What dose this painting represent ?

Ivan the father regretting the murder of his son .

Ivan the son finding his fathers dead body .

Ivan the father finding his sons dead body .

In what museum is the Girl With A Pearl Earring

Santa Maria Delle Grazie Monastery, Milan

How good is your art knowledge ? (BY: Areej Fathi -20180208)

Management and Globalization Global Management Why companies go global How companies for global Global Business environments Global Business Types of global business Pros and cons of global businesses Ethnic Challenges for global business Culture and Global Diversity Cultural intelligence Silent language of culture Tight and loose cultures Values and national cultures Global Management Learning Are management theories universal? Intercultural competencies Global learning goals Key concepts of the challenges of globalisation: Global economy Resources, markets and competition are worldwide in scope Internationalisation The process of increasing involvement in international operations Globalization/Deglobalization Glob- the growing interdependence among elements in the global economy The worldwide interdependence of resource flows, product markets and business competition World 3.0 Different views: World flat vs. round Distance is a metaphor that represents the degree of dissimilarities between countries Balancing cooperation in the global Global Management Global management - managing things in different countries Managing business and organizations with interests in more than one country What do we expect from global Managers Knowing how to adapt Knowing the language Global Manager Is culturally aware and informed on international affairs International Business Conducting for-profit transactions of goods and services across national boundaries International Motive Why do firms internatioalize their activities Cheaper labour Labour tax Natural resources Enrolments to do business Clientele Exclusive materials Personal benefits: Taxes Reasons why businesses go global Customers Suppluers Capital During (1993) - 4 motive 1. Market seeking 2. Efficiency Seeking 3. Resource seeking 4. Strategic Asset Seeking Cuervo Cazurra, Narula and un (2015) - 4 motive s Internationalization Motives A company may also explore the opportunities in different markets in order to take advantage and in some cases extend the product life cycle What is a Market Entry Strategy Involves the sale of goods or services to foreign markets but do not require expensive investments Franchising Exporting and importing Involve the sale of goods or services to foreign markets but do Types of market entry strategies Global sourcing Exporting Importing Licensing agreement Franchising Types of Foreign Direct Investment (FDI) strategies: Joint venture Strategic alliance Owned Subsidiary (sometimes called WOS) How to go abroad What conditions will affect the decisions of firms on how to internationalize their activities? During (1978)- Eclectic paradigm OLI model OLI- Ownership, Location and Internalization Advantages Ownership advantages Resources owned by the organization that can be transferred across locations include trademarks, production techniques and processes, managerial skills and other resources not available to the competitors Location Advantages Represent the implications of choosing to produce or to perform activities in a specific location (country or region) Internalization Advantages: The ability to internalize or to incorporate activities that add value to its business Evolution of Concepts- New Elements Although economic factors are certainly important to explain the formation, growth and expansion of firms within and across national borders, they are not sufficient to explain the additional complexity when a firm decides to expand its activities across national borders Economic factors Investigate the economic elements that affect the internationalization of firms Behavioural Elements Explaining the additional challenges (and perhaps opportunities) a firm faces in foreign host countries when compared to indigenous (local) firms Behavioural theories Johanson and Wiedersheim-Paul (1975) and Johanson and Vahlne (1977) Included the psychic Distance concept (beckerman,1956) to explain the internationalization behaviour of firms The Uppsala internationalization model Psychic distance is: the sum of factors preventing the flow of infomatio from and to the market Psychic Distance is a broad concept that includes several elements such as: language, culture, political systems, level of education, level of industrial development Firms behave in a “Risk Averse” manner It means that when the perceived risk goes down, the firm increase its commitment to the foreign market \ The Haier Group Data Strategy Big DATA and Small DATA The use of small data to satisfy individual customers’ needs, however, the book mentions a huge cultural shock at the plant in Camden, south caroline Ex: top down, hard hat colors and hierarchy Culutral Differnces can have a huge impact on the internationalization of firms Kogut and Singh (1988)- Cultural Distance Index First statsical study on the implication of ciltiral distance to the selection of entry mode When investigating in culturally distant countries, foreign firms can choose to partner with foreign firms in order to gain local knowledge and share the risk associated to the investment (higher commitment = higher risk) How Companies Go Global Global sourcing The process of purchasing materials or services around teh world for local use Exporting Selling locally made products in foreign markets Importing Buying foreign made products and selling them domestically Exports correspond to what percentage of Candain GDP What countries are the major trending partners of Canada Management and Globalization How Companies Go Global Licensing Agreement One firm pays a fee for rights to make or sell another company’s products What are the potential risks associated to licesning The case of new balance in China Franchising A fee is paid for the rights to use another firms name, branding and methods Insourcing Insourcing: refers to local job creation that results from foreign direct investment Types of insourcing Joint ventures: operate in a foreign country through co-ownership by foreign and local partners Strategic alliances: A partnership in which foreign and domestic firms share resources and knowledge for mutual gains Foreign subsidiaries: local operation completely owned by a foreign firm Criteria for choosing a joint venture partner: Familiarity with your firm’s major business String local workforce Values its customers Future expansion possibilities Strong local market for partner’s own products Good Profit potential Sound financial standing Global business environments Legal and poliical systems Trade agreements and trade barriers Regional economic alliances Legal and political systems Differing laws and practices regards Business ownership Negotiation and implementation of contracts Foreign currency exchange Protection of intellectual property rights Counterfeit merchandise Political risk Potential loss in value of foreign investment due to instability and political changes in the host country Political risk analysis (expertise/experience) Forecast political disruptions that threaten the value of a foreign investment Changes in the rules of the game Brexit US Trade Wars-mexico-China Other examples Bolivia, Venezuela, China De-globalization The process of weakening interdependence among nations Trade Agreements and trade Barriers World trade organization Most favourd nation status Tariffs Nontariss barriers (quotes, restrictions, etc.) Protectionism Regional Economic Alliances USMCA (replacment for the NAFTA-North American Free trade Agreement) EU- European Union APEC- Aisa Pacific Economic Copperation ASEAN - Association of Southeast Asian Nationas SADC - Southern Africa Development Community MERCOSUR- Chapter 5- Global Management and Cultural Diversity (part 2) Review Types of global business Global corporation MNE (multinational enterprise) or MNC (multinational corporation) with extensive business operations in more than one foreign country Transnational corporation A global corporation that operates worldwide on borderless basis Some host country complaints about MNCs Host Country companits about MNCs: Excessive profits Interference with local government Domination of local economy Interference with local government Hiring the best local talent Limited technology transfer Disrespect for local customers Examples - War in Ukraine Disruption in global -value chains and increased pressure and interference of MNCs with local government Fertilizer imports in Brazil (one of the major producers of agricultural commodities) We must consider the triple bottom line and the impact in society, the environment and the economy $2.5 billion invest in potash mine in Brazill What about Globalization gap Large multinationals adn industrilizednaitons gaining disporoportinonally form globalization Globalization gap: Large multinational and industrialized nations gaining disproportionally from Globalization Some MNC complaints about host countries MNC Complaints about host countries: Profiit limitations Laws and regulations Overpirce resources Exploitative rules Foreign exchange restriction Failure to uphold contracts Mutual benefits for host countries and multinational companies Mutual benefits for host country and global corporation of MNC: Shared growth opportunities Shared income opportunities Shared learning opportunities Share development opportunities Develop projects together What are some of the ethical challenges for global business Ethincal challenges for global business Child labour Employmnet of children for worl otherwise done by adults Sweatshops Employment of workers at very low wages for long hours in poor working conditions Ex: Nike bad labour prices Unsafe working conditions Corruption Illegal practices that further one’s business interests Corrupiotn of froeign public officials Act makes it illegal for Candain firms and their representatives to engage in corrupt practices overseas Bribes to foreign officials Excessive commissions Non-monetary gifts Sweatshops Conflict materials What is culture Culture : The shared set of beliefs, values, and patterns of behvaiourr common to a group of people Food preferences Values and traditions Language and beliefs Religion Art music Life style Hofstede defines culture as: “The collectiv programing of teh mind distinguishing the members of one group or category of people from others” What is culture shock Culture Shock: Confusion and discoumfert a person experiences in an unfaamiliar culture Stages to adjusting to a new culture Confusion Small vitorires The honeymoon Irritation and anger Reality Cultural Intelligence The ability to adapt and adjust to new cultures What is Ethnocentrism Tendency to consider one’s own culture as superior others Slinet languages of culture Contect Low context High context Space Proxemics Ex: personal space Time Monochronic Polychronic High and low contexts cultures Edward T.Hall (1959) Def: Part of a discourse that surround a word or passage and can throw on its meaning Low context cultures Emphizes communication via spoken or written words Countries like United States, Canada and Germany High context cultures Rely on nonverbal and situational cues as well as on spoken or written works Thailand Malaysia Time Monochronic cultures People tend to do one thing at a time Canda Polychronic cultures Time is used to accomplish many different things at once Egypt Space Proxemics Study of how people use space to communicate In North American people value “personal space’ Many Latin and Asian cultures expect much less personal space Tight and Loose Cultures Cultural tightness-looseness Tight = Strength of norms that govern social behvaviour Japan, Korea, Malaysia Loose = tolerance for any deviation from norms Australia, Brazil, Hungary Values and national cultures (Hofstede) Power distance Uncertainty avoidance Individalism-collectivism Masculinity-femininty Time Orientation Indulgence vs. Restraint Comparative management How management pratices systematically differ among countries and /or cultures Intercultural competencies Skills and personal characteristics that help us be successful in cross cultural situations Global Managers (know how to adapt) Need to successfully apply management functions across interantional boundaries Global Learning goals Not universal Engage critical thinking Look everywhere for new management ideas Always consider culture

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

How good is your game knowledge?

How good is your knowledge?

How Good is Your Memory?

Soon computers and other machines will be able to remember you by looking at your eyes! The programme works because everyone’s eyes are different. So in the future you won’t have to remember a number when you want to use a machine or take money out of a bank. You’ll just have to look at the machine and it will be able to tell who you are. The eye-recognition（识别）programme is already being tested in shops and banks in the USA, Britain, Spain, Italy and Turkey. Soon, this technology will take the place of all other ways of finding out who people are. However, scientists are working on other systems. Machines will soon be able to know you from the shape of your face or hand or even your smell! We already have machines that can tell who you are from your voice or the mark made by your finger. Eye-recognition is better than other kinds because your eyes don’t change as you get older, or get dirty like hands or fingers. And even twins have different eyes, so the programme can be up to 94％ correct, depending on how good the technology is. Some programmes may only be right 51％ of the time. In Britain, it was found that 91％ of people who had tried it said that they liked the idea of eye-recognition. In the future your computer will be looking at you in the eye. So smile!

Cindy: Good morning, Sam! How are you today? Sam: I am very happy. It’s summer and my birthday is coming. Cindy: When is your birthday, Sam? Sam: My birthday is on July 12th. I will be seven years old. Cindy: What do you do on your birthday? Sam: I always have a picnic with my family. Sam: Do you want to come to my birthday party? Cindy: I can’t. I’m sorry. We are going hiking that day.

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