This Sounds - cr blend + 1 and 2 nouns

There are two numbers you need to know about climate change. The first is 51 billion. The other is zero. Fifty-one billion is how many tons of greenhouse gases the world typically adds to the atmosphere every year. This is where we are today. Zero is what we need to aim for. To stop the warming and avoid the worst effects of climate change, humans need to stop adding greenhouse gases to the atmosphere. This sounds difficult, because it will be. Every country will need to change its ways. Virtually every activity in modern life – growing things, making things, getting around from place to place – involves releasing greenhouse gases, and as time goes on, more people will be living this modern lifestyle. That’s good, because it means their lives are getting better. Yet if nothing else changes, the world will keep producing greenhouse gases, climate change will keep getting worse, and the impact on humans will be catastrophic. But “if nothing else changes” is a big If. I believe that things can change. We already have some of the tools we need, and as for those we don’t yet have, we can not only invent, but also deploy them, and, if we act fast enough, avoid a climate catastrophe. Two decades ago, I would never have predicted that one day I would be talking in public about climate change. My background is in software, not climate science. Things changed for me when I met with two former Microsoft colleagues who were starting non-profits focused on energy and climate. They brought along two climate experts who were well versed in the issues, and the four of them showed me the data connecting greenhouse gas emissions to climate change. I kept learning everything I could about climate and energy, agriculture, oceans, sea levels, glaciers, power lines, and more. One thing that became clear to me was that our current sources of renewable energy – wind and solar, mostly – could make a big dent in the problem, but we weren’t doing enough to deploy them. It also became clear why, on their own, they aren’t enough to get us all the way to zero. The wind doesn’t always blow and the sun doesn’t always shine. Within a few years, I had become convinced of three things: 1. To avoid a climate disaster, we have to get to zero. 2. We need to deploy the tools we already have, like solar and wind, faster and smarter. 3. We need to create breakthrough technologies that can take us the rest of the way.

Make a vocabulary quiz with below.Crisis: a very difficult situation or emergency; “Investors are worried that continuing problems in the stock market might lead to another financial crisis.” Short-staffed: not having enough employees or workers; “We laid off dozens of employees to save money, but now we’re short-staffed and can’t fill orders quickly.” To drive someone nuts: to make someone upset or annoyed; “The autocorrect feature on my mobile phone really drives me nuts.” To arise: to happen or start to develop, especially for problems or situations; “Problems arose for the developers when local residents voted against construction of the new shopping mall.” To moan: to complain about something, especially in a way that bothers other people; “Every Monday morning my colleagues moan about having to come to the office so early.” Optimism: the feeling or belief that good things will happen; “Analysts are expressing optimism that the real estate market will bounce back quickly.” Pessimism: the tendancy or belief that the worst will happen. “Now is not the time for pessimism, we need to believe we can do this or we will fail.” Hurdle: a problem that must be overcome or dealt with in order to reach a goal or do something; “Lack of capital is a major hurdle for many young entrepreneurs with good business ideas.” © 2013 All rights reserved: www.businessenglishpod.com 2 To give up: to stop trying to do or achieve something; “After being rejected by over a dozen universities, Roger gave up on his plans to study for an MBA.” To keep your eye on the prize: to stay motivated and focused on your final goal or reward; “Okay folks, I know things have been really busy, but let’s keep our eye on the prize and we’ll get this done before Christmas.” Down the road: in the future; “Sales our good in our retail outlets, but 10 years down the road we’re going to have to be more competitive in the online market.” To overcome: to deal with a problem successfully; “You are going to have to overcome your lack of confidence if you want to be a good salesman.” Decisiveness: having the ability to make decisions and act firmly. “Decisiveness is a quality we look for in new managers.” Bumpy: we can use “bumpy” to describe a road or process that has many problems; “We had a pretty bumpy start-up phase, but we finally managed to turn a profit in our fifth year of operations.” To display: to show a feeling, emotion, or characteristic; “David displayed tremendous preparation and diplomacy during the negotiations.” On the fence: someone who is “on the fence” is having difficulty making a decision or taking a position; “While the executives support expansion wholeheartedly, the shareholders are still on the fence about it.” All-in: in poker, if you are “all-in” you put all your money on one bet, but we can use this expression more generally to say you are completely committed to something, especially a plan; “This sounds like a good idea, but before I go all-in I need to know more about the project partners.” To have what it takes: to have the ability or intelligence to do something; “I thought I’d enjoy law, but after a few years as a junior lawyer I realized I don’t really have what it takes.

Can you create an evaluation using this information PHONETICS VS. PHONOLOGY Whereas phonetics is the study of sounds that occur in language, phonology is the study of how these sounds are organized and how they function in language. It uses the classifications of sounds derived from phonetics to describe and analyze how sounds occur in speech. STRUCTURALIST PHONEMICS STRUCTURALIST PHONEMICS As linguists began to study sounds in fine detail, they recognized increasingly complex aspects of phonetic organization. For example, the sound /p/ appears in different varieties in English. STRUCTURALIST PHONEMICS One of the varieties of /p/ is indicated by [ph]. This sound is produced with an accompanying puff of air called aspiration, as in the words “pill,” and “peace.” Another sound, indicated by [p•], is produced when there is little or no aspiration; this sound occurs in a word like “spill.” A third major variety for the /p/ sound is the unreleased [p– ], which may occur at the end of a word like “stop.” To deal with these variations for the /p/ sound, the structuralists suggested the existence of an abstract unit which they termed a phoneme. STRUCTURALIST PHONEMICS A phoneme was defined by the structuralists as an abstract phonological unit that represents a class of real sounds, termed the allophones of a phoneme. The phoneme /p/ in English, then, is represented by the allophones [ph], [p•], and [p– ]. STRUCTURALISTS: MINIMAL PAIRS How do we know what these abstract units of sound called phonemes are? In order to find the phonemes of a language, the structuralists developed the concept of the minimal pair, defined as any two words that: a) Contain the same number of segments b) Differ in meaning c) Exhibit only one phonetic difference. STRUCTURALISTS: MINIMAL PAIRS In practical terms, phonemes distinguish meanings; and a phoneme can also be defined as the smallest meaning-distinguishing unit of sound. For instance, the words “pin” /pɪn/ and “bin” /bɪn/ mean different things, and the only one difference in these words occurs in the initial sounds. STRUCTURALISTS: MINIMAL PAIRS By using the concept of a minimal pair, we can determine that the three variations of the /p/ sound do not represent three phonemes. Certainly, it is possible to pronounce the word cap with either an aspirated [ph ] or unreleased [p– ]; however, the two forms [kæph ] and [kæp– ] are not a minimal pair, even though they involve different sounds, because they are identical in meaning. STRUCTURALISTS: FREE VARIATION The two forms [kæph ] and [kæp– ] are, therefore, said to exhibit free variation: that is, the pronunciation may vary without signifying a change in meaning. In other words, we may conclude that the unreleased [p– ] and the aspirated [ph ] are not representations of different phonemes in English; they are, in fact, allophones of one phoneme, /p/. STRUCTURALISTS: COMPLEMENTARY DISTRIBUTION When phonemes have more than one allophone in a language, the allophones are said to be in complementary distribution. Complementary distribution means that the allophones of a phoneme occur in different phonetic environments (that is, with different sounds surrounding them). TRANSFORMATIONAL- GENERATIVE PHONOLOGY TRANSFORMATIONAL-GENERATIVE PHONOLOGY Transformational-generative phonology is a relatively recent development in linguistic theory. Chomsky launched Transformational-Generative Grammar in 1957, but the earliest studies within this framework were largely concerned with syntax. A decade later, the first comprehensive transformational-generative treatment of English phonology appeared: Chomsky and Halle’s The Sound Pattern of English (1968). TRANSFORMATIONAL-GENERATIVE PHONOLOGY Transformational-generative phonologists strongly oppose the structuralists’ phonemic level. They replace this level by a series of rules that directly relate underlying representations to observed phonetic representations. The central mechanisms in transformational-generative phonology, then, are underlying representations and phonological rules. PHONOLOGICAL RULES A rule is an operational statement in which some linguistic entity is modified, resulting in a new linguistic entity. Rules may add elements, remove elements, or change elements. By using phonological rules, linguists attempt to demonstrate that there is order in linguistic phenomena and that linguistic patterns are systematic. PHONOLOGICAL DERIVATION A phonological derivation is an operation that begins with an underlying representation and, through the application of a set of specific rules, yields the actual sound the speaker produces. The representation of a phonological rule has the following general appearance. /A/ → [B] / C “A” changes to “B” under condition “C” PHONOLOGICAL RULE – EXAMPLE In most Southern dialects, the word ten is pronounced like the word tin. This is not an isolated fact, for den is pronounced like din and Ben is pronounced like bin, and so on. This very general fact can be represented by the phonological rule: /ɛ/ → [I] / ___ [n] den /dɛn/ → /dIn/ Ben /bɛn/ → /bIn/ ten /tɛn/ → /tIn/ /ɛ/ → [I] / ___ [n] - high - low - tense + front + high - tense + front + sonorant + anterior + coronal - continuant NOTATIONAL DEVICES IN PHONOLOGICAL RULES The statement of phonological rules can be complex, and linguists have developed several notational devices for writing them. Often, the following symbols will be necessary for stating the conditions under which rules apply: # indicates a word boundary + indicates an intraword boundary $ indicates a syllable boundary UNDERLYING REPRESENTATIONS AND RELATED ISSUES The transformational-generative description of phonology relates underlying representations to phonetic representations by rules. This can be represented in a simple example: In English, there are certain pairs of words like sign / signature, and malign / malignant that exhibit a regular alternation in their phonetic representations: [g] is present in the second member of the pairs but absent in the first member. UNDERLYING REPRESENTATIONS AND RELATED ISSUES To explain the relatedness of words such as sign / signature, we could claim that the underlying representation of the segment in all such pairs is /g/ and that a rule operates to delete /g/ before syllable-final nasals. Thus, the rule “/g/ is deleted before syllable-final nasal” would appear formally as: + voice - anterior →∅ ____ [+ nasal] $ - coronal UNDERLYING REPRESENTATIONS AND RELATED ISSUES On the left-hand side of the arrow, we place the features needed to uniquely specify /g/ among the consonants; that is, no other consonant has the features [+ voice], [- anterior], and [- coronal]. The symbols → mean that the sound /g/ changes to nothing or more properly “/g/ is deleted.” The horizontal line following the slash mark refers to the position of /g/ - namely, before a segment that is [+nasal]. Finally, this [+nasal] segment occurs before a syllable boundary, as indicated by $. A less formal way of writing this rule would be: /g/ → / _ [+nasal] $ Notice that this rule also helps describe such alternations as phlegm/phlegmatic and paradigm/paradigmatic. Application Activity: Think of other words in which this rule can be applied. Write the sound segments to prove /g/ is deleted. Another example is the process through which the prefix meaning “not” is added to words. This prefix alternates among the forms /Im/, /In/, and /Iŋ/, depending on the point of articulation of the initial segment of the following word. -If the segment begins in the extreme front part of the mouth (labials), the form is /Im/, as in improper. -If the segment begins in the extreme back part of the mouth (velars), the form is /Iŋ/, as in incomplete. -If the segment begins in the mid-region of the mouth (all other sounds), the form is /In/, as in indecent. *Exceptions:Words beginning with /r/ or /l/. Analyze the Word “in + complete,” for example. /n/ → [ŋ] / __ [k] - continuant - continuant - continuant + sonorant → + sonorant - sonorant + anterior - anterior - strident + coronal - coronal - coronal + tense THE VELAR SOFTENING RULE Still another example of alternation in English is found in pairs of words like “electric / electricity,” in which the segments /k/ and /s/ alternate. /k/ changes to [s] only before non- low, front vowels. THE VELAR SOFTENING RULE /k/ → [s] / __ - continuant + continuant - strident → - sonorant V - anterior + anterior - low - coronal + coronal - back

“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.”

Why the Sun and Moon Live in the Sky This play is based on an African folktale that tells how the moon and sun ended up in the sky. Characters: Narrator Sun Moon, Sun's Wife Water Narrator: Long ago, Sun, Moon, and Water lived together on Earth. (Sun and Moon are eating breakfast at home.) Sun: I will visit my good friend Water today. Moon: That sounds enjoyable, but why doesn't Water ever visit us? Do you feel ashamed or embarrassed to invite Water here? Sun: No, I am proud of our house. I will invite Water today! (Sun visits Water at the beach.) Sun: Water, why don't you ever visit us? Water: Your house can't hold me and my family. Sun: That's nonsense! Moon and I will enlarge our house, so there will be plenty of room for everyone! Water: Then I will visit you. Sun: Wonderful! Please holler loudly, so I hear you when you arrive. Now I must dash home quickly to start the work. (Sun rushes home.) Narrator: Sun and Moon raced to make their home larger. They added rooms and raised the roof higher. The new house was completely different and had no similarities to their old home. They felt it was a victory, or a win, for now their friend could visit. Water: Sun and Moon, I have arrived! Sun: Isn't this the largest home you've seen? Moon: Sun, it's not polite to brag, so please don't boast to our guest. Water, come inside. Narrator: Water splashed through the door carrying colorful fish, frogs, and crabs. As the water began to rise, Sun and Moon climbed onto furniture. Then they scrambled onto the roof. Sun: Moon, I'm not sure about the wisdom of inviting Water. Perhaps this wasn't a smart idea! Moon: No, Sun, it was the right thing to do but we must fly to safety! Narrator: Sun and Moon flew to the sky, where they remain today and still shine down on Water.

Comprehension questions multiple choice for 5th grade English as a second language learners in hong kong on this text " My name is Humpty Dumpty this was my favorite spot high up on the wall I know it's an odd place for an egg to be but I loved being so close to the birds then one day I fell I'm sort of famous for that part folks called it the great fall which sounds a little grand it was just an accident but it changed my life fortunately all the king's men managed to put me back together well most of me there were some parts that couldn't be healed with bandages and glue after that day I became afraid of heights I was so scared that it kept me from enjoying some of my favorite things I walked past the wall every day I would think about climbing that ladder again I really missed the birds and being high above the city but I could never do it again because I knew that accidents can happen I eventually settled for watching the birds from the ground it wasn't the same but it was better than nothing then one day an idea flew by making planes was harder than I thought it was easy to get cuts and scratches but day after day I kept trying and trying until I got it just right my plane was perfect and it flew like nothing could stop it I hadn't felt that happy in a long time it wasn't the same as being up in the sky with the birds but it was close enough unfortunately accidents happen they always do I almost walked away again but then I thought about all the times I'd spent working on my plane and all the other things I'd missed I decided I was going to climb that wall but higher I got the more nervous I felt I didn't want to admit it I was terrified I didn't look up I didn't look down I just kept climbing one step at a time until I was no longer afraid maybe now you won't think of me as that egg who was famous for falling hopefully you'll remember me as the egg who got back up and learned how to fly life begins when you get back up"

UNIT 2: RULE 1: UNDERSTANDING NEUTRAL AND TENSE VOWELS UNIT OBJECTIVES: Understanding neutral and tense vowels The four main neutral vowel sounds: /ɪ/, /e/, /ə/, /ʌ/ and /ʊ/ 1. CONVERSATION We categorize vowels as either TENSE or NEUTRAL or sometimes we say RELAXED instead of the word neutral. When we say a vowel is tense, it means that our tongue is tense and sometimes our lips are also tense. In this lesson, you will learn more. For example, when I say /i/ or when I say /oʊ/, there’s a lot happening. My mouth's moving and it’s tense. When I say /ɪ/ or when I say /ə/, there’s not much happening in my mouth. /ɪ/, /ə/ my lips are relaxed and my tongue is relaxed in the back. One of the main problems that lea

Sam: Hello, Timmy. Do you have plans this weekend? Timmy: Yes, I do. I will go to my little sister's birthday party. Sam: When is her party? Timmy: It is on Saturday night at the ice rink. It will be fun! Sam: What about Sunday? Timmy: I will go to Grandpa's house on Sunday after I wake up. He will help me with my homework. Sam: Do you want to play soccer on Saturday before Emma's party? Timmy: Sure! That sounds like fun.

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