must/mustn't+words

“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.”

In his dark room he is finally alone with spools of suffering set out in ordered rows. The only light is red and softly glows, as though this were a church and he a priest preparing to intone a Mass. Belfast. Beirut. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass. He has a job to do. Solutions slop in trays beneath his hands, which did not tremble then though seem to now. Rural England. Home again to ordinary pain which simple weather can dispel, to fields which don’t explode beneath the feet of running children in a nightmare heat. Something is happening. A stranger’s features faintly start to twist before his eyes, a half-formed ghost. He remembers the cries of this man’s wife, how he sought approval without words to do what someone must and how the blood stained into foreign dust. A hundred agonies in black and white from which his editor will pick out five or six for Sunday’s supplement. The reader’s eyeballs prick with tears between the bath and pre-lunch beers. From the aeroplane he stares impassively at where he earns his living and they do not care.

Nowadays, millions of us are turning to chatbots for emotional support. But can AI ever be capable of empathy? What about the consequences of people seeking emotional support from machines that can only pretend to care? Can the rise of so-called empathetic AI change the way we understand empathy and interact with one another？ The researchers found that the empathiser must first be able to perceive how the other person is feeling. They must also be affected by those emotions, feel them to some degree themselves, and differentiate between themselves and the other person. On the first point, in recent years, AI-powered chatbots have made progress in their ability to read human emotions. Most chatbots are powered by large language models (LLMs) that work by predicting which words are most likely to appear together based on training data. In this way, LLMs like ChatGPT can seemingly identify our feelings and respond appropriately most of the time. But when it comes to the other criteria, AI still misses the mark in many ways. Empathy is interpersonal, with continued cues and feedback helping to strengthen the empathiser’s response. It also requires some degree of intuitive awareness of an individual and their situation. Consider someone who cries while telling a doctor she is pregnant. If we know her history of trying for years to be pregnant, we can imagine that her tears mean something different than, say, if she didn’t want to have kids. Current AIs are incapable of understanding that kind of slight difference in emotion . The big question is whether AI can truly feel human emotions. Some think AIs might one day share our feelings. One approach is to continue enlarging LLMs with ever vaster and more diverse data and integrate multimodal data like facial expressions and voice. By doing this, AI may develop emotional capabilities. Currently, simple versions of these emotion-reading robots already exist. Yet, some scholars argue that you can’t really know what sadness is unless you have felt sad. “You need to have emotions to experience empathy,” says psychologist Michael Inzlicht at the University of Toronto in Canada. Genuine empathy emerges from social interactions and recognizing other minds - a complete phenomenon requiring consciousness , something AI lacks now and likely always will.

What is the page mainly about? (Answer: C — Homes meet a basic need) A) House colors B) Old buildings C) Homes meet a basic need ✓ D) Travel What basic need do homes give? (Answer: B — Shelter) A) Food B) Shelter ✓ C) Clothes D) Money What does “basic need” mean here? (Answer: C — Something people must have to live) A) Something nice to have B) A school rule C) Something people must have to live ✓ D) A weekend plan Homes keep people ______ and ______. What are the two words from the page? (Answer: B — dry / safe) A) rich / tall B) dry / safe ✓ C) loud / fast D) clean / funny What else are homes for, according to the text? (Answer: B — Eating, sleeping, and being with family and friends) A) Shopping B) Eating, sleeping, and being with family and friends ✓ C) Driving D) Fighting What does the heading “Meeting our needs” tell you? (Answer: B — explains how homes fit the local climate) A) A joke is coming B) This part explains how homes fit the local climate ✓ C) It is a story D) It lists prices What does “climate” mean on this page? (Answer: C — the usual weather of a place) A) Yesterday’s forecast B) A big storm C) The usual weather of a place ✓ D) Room temperature Which roof is best for cold, snowy places? (Answer: D — Slanted) A) Flat B) Dome C) Glass D) Slanted ✓ Why is a slanted roof helpful in snowy places? (Answer: B — snow slides off more easily) A) It is cheaper B) Snow slides off more easily ✓ C) Birds like it D) It is quieter Why do many houses in hot places have many windows? (Answer: B — to let air move through and keep people cool) A) To block all light B) To let air move through and keep people cool ✓ C) To make walls heavy D) To reduce street noise Which detail best supports “climate changes home design”? (Answer: C — Hot → many windows; Snowy → slanted roofs) A) People like blue walls B) Kitchens are big C) Hot → many windows; Snowy → slanted roofs ✓ D) Cities are crowded What does the caption about a traditional Japanese house show? (Answer: C — People sit on mats on the floor to eat) A) People eat outdoors B) Families don’t eat together C) People sit on mats on the floor to eat ✓ D) People stand to eat Which sentence is LEAST connected to the main idea of the page? (Answer: D — Blue walls are relaxing) A) Homes protect people from weather B) Roofs can change with climate C) Windows help rooms stay cool D) Blue walls are relaxing ✓ Which text structure organizes the right paragraph? (Answer: C — Cause–effect) A) Timeline B) Problem–solution C) Cause–effect ✓ D) Description only What is the author’s purpose? (Answer: B — to explain how homes meet a human need) A) To sell houses B) To explain how homes meet a human need ✓ C) To tell a funny story D) To give building laws What can you guess about a flat roof in a snowy place? (Answer: B — snow can pile up and be unsafe) A) Best choice B) Snow can pile up and be unsafe ✓ C) Always cheaper D) Warmer in summer Which page feature helps you find ideas quickly? (Answer: C — Headings and photo captions) A) Rhyme B) Dialogue C) Headings and photo captions ✓ D) Footnotes Which sentence is the best summary of the page? (Answer: C — Homes give shelter; designs change with climate) A) Houses are beautiful in winter B) People prefer bright colors C) Homes give shelter; designs change with climate (slanted roofs, many windows) ✓ D) Windows are the most important part True/False or Short Answer (5) True/False: All homes have the same purpose, even if they look different. (Answer: True) True/False: In hot places, houses usually have fewer windows to keep heat in. (Answer: False — hot places → many windows for airflow/cooling) Short Answer (1–3 words): Homes provide shelter to keep people _____ and _____. (Answer: dry; safe) Short Answer (one example): Write one climate → design pair from the page. (Answer: cold/snowy → slanted roof OR hot → many windows) True/False: The photo shows people in Japan eating on mats on the floor. (Answer: True)

Rules for this Class 1. Respect yourself, your classmates and your teacher. Refrain from using inappropriate language. Keep your hands to yourself. Raise your hand to speak. Listen to others and respect what they have to say. 2. Uniforms Must be worn at all times, you will not be allowed to enter class without one. Students will be sent to Jose or Maria to receive a uniform. 3. Seating Sit in the front of the class unless there are no available seats and sit in assigned seats. 4. Cleanliness Always clean up after yourself and return all borrowed items back to their rightful place. 5. Technology Protocols: Do not use the laptop other than for classwork. Use of Headphones and Phones are forbidden. 6. Materials for class Always come to class prepared with a notebook, folder, pens or pencil. 7. Plagiarism Copying other people’s work is forbidden. You must cite Direct Quotes or paraphrase words that aren’t your own. Colleges will suspend you for cheating. 8. Bathroom No Bathroom or Water the first ten minutes and last ten minutes of class. Students must sign the bathroom log before leaving and after they come back. 9. Always be engaged during class time. Participation Classwork Working with others 10. Follow Directions Always listen for directions or read the direction on the smartboard as well as your worksheet for directions.

Auteur Theory is a way of looking at films that state that the director is the “author” of a film. A film is a reflection of the director’s artistic vision; so, a movie directed by a given filmmaker will have recognizable, recurring themes and visual queues that inform the audience who the director is (think a Hitchcock or Tarantino film) and shows a consistent artistic identity throughout that director’s filmography. The 3 Components of Auteur Theory Andrew Sarris, film critic for The New York Times, expanded on Truffaut’s writing and set out a more comprehensive definition for auteurs according to three main criteria: technical competence, distinguishable personality, and interior meaning. 1. Technical competence: Auteurs must be at the top of their craft in terms of technical filmmaking abilities. Auteurs always have a hand in multiple components of filmmaking and should be operating at a high level across the board. 2. Distinguishable personality: What separates auteurs from other technically gifted directors is their unmistakable personality and style. When looking at an auteur’s collected works, you can generally see shared filming techniques and consistent themes being explored. One of the primary tenets of auteur theory is that auteurs make movies that are unmistakably theirs. This is in sharp contrast with the standard studio directors of the era who were simply translating script to screen with little interrogation of the source material or editorial input. 3. Interior meaning: Auteurs make films that have layers of meaning and have more to say about the human condition. Films made by auteurs go beyond the pure entertainment-oriented spectacles produced by large studios, to instead reveal the filmmakers unique perspectives and ruminations on life. https://www.masterclass.com/articles/film-101-what-is-an-auteur#3ClNjwO6Gkgjd8ix2Cm5qI Who is the author of a TV program? It seems like it ought to be an easy question to answer, but it is not. There are, of course, scriptwriters, who are the literal authors of episodes in the sense of generating words that an actor eventually speaks, but in a soap opera or a sitcom there may be a dozen or more scriptwriters working on dialogue as the months go by. Is any one of them truly responsible for the overall tenor of the show, or are they just following rigid guidelines set down by other scriptwriters ahead of them? And the script is just the blueprint of an episode anyway. Actors, production designers, directors, videographers, editors, and on and on, are all necessary to construct an episode from that blueprint. Should we call one of them the author? And, at a more basic level, should we even bother looking for authors in television? Do viewers need to know who created a program in order to enjoy it? What does it add to our appreciation or understanding of television if we assign authorship of a program to an individual? In the closely related medium of the cinema, questions such as these have been answered by the auteur theory, which stems from the French word for “author,” auteur. Its basic precept is that a single individual is, and should be, the “author” of a work in order for it to be a good, artistically valuable work. A book, poem, film, or television show should express this individual’s personality, his “vision” (the masculine pronoun is significant; auteurist studies almost all focus on men). This notion stems from the nineteenth-century Romantic image of the author as a figure who sits alone in a dingy room, scratching out angst-ridden poems with a quill pen. The tormented, misunderstood author or artist is a cherished character type that can be traced back to the poet Lord Byron (1788–1824) and observed in numerous portrayals of demented painters, musicians, and writers in television programs and other media. Consider this: Have you ever seen or read a story about a creative person who wasn’t somehow strange or crazy? The auteur theory originated in French film criticism of the 1950s, where it was initially theorized that auteurs could be drawn from the ranks of producers, directors, scriptwriters, actors, and other filmmaking personnel.1 However, the vast bulk of auteurist film criticism has been about directors: Alfred Hitchcock, John Ford, and Quentin Tarantino, among many others.

SPANISH STUDENTS 10/22/25 In the sentence 'The author chose to juxtapose the wealthy neighborhood with the impoverished area to highlight social inequality,' what does 'juxtapose' most likely mean based on context clues? * 1 point to separate completely to describe in detail to criticize harshly to place side by side for comparison When reading 'This paradox confused everyone: the more he tried to save time, the less time he seemed to have,' what can you infer about a paradox? * 1 point a mathematical equation a simple solution a type of poem a contradictory statement that reveals truth The passage states: 'The author's use of symbolism was evident when the broken mirror represented the character's shattered dreams.' Based on this context, symbolism involves: * 1 point using objects to represent deeper meanings creating rhyming patterns writing in chronological order using literal descriptions only In the text 'Please elaborate on your answer by providing specific examples and detailed explanations,' the word 'elaborate' suggests the need to: * 1 point use simpler words change the topic add more detail make it shorter The critic wrote: 'The actor's performance captured every nuance of emotion, from subtle sadness to barely contained rage.' What does 'nuance' refer to in this context? * 1 point subtle variations in meaning simple emotions loud expressions obvious differences When the text says 'The implication of her silence was clear to everyone in the room, though she never spoke a word,' what does 'implication' mean? * 1 point a command given a direct statement a question asked a conclusion drawn indirectly The scientist stated: 'Based on our limited observations, our hypothesis suggests that plants grow faster with classical music.' What is a hypothesis? * 1 point a type of experiment a proven fact a final conclusion a possible explanation needing more evidence In 'Three witnesses were able to corroborate the defendant's alibi, strengthening his case significantly,' the word 'corroborate' most likely means: * 1 point to question or doubt to confirm or support to change the story to ignore completely The passage reads: 'The student needed to justify her controversial thesis with solid evidence and logical reasoning.' What does 'justify' mean here? * 1 point to make it longer to make excuses for to avoid explaining to prove something is reasonable When the text states 'The researcher was able to synthesize information from five different studies to create a comprehensive theory,' what does 'synthesize' involve? * 1 point copying one source exactly combining multiple sources to create something new rejecting all previous research focusing on only one idea When a reader encounters 'The symbolism in the novel was complex, with the recurring image of doors representing new opportunities throughout the story,' they should: * 1 point memorize all symbols skip symbolic passages look for deeper representational meanings focus only on the literal meaning If a teacher says 'Your essay needs more elaboration - expand on your main points with examples and analysis,' what critical thinking skill is being requested? * 1 point developing ideas with supporting details summarizing briefly using fewer examples changing the topic entirely In the passage 'The dark clouds gathering on the horizon seemed to foreshadow the troubles that would soon befall the village,' what literary technique is being demonstrated? * 1 point The author is using environmental details to hint at future plot developments The author is focusing on realistic weather descriptions The author is using weather to predict actual meteorological events The author is describing a coincidental weather pattern When analyzing 'Sarah knew the antagonist in her favorite novel wasn't just evil—he represented the fear of change that many people experience,' what deeper understanding about antagonists is revealed? * 1 point Antagonists are always completely evil characters Antagonists can represent abstract concepts or human struggles Antagonists must be human characters Antagonists only exist to create action scenes In the sentence 'The protagonist's journey wasn't just about reaching the destination—it was about discovering who she truly was,' what does this suggest about effective protagonists? * 1 point Protagonists must always succeed in their missions Protagonists should remain unchanged throughout the story Protagonists undergo both external and internal development Protagonists should focus only on external goals When the text states 'The word 'home' carried different connotations for each character—warmth and safety for some, confinement and obligation for others,' what critical reading skill is being highlighted? * 1 point Memorizing dictionary definitions Understanding that words have only one correct meaning Identifying grammatical structures Recognizing that word meanings can vary based on personal experience In 'While the denotation of 'snake' is simply a reptile, the author's use of it to describe the character suggests something far more sinister,' what analytical skill is required? * 1 point Understanding reptile biology Memorizing animal classifications Distinguishing between literal and figurative meanings Identifying sentence structure When examining 'The author's tone shifted from hopeful in the opening chapters to increasingly cynical as the story progressed,' what does this reveal about sophisticated writing? * 1 point Tone is unimportant in storytelling Tone changes reflect the author's developing attitude toward the subject Only the ending tone matters Authors should maintain the same tone throughout In analyzing 'The theme of the novel wasn't stated directly but emerged through the characters' repeated struggles with moral choices,' what does this demonstrate about themes? * 1 point Themes develop through patterns in the narrative Themes are only found in the conclusion Themes should always be explicitly stated Themes must be simple moral lessons When the passage reads 'From the character's nervous glances and hesitant speech, readers can infer that she's hiding something important,' what critical thinking process is being described? * 1 point Following explicit plot statements Memorizing character descriptions Making random guesses about character motivations Using textual evidence to draw logical conclusions In 'The ending was deliberately ambiguous, allowing readers to decide whether the character's actions were heroic or selfish,' what does this suggest about sophisticated literature? * 1 point Good stories always have clear, definitive endings Unclear endings indicate poor writing Ambiguity can enhance reader engagement and interpretation Authors should avoid confusing readers When analyzing 'The controversial decision to ban the book sparked debates about censorship versus protecting young readers,' what critical thinking skill is most important? * 1 point Choosing one side immediately Examining multiple perspectives before forming an opinion Avoiding difficult topics entirely Following popular opinion In 'Each character's perspective on the same event revealed how personal experiences shape our understanding of truth,' what deeper concept is being explored? * 1 point All perspectives are equally valid Perspective is unimportant in understanding events There is only one correct way to view any situation Personal background influences how we interpret events When the text states 'The community proved resilient, rebuilding not just their homes but their hope after the disaster,' what does this reveal about the concept of resilience? * 1 point Resilience encompasses both practical and emotional recovery Resilience is an innate trait that cannot be developed Resilience means avoiding all difficulties Resilience only involves physical recovery In analyzing 'The author's portrayal of the character's empathy—her ability to understand her enemy's pain even while fighting him—added complexity to the conflict,' what does this suggest about empathy? * 1 point Empathy means agreeing with everyone Empathy makes people weak in conflicts Empathy should be avoided in difficult situations Empathy can coexist with opposition and create moral complexity When examining 'The character's integrity was tested when telling the truth would hurt people she loved,' what does this reveal about integrity? * 1 point Integrity means always following rules regardless of consequences Integrity means never causing any harm to others Integrity is only important in public situations Integrity involves making difficult moral choices even when costly In 'The student learned to advocate for her ideas by presenting evidence rather than just stating opinions,' what critical skill is being developed? * 1 point Supporting positions with logical reasoning and evidence Avoiding controversial topics entirely Learning to argue loudly and persistently Always agreeing with authority figures If you rewrote a scene from 'The Birchbark House' from Omakayas's grandmother's first-person perspective instead of Omakayas's, how would this most likely change the reader's understanding? * 1 point Nothing would change since they're both female characters The language would become more formal and difficult The story would become less interesting because adults are boring Readers would gain wisdom from experience but lose the innocence of childhood discovery In a plot diagram, the rising action serves which critical purpose beyond simply building toward the climax? * 1 point To provide background information about the setting To confuse readers so the ending is surprising To develop character relationships and establish stakes that make the climax meaningful To make the story longer and more detailed When analyzing the falling action in 'The Birchbark House,' which element would be most important to consider when writing an alternate version? * 1 point Whether the consequences of the climax align with the new direction you want the story to take Making sure it's shorter than the rising action Including a moral lesson for readers How quickly the conflicts get resolved In the exposition of a story, conflict serves which essential function that many readers don't realize? * 1 point To immediately grab attention with action scenes To provide comic relief before serious events To show off the author's writing skills To establish what the characters characterization/personality, which determines what they' must learn to overcome as they face more problems

What is an official invitation letter? The companies write a letter of invitation-business when they host business visitors from abroad or from the same region or country. The business visitors can be investors; potential buyers may be conference visitors, business partners, employees of any company, or mere individuals who come for training at the company’s facilities. If a company is inviting any visitor, a representative of that company must write the letter. Also, the firms must have some specific people who would sign the invitation letters. These letters are very much precise, only containing the necessary information. The invitation letter should state the name of the business organization they represent and their relationship to the host (e.g., distributor, regional sales reps, etc.). The letter should articulate the planned dates of travel, and must be formatted professionally. What is a personal invitation letter? A Personal invitation letter is a letter one writes to invite people to a party or a social gathering at a very personal level. It is a formal request asking for the person’s presence at the event that is going to take place. All the relevant details regarding the event like the reason, date, time and venue and the dress code, if any, must be provided in the invitation letters. This will keep the guests informed, and they will feel happy to attend the event. The style and tone of the letter would depend upon the relationship between the sender and receiver. Through the letter, you should be able to make the receiver feel that you highly value his/her presence at the party or the event. A personal invitation letter can be written to invite a person to a birthday party, wedding, conference, meeting, dinner, etc. Before writing the letter, make sure you have a list of people whom you would like to invite to the party or the event. How to Write an Invitation Letter Writing an invitation letter becomes easy and swift once you get through the tips and the format of the invitation letter provided below. Usually block, semi-block or a modified block format is used for official invitation letters. The important aspects of any invitation letters are date, time, salutations and closing. For more advice refer to the tips provided. Tips for Invitation Letter Writing ● Organize the Matter – Before you draft an invitation letter ensure that you have all the required material. This material refers to a list of the people to be invited, sequential order of the events, timings of the events, special guest, official documents, photocopies and any other required item. Some items may also need to be attached along with the letter, keep them alongside. Refer to these as and when required. All the relevant documents will help you in drafting the letter. ● Drafting – You don’t just write a letter straightway and post it. It has to be reviewed and finalized. One of these processes is drafting. Drafting ensures that your mistakes and their rectification aren’t passed on to the invitation itself. Make all the mistakes in the draft itself. Drafting an invitation letter is important as sometimes we may make mistakes that we are not able to see but they are visible to others. One may require a draft to be approved by seniors before it is finalized. A second opinion from a friend or peer etc. may be required as well to determine certain things. ● Politeness – You don’t need to be told that you have to use polite language while writing an invitation letter, why would you be rude when sending an invitation? True, but you have to remind yourself of certain manners and etiquettes required of an invitation. Your invitation is your initiative, not the recipients so you need to be gracious. Always begin the letter with a welcome note instead of straightforward information of the invitation. Words of respect and gratitude are symbols of courtesy and politeness, always expressing your gratitude in the beginning and the end of the letter. ● Positive Tone – The gesture of welcome and gratitude themselves are positive points of an invitation letter. Apart from these, gestures of appreciation and anticipation are other positive points which can persuade a guest to attend the event. When you show your appreciation and anticipation towards the recipient through your words, it is an acknowledgement of his importance and thereby a positive approach. Towards this effect two tenses are used within the invitation letter, the present and the future. The present tense conveys information about the event and the future tense conveys an anticipated presence of the guest. ● Offer Assistance – An invitation being the responsibility of the sender, the assistance to the recipient by default becomes a responsibility of the host. The more facilities you provide the better the chances of someone’s attendance. You can offer pick up and drop services, accommodation, meals, provide them contact numbers in case you are not present at the venue and other required assistance. Relevant facts like date, time and venue of the event in the beginning itself is itself assisting. These assistances encourage a positive response from the invitees. ● Special Instructions – Some occasions require special instructions for the guests. These instructions can be: 1. Dress code 2. Road or route map 3. Purpose of the occasion – birthday, honor, anniversary etc. 4. Return gift 5. Response or confirmation to the invitation 6. Attire and items required for the guest to bring 7. No eatables allowed 8. Entrance only by invitation 9. 2 people per pass 10. No weapons allowed ● Length of the Matter – A simple invitation letter will only contain only the relevant facts. A simple invitation letter features an introduction which allows the sender to introduce themselves and or the organization they represent. A simple background of the individual or company is enough. Though invitations are meant to be concise and straightforward, it isn’t necessary. You can vary the length as per your need and requirement. Wedding and party invitation letters are not lengthy as compared to visit and certain personal invitation letters. ● Using Letterhead – As a rule official Invitation letters require a letterhead. Letterhead represents the sender and its inclusion is authority established. If you have a pre printed letterhead then use that. Personal Invitation letters don’t require letterheads and one can use it as per one’s desire. ● Gesture of Appreciation – Next, the appreciation for the guest to attend an activity or event must be shown. This can be completed with a formal note, stating that you look forward to seeing the individual at the event. ● Don’t forget the Enclosure – Some requests require certain documents to be attached; these can be the photocopies of documents like agreements, hard copies of email received, earlier correspondence, receipts, warranty etc. Keep original copies of all your letters, faxes, e-mails, and other related documents. ● Closing the Letter – Start the letter with Gratitude and end it with the same. It is a professional and social courtesy. At the end of your last paragraph is written, a complimentary close of the likes of ‘Sincerely’, ‘Thank you’, ‘Truly’ is essential. Close the letter by restating your appreciation and gratitude. ● Proofreading – Check for - awkward phrases, grammatical errors, incomplete sentences and spelling mistakes. Fix them with appropriate punctuation and remove dull or lifeless sentences and replace them with clever phrasing, poetry or a themed approach. This is the final step; the draft will be reviewed and revised before it acquires a proper form. Read it aloud to yourself to figure out mistakes which are missed out in writing. ● Inform in Advance – Invitation letters need to be sent in advance. Try to send the invitation letter two weeks or more in advance. The recipient needs to know in advance so that they can adjust their schedules, book tickets or make other arrangements which are essential.

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