broken anymore.
You awaken.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
"Sit down boy, you're tired and you must sleep"
The voice said to me as I walked the city street
Fuzzy steps taken to a bench I saw over yonder
Sleepily wandering, the streetlights I ponder
Passive disorientation, I'm lost it would seem
Consciousness becomes a trickle, as opposed to a stream
Dragging myself over shards of glass, paralysed and sleeping
A shadow 'neath the moonlight seems to be steadily creeping
Isolated in this park in the darkness on a sigma plateau
Dextromethorphan hallucinations are a spectacular show
I'm indifferent to the stranger, drowsy as he appears
Isolated in the nighttime winds, apathetic to his tears
Uncoordinated my head falling he takes a seat softly
Dissociative disorder makes me seem awfully frosty
Speaking of lands where the populace truly is free
Speaking unintelligible words, indirectly to me
The intrinsic disconnect of this generation scorned
As the sun rises in the sky, glittered clouds adorned
My head lulls lackadaisically, I'm feeling unwell
But my stomach is eased when I think of sweet Maybelle
[Hers is a Nabokovian tale of passion in proto-dystopian wastelands
The first time we kissed, I held her soft head tenderly in my hands
The serenade of rain pitter-patter on the ground, like her feet when she's near
and hearing her name is as cathartic as those old jazz records I hold so dear
But, oh my pretty Belle, your age is a concern to me (and the eyes of the law)
So to forget your sweet face, I pop pills neglectfully, passing out on the floor]
Lifting head slowly from the rough ground dampened
Four years passed and I'm wondering what happened
Fuzzy headed blues, clear my mind with OJ and ******
Walking fast to her house, cannot wait to see her
A rap-tap on the door with thoughts of romantic enumerations
What she said and what I saw defied every one of my expectations
My innocent Belle, with her cheeks rosy red,
looks me in the eyes, and wishes I was dead
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
and the bombs sing their requiem in silent accord
while those with blood stained civil hands
think themselves out of thoughts
while running from their own feet
and here find strained in protest
words to pierce the ear of grief
and find that an elusive possession,
human identity, is trampled by larcenous wiles
such a theft that suffuses a merciless and malicious twinship
both spurious and misplaced
and produces understandings that mystify
by a succession of inexplicable events
disorientates and masks
a comedy of daylight thoughts
at once touching and grotesque
where disorientation and danger lurk
and have us believe, that which would
restore order and reason
making the ordinary world ordinary again
becomes lost in its co-ordinates
of a self made illusion
whose features lead to an uncertainty
at once plausible and disturbing
one distinguished by solemnities
of disturbed incompetence of well meaning
whose distance of sorrow evaporates
in a poignant lament
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Undefeated. Undisputed. 12 wins, 0 losses. A perfect 12-0 record.
You’re the crowd’s favorite as Vegas odds are in your favor.
Through the years of being in this game, you can almost get used to the fame.
“This fight’s going to be an easy one” – you assured your Coach.
You enter the octagon and see her warming up. Then you hear Bruce Buffer laying out the ground rules.
You’re excited – but nervous.
You feel the pressure of having to live up to everyone’s expectations. From your coach to the little girl on the other side of the world rooting for you.
You thought it was going to be another landslide victory.
Barely 2 minutes in and you feel scared.
Suddenly, you feel a numbing pain on your chin. It was a left hook.
As you fall face first, you feel nothing. Your unconscious body lays flat on the octagon floor.
Lights out.
Moments later you wake up to the sound of the fans cheering in the octagon.
A left hook was all it took for your dream of retiring undefeated to come crashing down.
For the first time, it wasn’t your arm that was raised by Herb Dean.
For the first time, you heard the words, “….and the new Featherweight champion”
You don't let it sink in at first but you can only hold back for too long before you realize that you lost.
You stood up, wiped the sweat off of your forehead, removed your gloves and marched out.
Suddenly you feel this weird feeling of embarrassment.
"So this is how it feels to lose?" you said to yourself.
You found a chair, sat down and composed yourself.
You’re still in one piece, which is a good thing but you know that fact cannot compensate for the emotional disorientation you felt.
Broken bones really do heal faster than injured egos.
Maybe your loss was a way of knocking some sense into you.
Winning is not everything, the same way that losing is not.
Sometimes you need to experience defeat in order to appreciate how satisfying every victory is.
As a fan, I know it's going to be hard to bounce back from this loss.
But you're going to be okay, champ. You always do.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
Who and Where in the World is Shaunna Harper?
A young poetess here at HP, a story teller, herein a Mashup, excerpts from her writings. Do not overlook her...
You hold your breath,
stagnant, absent
in the station,
trains grumbling about leaving
and about waiting,
people passing, chattering
about nothing
they are actually thinking about;
*** cheap wine, finances,
time, romances and of course,
the weather.
You stand on the platform
between two trains,
puffing fumes and
oil from its brains.
In your throat
somewhere
you mime the sounds
of a goodbye speech,
the silent, strained
words false even in
unspoken terms,
the ever-after of remorse,
the frailty of indecision.
I am somewhere either in the woods,
walking in the enormity of your shoes,
or in the water, making feeble shapes,
hoping to find you in the blue.
Not a child, ill with misfortune.
One of a kind, she dances
to her own gypsy tune,
free, enviable, fresh
to ears and eyes, not used,
like you or me,
or abused, immune to lies.
I am heading for a shock.
I am leaving home and arriving
only God knows where,
bags empty, head full,
and the place my roots took hold
is never going to look the same.
The win is not important,
only the playing of the game,
and the rules have been rewritten.
With every step covered,
I am someone else, somewhere else,
and only the disorientation remains.
I cannot make up my mind
from my dreams.
Chasing planes from buses
to cleaner places
better places
leaner places
the brittle, broken
fingernails chewed
to fray the anxiety.
America, I’m on my way.
Bury me in your deserts,
throw me to your cities
let my future do what it will
in its own sweet time.
Give me my fury.
Keep me swinging.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
The president of the horticulture club
thumbs the violet leaves of a aconite
ignoring the shooting pain crawling on her skin.
The other members glare at her,
waiting for the reaction-
touch the frail plant
and your mouth is sure to set on fire.
The contact she has on the flower
is insanely dangerous.
Potent alkaloids bloom overhead
and she continues to breathe in deeply as if she is trying to swallow
the strong, acrid taste of the atmosphere,
which should have sent her into a frenzy of disorientation
and seizures of her small limbs
but at last, she glances
at the frozen treasurer and spoke calmly, her mouth slouching,
"Are you writing this down?
I want the future of this club
to know to never touch plants
without doing their research."
Then she blinks,
slumps against the bench,
undeterred.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
Aureole...Manna's descent like showering
waveforms.
Eyes hungering...upturned, cloven in rapture.
Mouth slants open in a salivary click--
come the incantations...come the
anatomical sway of microcosm.
Intergalactic cynosure, pariah, shaman--
mangy interloper teaching wind to dance!
Tamer of the subconscious...mender of schism!
Anathema to Gaia's Satanic Stewards!
To be sought in the House of Aquarius,
haunting its foundation that it may uphold.
The roads to and fro are as anagrams that
alter with the perceiver.
It is the second look, of what's cross with
what Is...and ever shall be--that gives rise
to disorientation...reincarnation.
O grant dancer of self-evidence, grant your
sundry incantations... yearning for Gaia's heart
of hearts.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
A whipping disorientation
whallops me like a
cicada falling out of a tree
Slight at first, but disgust
upon realization that
I don't
know what
I'm doing.
Where what
Oh god
It is beyond sick
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
found under the definition of ambience.
The noir ambience is dominated by low-key lighting . . . and deep shadows, creating feelings of disorientation, loneliness and entrapment
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
like a whispered prayer
your touch meanders
over my fevered forehead
gentle, yet strong
through my disorientation
and delirium
it’s the only thing
that feels real
and keeps me going
for this, life seems worth living
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
28.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
*god,
ive never seen a girl that empty.*
pathetic,
hollow skin in unwashed jeans.a blown egg,
empty casket
cracking sidewalk.im lonely but i can play the part,
bravado biting the sky like lightning but
you can hear your own breath echoing in me when
you sit too close.
im a mine shaft, im stale air and stone. i dug myself empty when i tried to believe
i need no one but myself.i don't need anyone else.blisters on my heels,
thoughts on self-defeat, self-pity,
self-immolation compared to arson.
when you pulled out all my teeth you told me it was so i could kiss you fuller,
deeper; you said *now you dont have to be afraid.
now you cant hurt me.*
it rained last night but i thought this was a drought year, should i feel something?
i slept through the thunder.GOD, i hate thinking about this,
i hate these harness ribs hate air pockets in my chest i cant take this pressure.
when youre leaning down to kiss his lighter i'm sending you 50 texts that all say the same thing,
accoutrements of disorientation,
swollen fingers. i dont think i'm doing this right.i think i'm a different person
every time i get dressed in the morning,
every time i sleep.all the words ive misheard stack up like unfinished manuscripts,
like letters from neglected friends.
this was wrong when it started and now it's just confused.
hoarding matches, hoarding lighters like that'll save me from the rain.
think about the bones beneath your flesh.think about the sturdy rock within your soft thighs.
think about your liver.think about your bloodyourskinyourmeat.
think about the last time you spoke with feeling.
think about the last time you dreamt. remember when you said you wanted all of me? said you felt afraid,
you said sometimes you feel like
i could eat you alive,
reaching over my event horizon,
leaning towards antimatter lips.
why did you call yourself a storm you're only hurting yourself?
why did you call me an earthquake when i'm the only one
im ripping apart.
you keep sticking your tongue down the throats of people who just want to bite it off.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
Pale fading jaded moon
Echoes of the same old routes
Subconscious fed what we are read
Some consume such hazy fumes
Supposed repeats become belief
To each eye is dry and empty
When disorientation looms, Jesus
Our efforts count when only viewed
Hard to shake off the grey fog
As the pace of life seems lost
Host a place for creative minds
Build upon what you've been taught
Changing layers of further thought
When heavy clouds pull into view
Energy depletes inside over time
Should you stand affront or wait anew
Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 11:36 AM UTC
I told myself I wanted all of her
But I never wanted her blame shifting
Her gaslighting
Her traumatic bonding
Her disorientation
Her playing the victim
Her cruelty
To happen
And it would be easier to cope with
If it actually hadn't.
It would've been easier
If I'd been the crazy one
Because then I might've had the power to fix it
If again I could go back to the time
When I clung to her lap
And she ran her fingers through my hair
And said, "Your head's really ****** up, isn't it?"
If I could go back to my "data acquisition"
And be okay when she refused to give me answers
When she refused to tell me what we were
Or if I meant a thing to her
So I couldn't hold her to expectations
Or have them
Because I meant nothing to her
But she couldn't tell me that until I tried to end it
She just let me say "I love you," and didn't say it back
(Except for the few times she slipped just to keep me trapped).
She told me that it was all in my head
And then that I wasn't imagining anything
In the same paragraph.
She told me she was "over this"
But wouldn't tell me what "this" was
When I was the one crushed under it.
She let me chase that conversation
And played with me
And told me, "You're just going to have to be confused then.
This is my straight forward response.
The truth is, I'm sorry but you will have to deal with it."
But I didn't want to deal with it.
I just had to.
And all I wanted was the truth
But I still don't have it
And I don't know how it can stare her in the face
And she can still deny it
I don't get how she can torture me for months
And not have the decency to say, "Yeah, I did it,"
So I can rest.
I don't get why I still need her validation
Why I still tried so desperately to get it
Why the army behind me isn't enough
But it has to have something to do with her saying,
"I am not your ex. I am nothing like your ex.
You need to be able to collect the data in front of you and dissociate from past trauma.
Seriously,"
Every time I tried to defend myself from her actions
Until I stopped trying because I was too busy trying to analyze my own
Or, "You tell me all your thoughts,
I go through them with you
Confirming. Or. Denying."
Like she was the omniscient authority
The objective standard by which the validity of my feelings and perceptions were measured.
I think it's because
It'd be easier to cope with
If it hadn't actually happened,
So I convinced myself it wasn't happening
And I'm still struggling to believe it.
It'd be easier
If it was all in my head
Because then I'd have something to be certain of
(Even if it was only my uncertainty)
And I wouldn't have to admit to myself
That I was in love with a sociopath.
I wouldn't have to wonder
Whether or not she did it on purpose.
I wouldn't have to face the fact that I feel abused and broken
And empty
And like there's a hole in me I'm not sure how to fix
That I allowed to be drilled there.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 11:45 PM UTC
Pervets practice beastialism to sample variety,
Homosexuals wish to discover compatibility,
While only the earthly desire is all but satisfied,
True fulfilment is only achieved in the spiritual magnified.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Observant misconstrued glances weaving conclusions
of what is above your paygrade of perceptiveness.
imperfections of what you glance upon.
A child in the confinement of misunderstanding,
Only the turbulence of reality like ocean waves.
Solitude of emotions then surges of confusion crash.
Lost in the tall trees of emotions as the leafs of
disorientation venture to cloud a mind of needed calm.
The conciseness needs the rhyme of routine to balance.
Heed this thought those of ill-conceived notions that
when this little miracle has a moment of uncontained
emotion, it is not for your misconceived wordings.
"My little one mummy is here, daddy too,
"Hear our voices like a calm ocean over you,
A mother embraces the worries of your thoughts,
easing the confusion of the world away..
Others may stare in ignorant stances.
*"But nothing is wrong with you, you're our baby
cuddling the confusion of your surroundings away.*
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
There’s the death waiting to pounce over,
Only left is the aftermath of the tides left over.
She lay isolated far away from mankind,
She was the loving and dedicated nurse of a kind.
A deadly virus had spread the blanket over her.
Probably her inner conscience spoke of,
The limited time left with her,
Battling the Nipah virus will be soon over.
She committed herself to the thankless profession.
Had she not nursed the deadly virus affected patient,
Perhaps she would have been alive here today.
Too late, she realized that the same had taken
Over the life of her patient.
She felt saddened yet unknown to her was,
The virus had already infected her blood.
She never knew it would be her turn to bid bye.
Just a day ago she had fever,
Yet ignoring her health she continued her work.
Finally, her health started deteriorating,
So she got admitted in the same hospital.
She found herself in an isolated ward,
Which made her realize she too contracted the same.
Her husband has been just a wall away.
Though she wanted to see him and her little children.
But thinking of their security she paused there for moments.
She knew her fate was holding her hand to death.
Then she scribbled just few words for her beloved at the last!
Only we can pray today is “May her soul Rest In Peace!”
All Rights Reserved!
The young dedicated Indian nurse Lini Puthussery from Kerala needed to be applauded, awarded for her selfless service which costed her dear life while treating Nipah virus affected patient. She was attached to Perambara’s Tukul hospital
in Kozhikode, Calicut. We appreciate the young woman’s dedication to her thankless profession.
The Nipah virus infection, spread mainly by fruit bats and has symptoms like breathing trouble, brain swelling, fever, headache, drowsiness, disorientation and delirium. A patient can fall into coma within 48 hours. It travels through direct contact with a patient. There is no vaccine for Nipha virus yet, as per World Health Organization.
Courtesy Google!
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
think of something bad, a tragedy perhaps
breath in
savour the clusterfuck of air particles that youve insufflate
let them linger in the different threshold of your lung
inhale till you cant feel no more, the brittle feel of your ribcage collapsing & sinking itself into your blooded flesh
tear droplets will be discarded by your eyes soon after
expect a slight pain throughout your whole body
feel free to scream, laugh or even go on a rampage during this process
for those who are well versed in the ancient art of crying, they may experience symptoms such as the urge to puke, disorientation & other health issues
remember practice good breathing rythm in order to avoid suffocation & death
feel free to improvise along the way to ensure maximum enjoyment in this activity
if done right, you'll find that crying is addictive in a theraupetic fashion.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC