http://www.mediafire.com/?nwmgjwzmoy2

I recommend this book for those who are looking for an in depth and unadulterated tale of an economic hit man for an American consulting firm. This is a confessional of one man’s life lessons and choices which possibly affected millions world wide inside and outside the United States. His tale is touching and is often filled with remorse for the role he played in convincing “third world” countries to take loans they could not possibly ever pay back and in turn becoming enslaved to the United States. This book unfolds some frightening actions of how the US is and has been striving to become a vast empire with the aim to take control of the world not only through economics but force.

For a full summary please view the following Wikipedia link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confessions_of_an_economic_hitman

Change is on the way again and I need to embrace it.

With no sight of an end.

Many talks at night

Set my imagination and heart a flight.

Many days of conversations of caring,

Volleys of words and of sharing

My deepest desires of the world

My heart opened and uncurled.

To a person I can find strength in a hug

The one who makes my heart tug.

A solitary kiss

Makes the days set amiss

Go straight where they belong

Like the ending of a love song.

Although I may go off track a time or two

My thoughts and heart belong with you.

The tears I shed are like dew

My mind is unfettered and set anew.

With the sound of your resonating voice

Making you the easiest choice

To share my days of strife

Setting you apart from all other in life

You have set up a special place

In my heart with your handsome face.

There is gentleness in your demeanor

My heart feels much clearer

Offing me a place of rest

Making you the very best

For it is a hidden gentle heart

That makes me never want to part

Too far a distance or time

For in my eyes it would be a crime

To be away from you

With a heart so very true.

Looking for peace and solace

A place to rest growing gloom

Not expecting things to go amiss.

Inside I found a grinning heart

Resting upon shoulders of a man

Someone who left me puzzling a part

Opening doors to a new plan,

Leaving me breathless and off guard

Reeling with great bounds of fear

Trying to interpret fates cards

By bringing this creature so near,

Shining the greatest light, a friend

Setting loneliness and sorrow to an end.

I recently read this book for a theory class and was absolutely captivated by the story and characters. This book touches on a possible future after a terrorist attack  on the Bay Bridge in San Francisco. It specifically focuses on a 17 year-old boy, Marcus,  whom is wrongly and harshly interrogated by the Department of Homeland Security because of his hacker ways. The story is compelling since Marcus fights the system in an underground and subversive manner against the government. He fights the system and they aggressively fight back and label Marcus a terrorist himself.

Doctorow writes in such a way to fascinate the reader with techno-geek jargon and explains the merits of the technology, as well as the downfalls of technology in society. For those who are not technologically equipped, some research may be in order but it doesn’t take much to follow.

Cory_Doctorow_-_Little_Brother PDF Version

]]> http://thegreyheyday.wordpress.com/2009/10/22/little-brother-by-cory-doctorow/feed/ 0 jamigrey Little-Brother http://thegreyheyday.wordpress.com/2009/10/22/finished-sestina/ http://thegreyheyday.wordpress.com/2009/10/22/finished-sestina/#comments Fri, 23 Oct 2009 02:06:59 +0000 jamigrey http://thegreyheyday.wordpress.com/?p=73 ]]> There she sits quietly in a room
Ever playing the role of dutiful daughter.
Her jacket lies haphazardly across a chair,
Next to the oil paints and brush.
The daughter peers into the open book,
To find a picture of a leafless tree.

Oh, how she longs to be like that tree
Sitting out in a field with plenty of room,
Not stuffed in doors with her nose in a book.
She will not do this to her daughter.
She will be allowed to touch and brush
Her hair as she sits in a chair.

She will wiggle and fight in the chair,
Make it rock like wind in a tree
Paint the carpet like a canvas and brush,
Making everything alight in the room.
The prize of my life, my daughter.
Not just a girl pressed between pages of a book.

She is writing away in the page of her book
Not waiting until the end to lounge in the chair
But rather making the best of being a daughter.
Making her very own place in this room
Using her life as a paint that comes from the brush.

Paving the way and becoming that very brush,
That places the words in her life book.
Abandoning this very room,
Which is dominated by her mothers chair.
She is part of the family tree
But it does not dominate her by being a daughter.

If there is one lesson she has learned being a daughter
It is, her own choices on how to use the brush
And paint upon pages of a dead tree.
These pages will become part of the book,
Paving a path to her very own chair
Which has a home in the family room.

It is not just a room, for the dutiful daughter
But a chair to contemplate on and watch the brush
Make her own chapter of the book of her family tree.

Step One: Sketch

Step Two: Cut, Place & Seal

Step Three: Press (my fancy press system, gotta use those old cd cases for something)

Step Four: Finished Piece on my wall waiting for the boy to collect it.

]]> http://thegreyheyday.wordpress.com/2009/10/10/gamer-boy-art/feed/ 0 jamigrey scan0001 DSCN1286 DSCN1287 DSCN1289 http://thegreyheyday.wordpress.com/2009/10/07/beautiful-creature-or-beautiful-nuisance/ http://thegreyheyday.wordpress.com/2009/10/07/beautiful-creature-or-beautiful-nuisance/#comments Wed, 07 Oct 2009 03:17:44 +0000 jamigrey http://thegreyheyday.wordpress.com/?p=22 ]]> Canadian geese…beautiful creature or beautiful nuisance? They are seasonal migrating animals, in which they return to the same location year after year, generation after generation. They have landed in my presence.

Recently, these lovely little (not so little) birds have taken up residence on campus, almost in succession with students moving onto campus after a summer break. There are lovely water monuments throughout campus for the year round ducks and part-time Canadian geese to call home. Watching the geese and Mallards interact in the ponds is almost therapeutic, in comparison to the rush of running through campus to class, or jetting through parking lots walker stalking, for a prime parking slot. These breathtaking birds serve their purpose of offsetting the hustle and bustle of the everyday pandemonium we all participate in but definitely have their drawbacks.

As I rush around paths on campus throughout the week, I have noticed the emergence of “natural litter”, that was not present the last few weeks. I may be grasping at straws here, but the geese are leaving some major sidewalk landmines for me to dance around (hopefully not through for my shoes sake alone). Now I am just going to put this in print for everyone to read, I cannot dance. So I have found myself bobbing and weaving around enormous piles of geese droppings. And looking about in hopes no one see me in my jolly jaunts around campus.  I, however  noticed today others are doing the same jig as me, and by the looks on their faces they are just as disgusted as myself by this.

Now does the beauty of nature outweigh the cleanliness of my shoes? The signs point to yes on campus. I don’t see signs for Pâté foie de gras fete or goose roastings (where we of course, makes jokes at their expense, listen to their honking laughter and then feast upon them. Really, this is an honor). So, I suppose I have to just pay attention, wear old shoes to dance across campus in until the geese go back to their home country to the north in time for hockey season to start.

There she sits quietly in a room
Ever playing the role of dutiful daughter.
Her jacket lies haphazardly across a chair,
Next to the oil paints and brush.
The daughter peers into the open book,
To find a picture of a leafless tree.

Oh, how she longs to be like that tree
Sitting out in a field with plenty of room,
Not stuffed in doors with her nose in a book.
She will not do this to her daughter.
She will be allowed to touch and brush
Her hair as she sits in a chair.

She will wiggle and fight in the chair,
Make it rock like wind in a tree
Paint the carpet like a canvas and brush,
Making everything alight in the room.
The prize of my life, my daughter.
Not just a girl pressed between pages of a book.