Out Of Copyright Quotes

People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you. You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity. Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head. You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don’t owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don’t even start asking for theirs.

I was once told I am being Arrogant as an Author just because I legally protect my books with copyrighting them and trademarking my titles and names. That's not being Arrogant. It's about being Smart. I went to law school And I'm married to a lawyer. It's ingrained in me to fight the sh*t out of protecting what is mine even if it is perceived as "arrogant". I'd rather be arrogant than stupid. - Strong by Kailin Gow

It’s better to have one huge filing with lots of detail, data, and use cases than a dozen failed filings of five to ten pages each. Minimum filing requirements are not minimum requirements to secure a patent. Who does your patent keep out, and how? Your goal in creating IP is for it to be valuable, to be connected to the company, to be linked to your products or service, and to keep out competitors.

If you drive God out the world then you create a howling wilderness.” (Copyright:www.changinglives.au.com)

Hiring is hard. Letting go is harder. It’s far easier to hire the right person from the start than to hire the wrong person, realize they’re a bad fit for your company, and then figure out how to let them go. When you know what you want in a new hire, the hard part gets easier. And when you know how to protect your IP, you don’t have to learn the hard lesson.

When the web started, I used to get really grumpy with people because they put my poems up. They put my stories up. They put my stuff up on the web. I had this belief, which was completely erroneous, that if people put your stuff up on the web and you didn’t tell them to take it down, you would lose your copyright, which actually, is simply not true. And I also got very grumpy because I felt like they were pirating my stuff, that it was bad. And then I started to notice that two things seemed much more significant. One of which was… places where I was being pirated, particularly Russia where people were translating my stuff into Russian and spreading around into the world, I was selling more and more books. People were discovering me through being pirated. Then they were going out and buying the real books, and when a new book would come out in Russia, it would sell more and more copies. I thought this was fascinating, and I tried a few experiments. Some of them are quite hard, you know, persuading my publisher for example to take one of my books and put it out for free. We took “American Gods,” a book that was still selling and selling very well, and for a month they put it up completely free on their website. You could read it and you could download it. What happened was sales of my books, through independent bookstores, because that’s all we were measuring it through, went up the following month three hundred percent. I started to realize that actually, you’re not losing books. You’re not losing sales by having stuff out there. When I give a big talk now on these kinds of subjects and people say, “Well, what about the sales that I’m losing through having stuff copied, through having stuff floating out there?” I started asking audiences to just raise their hands for one question. Which is, I’d say, “Okay, do you have a favorite author?” They’d say, “Yes.” and I’d say, “Good. What I want is for everybody who discovered their favorite author by being lent a book, put up your hands.” And then, “Anybody who discovered your favorite author by walking into a bookstore and buying a book raise your hands.” And it’s probably about five, ten percent of the people who actually discovered an author who’s their favorite author, who is the person who they buy everything of. They buy the hardbacks and they treasure the fact that they got this author. Very few of them bought the book. They were lent it. They were given it. They did not pay for it, and that’s how they found their favorite author. And I thought, “You know, that’s really all this is. It’s people lending books. And you can’t look on that as a loss of sale. It’s not a lost sale, nobody who would have bought your book is not buying it because they can find it for free.” What you’re actually doing is advertising. You’re reaching more people, you’re raising awareness. Understanding that gave me a whole new idea of the shape of copyright and of what the web was doing. Because the biggest thing the web is doing is allowing people to hear things. Allowing people to read things. Allowing people to see things that they would never have otherwise seen. And I think, basically, that’s an incredibly good thing.

Any files I give to the model are downsized (typically 800x1200 pixels)... By not giving out my high resolution files, they cannot be used without my knowledge.

He yanked his t-shirt out of his jeans, pulled a penknife out of his pocket, cut away the hem and pressed it against my temple. This must have meant he didn’t have tissues in the glove box.” Excerpt From: Ashley, Kristen. “Rock Chick Rescue.” Kristen Ashley. iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

If you’re not filing patents, but your competitors are, all you have is risk. You’re taking a huge chance that no one else will enter your space and kick you out. That’s the benefit of patents; you don’t have to let everybody in. You can let just a few major players in because you want what they have, or you don’t want to worry about them. Remember, you’re not at the big boys’ lunch table. But if you partner with their competitor, they’ll be worried. Then they’ll want to see if your patent protection is strong or if they can exploit a weakness.

Did you know that if you put a frog in boiling water, he’ll jump out? But, if you put one in cold water and heat it slowly, he’ll stay in. And boil to death. He won’t even try to get out. He won’t even know he’s dying. Until it’s too late. Men are a lot like frogs.” Excerpt From: Chase, Emma. “Tangled.” Omnific Publishing, 2013-05-21T05:00:00+00:00. iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

If someone contacts you and asserts that you’re infringing on their patent, you’ll need a lawyer to shield you from the accusation that you are willfully infringing. Never, ever respond yourself. At the same time, you’re not left with whatever your lawyer tells you to do. If you have patents of your own (which you should), disputes don’t have to come to litigation, damages, and bankruptcy. In my experience, the best way to settle IP infringement suits out of the courtroom is through cross-licensing—an agreement between all parties to give each other a license to use their patents.

It’s turbulence, for crying out loud. I refuse to die by cloud fart.” Excerpt From: Gregg, L.B. “How I Met Your Father.” L.B. Gregg, 2013-11-12T06:00:00+00:00. iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

We want no proofs. We ask none to believe us! This boy will some day know what a brave and gallant woman his mother is. Already he knows her sweetness and loving care. Later on he will understand how some men so loved her, that they did dare much for her sake.” Excerpt From: Stoker, Bram. “Dracula.” iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright. Check out this book on the iBookstore: https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/M...

Sam’s voice comes through the phone. “Hey—so, I’m not sure if I should do this … Or if it will even work. I probably should have said this to you over the phone, but we ran out of time. Or maybe, the truth is, I was scared you would think of me differently … That is, if you knew why I picked up the phone that first time—” He pauses. “Before we hung up, you said something that made me feel a bit guilty. You said I picked up your call that night because you needed me. I guess part of that is true. But that isn’t the reason I answered.” A long pause. “The truth is … I picked up because—because I needed you. I needed to hear your voice again, Julie. Because I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget me. You see, I took you to all those places—like the fields, to see the stars that night—so that you’d always remember. So that whenever you looked up at the sky at night, you’d think of me. Because I didn’t want to let you go yet. I never wanted to say good-bye, Jules. And I[…]” Excerpt From You've Reached Sam Dustin Thao This material may be protected by copyright.

Every time I go past a cinema and see a queue out the door, I think, look at those fools, every penny they spend is turned into profits that are used to pass laws imprisoning their own children. Can't they see?

Cixi was not at the coronation. The majestic main part of the Forbidden City was out of bounds to her – because she was a woman. She still could not set foot in it, even though she was now the de facto ruler. In fact, when her sedan-chair went within sight of it, she had to close the curtain and show humility by not looking at it. Virtually all decrees were issued in the name of her son, as Cixi had no mandate to rule. It was with this crippling handicap that she proceeded to change China.” Excerpt From: Chang, Jung. “Empress Dowager Cixi.” Random House, 2013-09-25T18:30:00+00:00. iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

I think we should permanently cut off the internet access of any company that sends out three erroneous copyright notices. Three strikes and you’re out, mate.

I must not wish you no pain, for that can never be, but I do hope you will be always as happy as I am now” Excerpt From: Stoker, Bram. “Dracula.” iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright. Check out this book on the iBookstore: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/drac...

Me" ( Notice Me) I was sent here on a journey that has no end. I hear you joke of going nowhere fast. Well, maybe life’s a joke and I’m the fool That dreams of being first but ends up last. Life’s a trial—a sentence I can’t escape. Confusion and desperation tear me down and turn to hate. There’s so much more to figure out, But it’s growing way too late. If I could answer half the questions in my mind, If I could find the place where I belong, If words were near as strong and deep as the wall of emotions I climb Then sorrow wouldn’t be so wrong. There’s no way to make you understand. An entire symphony could not play the broken notes in one child’s soul. That child screams and no one hears her, Until the tears have dried and now she’s just too old. I don’t want to hear the philosophies, the opinions, The remarks, the horrible reasonings. Words are to pad the mind and fight with the solitude of the heart. Still, silence chills to the bone and tears the soul apart. She never means to hurt or harm, only to belong. To find the truth ‘mid mortal lies, to sing her only song. But someday this race will end, and if she comes in last, I pray the first will look deeper than the others, smile, and then pass. "Copyright 1985

So I can finish this diary, and God only knows if I shall ever begin another. If I do, or if I even open this again, it will be to deal with different people and different themes, for here at the end, where the romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of my life-work, I say sadly and without hope, "FINIS".” Excerpt From: Stoker, Bram. “Dracula.” iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright. Check out this book on the iBookstore: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/drac...

It’s not just the music. When we develop a working AI or upload minds, we’ll need a way of defending it against legal threats. That’s what Gianni pointed out to me . . .

if he should come this very night I'd not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin', and death be all that we can rightly depend on” Excerpt From: Stoker, Bram. “Dracula.” iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright. Check out this book on the iBookstore: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/drac...

But I need to, I want to, tell you, that you coming back into my life is the greatest adventure that I have ever been on! And not because of the danger, not because of the uncertainty, none of that excites me... but because of the fact that in the midst of the worst storm, I came to know a person who makes my soul feel found, and home, and full, and seen, and heard. If I were to lay with you in a graveyard, buried by the Earth, I would still feel seen and heard and found and never forgotten. Because your bones would be with my bones. So I am thankful for the storm I've known because of you, because in the eye of that storm, we have been together. And it's not ideal and it's not what other people want and it's not even what we want for each other, but I feel that there is no such thing as a "wrong time", because there is Elohim who directs the timing of all things. And if I were to have never met you in the eye of the storm, I would have gone through a life missing out on something that I was born to know. You. (A Love Letter, Copyright ©️ 2019; C. JoyBell C.)

The Perfect Friend © Today I found a friend Who knew everything I felt She knew my every weakness And the problems I’ve been dealt She understood my wonders And listened to my dreams She listened to how I felt about life and love And knew what it all means Not once did she interrupt me Or tell me I was wrong She understood what I was going through And promised she'd stay long I reached out to this friend To show her that I care To pull her close and let her know How much I need her there I went to hold her hand To pull her a bit nearer And I realized this perfect friend I found Was nothing but a mirror Copyright © 1995 Shannen Wrass. All Rights Reserved

There it is coming out again, thought Lucy, the possessiveness of the Muirs with their "my...my...my," trying to force the world and everyone in it into their own pattern as if they had been given the copyright of living by God Himself.

Digital locks are roach motels: copyrighted works check in, but they don’t check out. Creators and investors lose control of their business—they become commodity suppliers for a distribution channel that calls all the shots. Anti-circumvention isn’t copyright protection: it’s middleman protection.

The whole tradition of [oral] story telling is endangered by modern technology. Although telling stories is a very fundamental human attribute, to the extent that psychiatry now often treats 'narrative loss' -- the inability to construct a story of one's own life -- as a loss of identity or 'personhood,' it is not natural but an art form -- you have to learn to tell stories. The well-meaning mother is constantly frustrated by the inability of her child to answer questions like 'What did you do today?' (to which the answer is usually a muttered 'nothing' -- but the 'nothing' is cover for 'I don't know how to tell a good story about it, how to impose a story shape on the events'). To tell stories, you have to hear stories and you have to have an audience to hear the stories you tell. Oral story telling is economically unproductive -- there is no marketable product; it is out with the laws of patents and copyright; it cannot easily be commodified; it is a skill without monetary value. And above all, it is an activity requiring leisure -- the oral tradition stands squarely against a modern work ethic....Traditional fairy stories, like all oral traditions, need the sort of time that isn't money. "The deep connect between the forests and the core stories has been lost; fairy stories and forests have been moved into different categories and, isolated, both are at risk of disappearing, misunderstood and culturally undervalued, 'useless' in the sense of 'financially unprofitable.

Time Out To Cry © All alone at the end of the day The time, just a little past ten Evening has come for a short stay It’s time for her sorrow again The smile on her face she’s been holding Suddenly, she lets fall And the feelings begin unfolding She comes out of her personal wall As the world settles down for the night She awakens herself from a dream And the girl they all thought had her life going right Is no longer the image she’d seem She takes off the disguise she’s been wearing Then opens her heart to the truth Behind closed doors she’s not caring About life or love in her youth So she sits by the mirror spilling tears And cries by herself in the dark A whole day of acting like she has no fears Takes a lot from an empty heart Inside she’s lonely and sad But acts like she's fine in the day Revealing her misery, secretly wishing she had A friend, or a promise to stay She’s ashamed of the truth she’s been keeping Living her hours in daylight a lie And this is the reason for in darkness she’s weeping Taking time out from each day to cry Written by Shannen Wrass Copyright © 1995 Shannen Wrass. All Rights Reserved

As a youth I enjoyed — indeed, like most of my contemporaries, revered — the agitprop plays of Brecht, and his indictments of Capitalism. It later occurred to me that his plays were copyrighted, and that he, like I, was living through the operations of that same free market. His protestations were not borne out by his actions, neither could they be. Why, then, did he profess Communism? Because it sold. The public’s endorsement of his plays kept him alive; as Marx was kept alive by the fortune Engels’s family had made selling furniture; as universities, established and funded by the Free Enterprise system — which is to say by the accrual of wealth — house, support, and coddle generations of the young in their dissertations on the evils of America.

Chicana intifada Rocks are our weapons of choice, indeed the only ones that we have stockpiled. We never worry about running out of them. After all, our unpaved streets are filled with rocks. We have wiped the dirt off them so that they may sail with a smooth hardness when we fling them into the air. We shall name each one of our rocks for the family members we have lost each year of the hundreds of years we’ve lived in these parts—as indios, as mestizos, as “Hi-panics.” For starters, we plan to break a few windows of the jefe’s casota nueva. I myself will be delighted to land one in each pane: center, left, right, top, bottom—the exact location doesn’t much matter. Why should his fancy house remain intact while we cannot count on running water? No one will suspect that an abuela is la capitana of the Chicana intifada, with her disguise of hat and gloves, of shiny earrings and sheer “nude” pantyhose; with her polite yes, ma’aming. “We’ll launch the first volleys at 6 p.m.,” she whispers to us. Smiling wryly, she adds, “Inside the house at a reception to which I’ve been properly invited you’ll see me lower my right gloved hand to the marble table.” Copyright (C) Teresa Palomo Acosta, 2007. All rights reserved.

In the dry places, men begin to dream. Where the rivers run sand, there is something in man that begins to flow. West of the 98TH Meridian - where it sometimes rain and it sometimes doesn’t – towns, like weeds, spring up when it rains, dry up when it stops. But in a dry climate, the husk of the plant remains. The stranger might find, as if preserved in amber, something of the green life that was once lived there, and the ghosts of men who have gone on to a better place. The withered towns are empty, but not uninhabited. Faces sometimes peer out from the broken windows, or whisper from the sagging balconies, as if this place – now that is dead – had come to life. As if empty it is forever occupied. Reproduced in THE BORSCHT BELT from The Works of Love by Wright Morris by permission of the University of Nebraska Press. Copyright 1949, 1951 by Wright Morris.

The 1990s to the present: feminism, historicism, postcolonialism, ethics There has never been a better time to study Virginia Woolf. Woolf studies, in the 1990s and in the new millennium, has continued to flourish and diversify in all its numerous and proliferating aspects. In this recent period the topics that occupied earlier critics continue in new debates, on her modernism, her philosophy and ethics, her feminism and her aesthetics; and there have also been marked turns in new directions. Woolf and her work have been increasingly examined in the context of empire, drawing on the influential field of postcolonial studies; and, stimulated by the impetus of new historicism and cultural materialism, there have been new attempts to understand Woolf ’s writing and persona in the context of the public and private spheres, in the present as well as in her own time. Woolf in the context of war and fascism, and in the contexts of modernity, science and technology, continue to exercise critics. Serious, sustained readings of lesbianism in Woolf ’s writing and in her life have marked recent feminist interpretations in Woolf studies. Enormous advances have also been made in the study of Woolf ’s literary and cultural influences and allusions. Numerous annotated and scholarly editions of Woolf ’s works have been appearing since she briefly came out of copyright in 1991, accompanied by several more scholarly editions of her works in draft and holograph, encouraging further critical scrutiny of her compositional methods. There have been several important reference works on Woolf. Many biographies of Woolf and her circle have also appeared, renewing biographical criticism, along with a number of works concerned with Woolf in geographical context, from landscape and London sites to Woolf ’s and her circle’s many houses and holiday retreats.

the club had provided for music was a lone pianist who had no idea what kind of piece might accompany such an exotic dance. Bloom thought a moment, hummed a tune, then plinked it out on the keyboard one note at a time: Over the next century this tune and its variations would be deployed in a succession of mostly cheesy movies, typically as an accompaniment to the sinuous emergence of a cobra from a basket. It would also drive the schoolyard lyric, “And they wear no pants in the southern part of France.” Bloom regretted his failure to copyright the tune. The royalties would have run into the millions.

Money depends on the scarcity of what props it up for its value, but isn’t that also an illusion? Rare and precious metals like diamonds are controlled by blood merchants who modulate their flow to keep the value at an acceptable level. And if gold is so rare, how are there enough gold bars to build a home for a family of two in Fort Knox alone? It doesn’t help that all things are constantly devalued. Before Gutenberg made type movable, only the wealthiest could afford books, and a Bible with tooled leather cover, gold-edged pages, and jewel-encrusted bindings was a symbol of not just piety but status, wealth, and taste. Within a few generations, the rabble were able to follow along in the hymnals from the cheap seats, forcing the wealthy to find another symbol to lord over the hoi polloi. ’Twas ever thus. The battle between the rich man and the poor man is fought on many battlefields, not all of them immediately obvious. Today the wealthy dress in sweatsuits and the homeless have iPhones. People with no discernible income buy flawless knockoff watches with one-letter misspellings to thwart copyright. And then wealthy people buy the same “Rulex” so their six-figure real watches won’t get stolen when they are out at dinner.

I looked at him and drew him into a poignant silence, traced my fingers over his lips, I watched Dominic’s green-grey eyes with fiery certainty as I swiped my thumb on his plump bottom lip and then pulled down, opening it for a kiss. He surrendered and slid his tongue against mine almost on instinct, which is when I made my move. Grabbing his tongue at first gently between my teeth, I felt him tense and shudder, the movement replaced with a moan and an acquiescence when I sucked it hard to a tingling numbness between my lips. I repeated the movement a couple of times before letting him go, and by the time I did he was close to tearing my t-shirt with the ferocity of his grip. Dominic drew in a sharp, desperate breath when I pulled back, and stared at me, wide-eyed and trying to process this. Every stage of understanding played over a fistful of split-seconds on his face, and at last he whispered: “Do you mean what I think you mean by that?” Excerpt From: Hoffman, Vee. “Acclamation.” Indie Inklings Ltd. iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright. Check out this book on the iBookstore: https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/M... Excerpt From: Hoffman, Vee. “Acclamation.” Indie Inklings Ltd. iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

The Brinkmans take to reading, when they're alone together. And, together, they're alone most of the time. ... In place of children, then, books...Ray's shelves are organized by topic; Dorothy's, alphabetical by author. He prefers state-of-the-art books with fresh copyrights. She needs to communicate with the distant dead, alien souls as different from her as possible... Once any given volume enters the house, it can never leave. For Ray, the goal is readiness: a book for every unforeseeable need. Dorothy strives to keep loyal independent booksellers afloat and save neglected gems from the cutout bin. Ray thinks: You never know when you might finally get around to reading that tome you picked up five years ago. And Dorothy: Someday you'll need to take down a worn-out volume and flip to that passage on the lower right-hand face, ten pages from the end, that fills you with such sweet and vicious pain. The conversion of their house into a library happens too slowly to see. The books that won't fit she lays on their sides, on top of the existing rows. This warps the covers and makes him crazy. For a while they solve the problem with more furniture. A pair of cherry cases to set between the windows in his downstairs office. A large walnut unit in the front room, in the space traditionally reserved for the television altar. Maple in the guest room. He says, "That should hold us for a while." She laughs, knowing from every novel she has ever read, how brief a while a while can be.

Sharpshooters Yeomanry Museum who, with his fellow trustees, have allowed me to use a number of their photographs in this book. I wish them the best of luck as they establish their regimental museum at Hever Castle. I would also like to thank the staff at the Air and Army historical branches who have also been particularly helpful in allowing me to access and use their crown copyrighted images. I would particularly like to single out Jo Bandy and Bob Evans in the Army Historical Branch and Mary Hudson in the Air Historical Branch. I feel I have been blessed in finding an excellent publisher in Helion. Duncan Rogers and his team have been helpful and enthusiastic about the book and made generous allowances for photos, diagrams and maps. I should add that George

But it was too late to turn back – how I often felt in the middle of these small-hour adventures, convincing myself that this was just getting my money’s worth out of my youth. A Margaret Atwood quote hung over this period of my life like a lampshade from the ceiling. When you are in the middle of a story it isn’t a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It’s only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.” Excerpt From Everything I Know About Love Dolly Alderton This material may be protected by copyright.

Where were you yesterday?" "Yesterday? Where was I-let me see...." "I thought you took a powder." "Me? How could that be?" "You mean, you wouldn't run out on me?" Run out on fragrant, sexual, high-minded Ramona? Never in a million years. Ramona had passed through the hell of profligacy and attained the seriousness of pleasure. For when will we civilized beings become really serious? said Kierkegaard. Only when we have known hell through and through. Without this, hedonism and frivolity will diffuse hell through all our days. Ramona, however, does not believe in any sin but the sin against the body, for her the true and only temple of the spirit. "But you did leave town yesterday," said Ramona. "How do you know-are you having me tailed by a private eye?" "Miss Schwartz saw you in Grand Central with a valise in your hand." "Who? Ramona said, "Perhaps some lovely woman scared you on the train, and you turned back to your Ramona." "Oh..." said Herzog. Her theme was her power to make him happy. Thinking of Ramona with her intoxicating eyes and robust breasts, her short but gentle legs, her Carmen airs, thievishly seductive, her skill in the sack (defeating invisible rivals), he felt she did not exaggerate. The facts supported her claim. "Well, were you running away?" she said. "Why should I? You're a marvelous woman, Ramona." "In that case you're being very odd, Moses." "Well, I suppose I am one of the odder beasts." "But I know better than to be proud and demanding.” “Life has taught me to be humble." Moses shut his eyes and raised his brows. Here we go. "Perhaps you feel a natural superiority because of your education." "Education! But I don't know anything..." "Your accomplishments. You're in Who's Who. I'm only a merchant-a petit-bourgeois type." "You don't really believe this. Ramona." "Then why do you keep aloof, and make me chase you? I realize you want to play the field. After great disappointments, I've done it myself, for ego-reinforcement." "A high-minded intellectual ninny, square ..." "Who?" "Myself, I mean." She went on. "But as one recovers self-confidence, one learns the simple strength of simple desires.” “Please, Ramona, Moses wanted to say-you're lovely, fragrant, sexual, good to touch-everything. Ramona paused, and Herzog said, "It's true-I have a lot to learn.” Excerpt From: Bellow, Saul. “Herzog.” iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

Poet's Note: Kindly do not use my poem without giving me due credit. Do not use bits and pieces to suit your agenda of Kashmir whatever it may be. I, Srividya Srinivasan as the creator of this poem own the right to what I have chosen to feel about the issue and have represented all sides to a complex problem that involves people. I do not believe in war or violence of any kind and this is my compassionate side speaking from all angles to human beings thinking they own only their side to the story. THIS POEM IS THE ORIGINAL WORK OF SRIVIDYA SRINIVASAN and any misuse by you shall be considered as a violation of my copyrights and legally actionable. This poem is dedicated to all those who have suffered in Kashmir and through Kashmir and to not be sliced and interpreted to each one's convenience. ---------------------------- Weep softly O mother, the walls have ears you know... The streets are awash o mother! I cannot go searching for him anymore. The streets are awash o mother with blood and tears, pellets and screams. that silently remain locked in the air, while they seal our soulless dreams. The guns are out, O mother, while our boys go armed with stones, I cannot go looking for him O mother, I have no courage to face what I will find. For, I need to tend to this little one beside, with bound eyes that see no more. ----- Weep for the home we lost O mother, Weep for the valley we left behind, the hills that once bore our names, where shoulder to shoulder, we walked the vales, proud of our heritage. Hunted out of our very homes, flying like thieves in the night, abandoning it all, fearful for the lives of our men, fearful of our being raped, our children killed, Kafirs they called us O mother, they marked our homes to kill. We now haunt the streets of other cities, refugees in a country we call our own, belonging nowhere, feeling homeless without the land we once called home. ------------- Weep loudly O mother, for the nation hears our pain. As the fresh flag moulds his cold body, I know his sacrifice was not in vain. We need to put our chins up, O mother and face this moment with pride. For blood is blood, and pain is pain, and death is final, The false story we must tell ourselves is that we are always the right side, and forget the pain we inflict on the other side. Until it all stops, it must go on, the dry tears on either side, Every war and battle is within and without, and must claim its wounds and leave its scars, And, if we need to go on O mother, it matters we feel we are on the right side. We need to tell ourselves we are always the right sight... We need to repeat it a million times, We are always the right side... For god forbid, what if we were not? --- Request you to read the full poem on my website.

I was delighted to hear that a number of people returned to see Orphée (as much as five or six times), to the amazement of the managements. This is significant, for the cinema is usually regarded as a place where one drops in for a little entertainment as one would for a glass of beer. This is why film societies, those Courts of Appeal, have so important a part to play, and why they deserve all the support we can give them. This is why I accepted nomination as President of the fédération des Cinéclubs. But, alas, even film societies are sometimes unable to retrieve old films, which the industrial squall sweeps away in order to clear a space for new ones. We had imagined that great actresses like Greta Garbo would be granted the privilege which was denied to a Rachel or a Sarah Bernhardt. But we were wrong. Today it is impossible to show Garbo in The lady of the Camelias for instance, to the young people who could not see the film when it came out, for all the copies have been meticulously destroyed. The lady of the Camelias is to be remade with new stars and new methods, using all the latest technical inventions, colour, three dimensions, and what not. It is a real disaster. Mrs B., the head of the new York Film Library, finds herself confronted with the same difficulties as Langlois of the Cinémathèque française whenever she endeavours to save a film from oblivion. She finds that she cannot obtain a single copy. Chaplin alone escapes that terrible destruction, because he is his own firm and consequently would not fall victim to the perpetual clearing. It is none the less true that fabulous sums are demanded for the showing of any one of his films, and if his very early films are still available it is because the present destructive legislation had not come into force when they were made. This is why René Clair demands the passing of a law of copyright deposit.

They typically start out leading ordinary lives in an ordinary world and are drawn by a “call to adventure.” This leads them down a “road of trials” filled with battles, temptations, successes, and failures. Along the way, they are helped by others, often by those who are further along the journey and serve as mentors, though those who are less far along also help in various ways. They also gain allies and enemies and learn how to fight, often against convention. Along the way, they encounter temptations and have clashes and reconciliations with their fathers and their sons. They overcome their fear of fighting because of their great determination to achieve what they want, and they gain their “special powers” (i.e., skills) from both “battles” that test and teach them, and from gifts (such as advice) that they receive from others. Over time, they both succeed and fail, but they increasingly succeed more than they fail as they grow stronger and keep striving for more, which leads to ever-bigger and more challenging battles. Heroes inevitably experience at least one very big failure (which Campbell calls an “abyss” or the “belly of the whale” experience) that tests whether they have the resilience to come back and fight smarter and with more determination. If they do, they undergo a change (have a “metamorphosis”) in which they experience the fear that protects them, without losing the aggressiveness that propels them forward. With triumphs come rewards. Though they don’t realize it when they are in their battles, the hero’s biggest reward is what Campbell calls the “boon,” which is the special knowledge about how to succeed that the hero has earned through his journey. Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey schema from The Hero with a Thousand Faces (New World Library), copyright © 2008 by the Joseph Campbell Foundation (jcf.org), used with permission. Late in life, winning more battles and acquiring more rewards typically becomes less exciting to heroes than passing along that knowledge to others—“returning the boon” as Campbell called it.

The US traded its manufacturing sector’s health for its entertainment industry, hoping that Police Academy sequels could take the place of the rustbelt. The US bet wrong. But like a losing gambler who keeps on doubling down, the US doesn’t know when to quit. It keeps meeting with its entertainment giants, asking how US foreign and domestic policy can preserve its business-model. Criminalize 70 million American file-sharers? Check. Turn the world’s copyright laws upside down? Check. Cream the IT industry by criminalizing attempted infringement? Check. It’ll never work. It can never work. There will always be an entertainment industry, but not one based on excluding access to published digital works. Once it’s in the world, it’ll be copied. This is why I give away digital copies of my books and make money on the printed editions: I’m not going to stop people from copying the electronic editions, so I might as well treat them as an enticement to buy the printed objects. But there is an information economy. You don’t even need a computer to participate. My barber, an avowed technophobe who rebuilds antique motorcycles and doesn’t own a PC, benefited from the information economy when I found him by googling for barbershops in my neighborhood. Teachers benefit from the information economy when they share lesson plans with their colleagues around the world by email. Doctors benefit from the information economy when they move their patient files to efficient digital formats. Insurance companies benefit from the information economy through better access to fresh data used in the preparation of actuarial tables. Marinas benefit from the information economy when office-slaves look up the weekend’s weather online and decide to skip out on Friday for a weekend’s sailing. Families of migrant workers benefit from the information economy when their sons and daughters wire cash home from a convenience store Western Union terminal. This stuff generates wealth for those who practice it. It enriches the country and improves our lives. And it can peacefully co-exist with movies, music and microcode, but not if Hollywood gets to call the shots. Where IT managers are expected to police their networks and systems for unauthorized copying – no matter what that does to productivity – they cannot co-exist. Where our operating systems are rendered inoperable by “copy protection,” they cannot co-exist. Where our educational institutions are turned into conscript enforcers for the record industry, they cannot co-exist. The information economy is all around us. The countries that embrace it will emerge as global economic superpowers. The countries that stubbornly hold to the simplistic idea that the information economy is about selling information will end up at the bottom of the pile. What country do you want to live in?

The Deepest Night* As we lay asleep within our suspended animation chambers - living coffins our thoughts chase each other as they entwine together With our bodies separated by a transparent aluminum partition our minds connected telepathically hug and kiss as we continue to love each other At the end of our thousand lightyear journey when our bodies awake - thaw out - become warm again within each others arms We’ll find ourselves our passions burning all the hotter forever brighter into a supernova our love shall blossom within the deepest night Copyright David M. Green 2014

SONG OF THE STAR I am nothing but oxygen and hydrogen, A luminous sphere of plasma Held together by helium and gravity, And like a balloon I float on earth, Waiting to be released back into the sky, Waiting to go back in the reverse Direction from which I came, Traveling through a warm tunnel of light, And out into a cold, dark abyss Where I will explode into a thousand pieces. I shall leave behind my body, Just like air abandons the skin of a shattered balloon, And the magnetic dust that carries my Heart and spirit will lift us back To congregate and shine With the stars. Home again, In the fluorescent Kingdom of the constellations, I will once again be called by My soul’s true name. And my heart, It will flicker again, With every memory from its many Lifetimes, And with every wish Made by a child. SONG OF THE STAR by Suzy Kassem Copyright 1993

Commercial firms turned out Claghorn shirts and compasses (the needles always pointed south, son); Delmar cut two Claghorn records, I Love You, That Is and That’s a Joke, Son, and Warner Brothers pirated the concept for use in a series of cartoons. The strutting cartoon rooster, Foghorn J. Leghorn, was an obvious steal from Delmar: the cutting irony, he said years later, was that the cartoons were copyrighted, so that, from then on, “in order to do Claghorn, I had to ask permission from Warner Brothers.

Broken souls don’t ever really heal, they just hide out in small remote corners of their psyches and smile to hide their pain”. Copyright February 05, 2018

starting a clothing company Livebnfd is your first time here, I've read suggest that a clothing line is not how to start. If you are wondering how to start your own clothing line things read, and starting your own clothing line with costs. Starting a clothing company line to want to know more about the legalities of copyright and license read the truth about. Up for anything you want to focus on categories check. You're just starting out, check out the section starting. Also right on our search button you will find anything you need will help. Most inspirational posts outside the us on Facebook, Twitter, and all social media check.

Then I realized that the history of the world is largely a history of sustainable systems. Every so often a system comes along that completely changes the world. People never notice these systems until they're right there in their faces and all the alarm bells are going off. Agriculture. Christianity. Guns. The Industrial Age economy. P2P networks. Take any major event in history and I'll show you a system behind it. “Consider Bitcoin. Monetary revolution. A chance to break out of a rigged system. P2P and the pirate sites? Copyright, theft, yes, but they also moved American culture around the world without bottleneck of price or service availability. American movies, American TV shows now projected American dreams and nightmares onto the rest of the world. Every great system had a far more powerful effect hidden beneath this obvious layer of icing. “Just like agriculture for humans, all of these systems have repercussions far beyond the first few decades of their existence. The trick is that these systems have to be sustainable. There has to be enough incentive, on a human level, to keep them running. If there is - well, there you go: that's your history-maker right there.

Table of Contents CopyRight Introduction Recommend other books Title Index Content Ending Option A Ending Option B Subscribe Conclustion Check Out My Other Books

7 Outstanding Tips for Banner Printing Choosing to produce a printed banner is a fantastic way to maximize your promotional requirements, it helps you to give maximum stand out and showcase your brand. There are a range of options from large PVC banners to simple roller banner solutions to suit all purposes of banner printing. Let’s look at some important points that can help you to make the most out of your printed banner. 1. Use High resolution images While going for banner printing, having good quality images is imperative. If you carry your own camera, then your camera should be able to take decent quality images, but be careful with images from the internet. Not only could you infringe copyright law but the quality is usually quite poor. 2. Clever use of color Your banner printing should be such that maximizes the use of color. Imagine the environment, where will your banner be positioned? What does your competition look like? Then, you can use color to ensure that you stand out from the crowd. If you are an established business, be sure to use your brand colors and clearly position your logo towards the top of the banner, this will make sure you develop a consistent brand identity throughout your marketing material. 3. Count your words Using a large amount of written text can look busy, messy and be off putting to your audience. Try to work out on your key message or brand values and make the banner big and bold. A short & striking message or a graphic will work a hundred times better than a hundred words. The banner printing is meant to grab attention of the viewer, not bore them. 4. Reveal your benefit Succinctly convey your key benefit in your banner headline. Do you have the best price? The best service? The best quality product? Whatever it is, make your banner printing known, specific to your audience and make it centralized. 5. Include an offer Make a time – limited offer to motivate customers to respond quickly. Your offer might even be included in your headline to simplify your banner. 6. Create a memorable call to action Make it clear what customers should do next in order to take advantage of your special offer. Your call to action should be succinct as well as memorable, such as an easy-to-remember URL or phone number. Remember that potential customers will only have a few seconds to digest your banner, so they must be able to retain the action step at a glance. 7. Less is more It is a simple rule but one that makes all the difference. It is very tempting to use a banner to get across every possible message and cram it full of content and images, however from an end user perspective big, bold and simple messaging and graphics is the most effective way to grab attention as well as looking professional and confident.

The words looped in my head. Download it for free. Cheerful, triumphant. Download it for free! What a freaking bargain. “I’m sorry,” I said. “She found what?” "That website. Meems, what was the name again? Bongo or something?” Mimi looked up from her iPad. “What are you talking about?” “That website where you found Sarah’s book.” "Oh,” she said. “Bingo. Haven’t you heard of it? It’s like an online library. You can download almost anything for free. It’s amazing.” My hands were shaking. I set down Jen’s phone, and then I set down the wineglass next to it. Without a coaster. "You mean a pirate site,” I said. “Oh God, no! I would never. It’s an online library.” "That’s what they call it. But they’re just stealing. They’re fencing stolen goods. Easy to do with electronic copies.” "No. That’s not true.” Mimi’s voice rose a little. Sharpened a little. “Libraries lend out e-books.” “Real libraries do. They buy them from the publisher. Sites like Bingo just upload unauthorized copies to sell advertising or put cookies on your phone or whatever else. They’re pirates.” There was a small, shrill silence. I lifted my wineglass and took a long drink, even though my fingers were trembling so badly, I knew everyone could see the vibration. "Well,” said Mimi. “It’s not like it matters. I mean, the book’s been out for years and everything, it’s like public domain.” I put down the wineglass and picked up my tote bag. “So I don’t have time to lecture you about copyright law or anything. Basically, if publishers don’t get paid, authors don’t get paid. That’s kind of how it works.” "Oh, come on,” said Mimi. “You got paid for this book.” "Not as much as you think. Definitely not as much as your husband gets paid to short derivatives or whatever he does that buys all this stuff.” I waved my hand at the walls. “And you know, fine, maybe it’s not the big sellers who suffer. It’s the midlist authors, the great names you never hear of, where every sale counts … What am I saying? You don’t care. None of you actually cares. Sitting here in your palaces in the sky. You never had to earn a penny of your own. Why the hell should you care about royalties?” I climbed out of my silver chair and hoisted my tote bag over my shoulder. “It’s about a dollar a book, by the way. Paid out every six months. So I walked all the way over here, gave up an evening of my life, and even if every single one of you had actually bought a legitimate copy, I would have earned about a dozen bucks for my trouble. Twelve dollars and a glass of cheap wine. I’ll see myself out.

The past is not something fixed and unalterable. Its facts are re-discoverable by every succeeding generation, its values re-assessed, its meaning re-defined in the context of present tastes and preoccupations. Out of the same documents and monuments and works of art, every epoch invents its own Middle Ages, its private China, its patented and copyrighted Hellas.

Middle School is such a perfect name for middle school. If I were told that there was a commission for nationwide title submissions for the grades between elementary and high and a committee was appointed to boil down the entries in search of a name that was simple, public friendly, easy to spell, syllabically chantable (Mid-dle-school! Mid-dle-school!) devoid of possible copyright infringement, and most importantly, evocative of the emotion of being In Limbo, and Middle School was the out and out winner, I would believe that.

The Victorian sketches that have come to define Trader Joe’s merchandizing were cost control: books published before 1906 were pre-copyright and so free for Joe to repurpose with a funny caption. He spent hours cutting them out himself at his home easel.

All copyrights are held by the Stationers’ Company, and they pay a pittance. They control all and there is nowhere else to go. A man ekes out an existence only if he can do other things as well. A dramatist does scarcely better, for he must sell his copyright to the theatrical companies, and if he gets as much as six pounds he is fortunate. No, my friend, it is no way to earn a living.

Within months of building the prototype, he had applied for a U.S. patent. The framers of the American Constitution had understood intellectual property protections as fundamental to the “progress of sciences and useful arts.” Before addressing the freedom of speech or religion through amendments, the American Constitution relegated to the federal government functions such as minting money, maintaining a postal service, and declaring and financing war, and the granting of copyrights and patents to protect “writings and discoveries.” When granted, this formal recognition of the government in effect created property rights out of thin air, based on ideas and abstractions

Why do you think I make zero mention of the culture I was born and raised in? It's because if I am to build a world where civilized beings would behave civilized and step across cultural bigotry, I must stand as the anomalous specimen of that possibility myself - I must stand as the ultimate global citizen - as a sapiens of earth, not of borders. Hence, I wiped out every last trace of identity imposed on me by the environment. Today I stand as the Himalayas - many cultures will claim exclusive copyright over me, but no single culture is vast enough to contain me.

No one here wants to acknowledge that there might just be chaos and that some things happen because they can, like cars running people over, like bullets ripping through a skull or tearing open a heart, like blood clots filling lungs so you can’t get air, or cancer consuming what is left of the body. A pre-mapped-out lifetime doesn’t make the death of someone you actually love any less devastating. I am tired of hearing there is a reason for your death, for my heartbreak, and that when we get to the other side it will all make sense. It will never make sense, even when my heart stops hurting so much. I miss you. I wish you had never died. [...] Excerpt from: "It's OK That You're Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn't Understand" by Megan Devine. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

iI U.S. law, fair uses are stated quite clearly to be limitations on the exclusive rights of the copyright holder—uses that were never within the copyright holder’s power to prohibit. The defense is not ‘I trespassed on your land, but I was starving.’ It is ‘I did not trespass on your land. I walked on the public road that runs through it, a road you never owned in the first place.’ When society hands out the right to the copyright holder, it carves out certain areas of use and refuses to hand over control of them.

THE MIGHTY SCREEWEE™ EMPIRE™ IS POISED TO ATTACK EARTH! OUR BATTLESHIPS HAVE BEEN DESTROYED IN A SNEAK RAID! NOTHING CAN STAND BETWEEN EARTH AND THE TERRIBLE VENGEANCE OF THE SCREEWEE™! BUT THERE IS ONE STARSHIP LEFT . . . AND OUT OF THE MISTS OF TIME COMES ONE WARRIOR, ONE FIGHTER WHO IS THE LAST HOPE OF CIVILIZATION! YOU! YOU ARE THE SAVIOR OF CIVILIZATION. YOU ARE ALL THAT STANDS BETWEEN YOUR WORLD AND CERTAIN OBLIVION. YOU ARE THE LAST HOPE. ONLY YOU CAN SAVE MANKIND!™ ACTION-PACKED WITH NEW FEATURES! JUST LIKE THE REAL THING! FULL-COLOR SOUND AND SLAM-VECTOR™ GRAPHICS!   Suitable for IBM PC, Atari, Amiga, Pineapple, Amstrad, Nintendo. Actual game shots taken from a version you haven’t bought. Copyright © 1992 Gobi Software, 17834 W. Agharta Drive, Shambala, Tibet. All Rights Reserved. All company names and product names are registered trademarks or trademarks of their respective companies. The names ScreeWee, Empire, and Mankind are trademarks of Gobi Software 1992.

We couldn’t figure out why until we went out and did a user study at a nearby college, actually watching students try to use Google. According to Marissa Mayer, at the time a Googler and now CEO of Yahoo, they were so accustomed to cluttered websites that “flashed, revolved, and asked you to punch the monkey” that they thought there had to be more coming.165 They weren’t searching because they were waiting for the page to finish loading. Engineering vice president Jen Fitzpatrick added: “We wound up sticking a copyright tag at the bottom of the page, not so much because we needed a copyright on the page, but because it was a way to say ‘This is the end.’” The copyright notice fixed the problem.

Fired Up, Frantic, and Freaked Out Training Crazy Dogs from Over-the-Top to Under Control Laura VanArendonk Baugh CPDT-KA KPACTP Copyright 2013 Laura VanArendonk Baugh Cover design by Laura VanArendonk Baugh and Alena Van Arendonk Author portrait by Elemental Photography Technical editing by Casey Lomonaco Interior photos pages 25, 67, 77 by Alena Van Arendonk

one of our earliest challenges was that users would look at the Google Web page and not type anything. We couldn’t figure out why until we went out and did a user study at a nearby college, actually watching students try to use Google. According to Marissa Mayer, at the time a Googler and now CEO of Yahoo, they were so accustomed to cluttered websites that “flashed, revolved, and asked you to punch the monkey” that they thought there had to be more coming.165 They weren’t searching because they were waiting for the page to finish loading. Engineering vice president Jen Fitzpatrick added: “We wound up sticking a copyright tag at the bottom of the page, not so much because we needed a copyright on the page, but because it was a way to say ‘This is the end.’” The copyright notice fixed the problem.

The Canterbury Puzzles and Puzzles and Curious Problems. Because they were published so long ago, they are now out of copyright and you can read them freely (and legally) online through The Gutenberg Project.

calm herself down. “I’m getting married today. Today.” “Just relax,” I command in a stern, take-charge voice. “What’s going on?” “Oh, Helen. I’m just so stressed out. Where are you? I was hoping you’d show up last night. Aren’t you coming? I thought you’d be coming.” “Yeah,” I tell her, groaning and repositioning my sore body. Liam has turned on the car to begin warming us up, but it hasn’t started working yet. “I’m on my way to you. I was living in New Hampshire, so it’s a bit of a trip.” “Thank goodness,” Carmen says, and her tears abate almost immediately. “I can’t wait to see you! How long until you get here?” “Uh. I don’t know. A few hours?” “Great! Oh, I’m so glad you’re coming home, Hellie. I invited a bunch of great guys that I went to school with, so maybe I can introduce them to you, and one of them can be your date!” “Wait, what?” I say grouchily, blinking and rubbing my eyes. My vision might not work, but my eyes still feel gross after sleeping for a few hours. “A date? Why do I need a date?” “Because you’re my sister! You can’t be single at your sister’s wedding. Everyone knows that. We need to find a handsome man for you to wear on your arm. There’s this guy, Brad—I met him in a philosophy class, but now he’s a copyright lawyer. He’s very passionate about intellectual property. I figured that you two might have something in common, since he sort of works with books?” “Carmen, are you insane?” I say angrily, clutching my head. “I don’t want to date some douchebag lawyer. I’m

The Trans-Pacific Partnership is an international agreement being worked out among 12 countries: Australia, Brunei, Canada, Chile, Japan, Malaysia, Mexico, New Zealand, Peru, Singapore, the United States, and Vietnam. Part of the treaty falls under the traditional heading of “free trade,’’ including efforts to reduce tariffs and end government subsidies. But there are other parts that would increase government regulation, especially when it comes to intellectual property. The United States, in particular, has been pressing for heightened protection of trademarks, patents, and copyrights. The deal would also establish a kind of court system where companies could sue other countries for violating terms. The arguments for TPP

Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591. The author is grateful for permission to use the following copyrighted material: American Prometheus, by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin, 2005 Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc.; Unequal Childhoods: Class, Race, and Family Life, by Annette Lareau,

You don’t have to worry about the intellectuals, Wesley. Just put a few of them on the government payroll and send them out to preach precisely the sort of thing Mr. Kinnan mentioned: that the blame rests on the victims. Give them moderately comfortable salaries and extremely loud titles—and they’ll forget their copyrights and do a better job for you than whole squads of enforcement officers.

What are you talking about? You don’t know anything about me.” Her back came up against the door. Bracing his hands above her head, he leaned down and spoke harshly against her ear. “Don’t I, gorgeous? I know you like a lot of tongue when you kiss. I know you hold your breath just before you come. I know your beautiful ass fits into my hands perfectly. I can still feel it there.” Story shivered, her legs weakening underneath her. Yearning, hot and desperate, pulsed between her legs as memories of the previous afternoon broke free to run wild in her mind. Knowing he could so easily determine and satisfy her needs with devastating efficiency only heightened her desire for him. Nurse-chaser or not, nothing could stop her from wanting him now, at this moment in the dark stairwell. Daniel hadn’t yet finished his verbal torture. “I should have left yesterday before I found out how hot you run. But I didn’t. And now I’m fucked.” One hand dropped from the wall to grip the side of her hip, squeezing and releasing. “That exquisite body of yours needs a lot of care and attention. I didn’t even get[…]” Excerpt From: Bailey, Tessa. “Officer Off Limits.” Entangled Publishing, LLC (Brazen), 2013-05-23T10:00:00+00:00. iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

What are you talking about? You don’t know anything about me.” Her back came up against the door. Bracing his hands above her head, he leaned down and spoke harshly against her ear. “Don’t I, gorgeous? I know you like a lot of tongue when you kiss. I know you hold your breath just before you come. I know your beautiful ass fits into my hands perfectly. I can still feel it there.” Story shivered, her legs weakening underneath her. Yearning, hot and desperate, pulsed between her legs as memories of the previous afternoon broke free to run wild in her mind. Knowing he could so easily determine and satisfy her needs with devastating efficiency only heightened her desire for him. Nurse-chaser or not, nothing could stop her from wanting him now, at this moment in the dark stairwell. Daniel hadn’t yet finished his verbal torture. “I should have left yesterday before I found out how hot you run. But I didn’t. And now I’m fucked.” One hand dropped from the wall to grip the side of her hip, squeezing and releasing. “That exquisite body of yours needs a lot of care and attention. I didn’t even get a chance to use my tongue on you. I hate not knowing how you taste.” Her head dropped back against the door. When his hand slipped under her dress to run up the outside of her thigh, a moan escaped her lips. Unconsciously, she thrust her breasts upward, in the direction of his mouth. “Yes, I see them, baby. I’d taste you there, too.” Slowly, his hand slid around toward the juncture between her thighs. “You came so quickly for me yesterday, like something out of a fantasy. Were you neglected here?” He ran a knuckle along the seam of her panties. “I know how to make it better.” Excerpt From: Bailey, Tessa. “Officer Off Limits.” Entangled Publishing, LLC (Brazen), 2013-05-23T10:00:00+00:00. iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

In U.S. law, fair uses are stated quite clearly to be limitations on the exclusive rights of the copyright holder—uses that were never within the copyright holder’s power to prohibit. The defense is not ‘I trespassed on your land, but I was starving.’ It is ‘I did not trespass on your land. I walked on the public road that runs through it, a road you never owned in the first place.’ When society hands out the right to the copyright holder, it carves out certain areas of use and refuses to hand over control of them.

While I wait to heal, I often find solace in solitude. I don't fully understand why, but I know I must be alone. I withdraw from the world, and in that quiet space, I focus solely on my recovery. This solitude forces me to confront my raw emotions, with no distractions to dull their intensity. It is within these moments of despair that my most brilliant ideas emerge. I allow myself to feel deeply, to the point where I can no longer feel. To overcome heartache, it's essential to exhaust every emotion—cry until the tears run dry, feel until you're tired of feeling, talk about the person until even your own voice bores you. When you are drained, empty, and devoid of emotion, you are almost across the bridge to healing. It is only then that true detachment begins. Each time my heart has been broken, I've learned how to heal myself. Heartbreak no longer holds power over me. I've realized that the only way to get over it is to go through it. The longer I deny my feelings to protect myself, the more pain I endure. But if I accept the situation and fully experience my emotions, the pain fades more quickly. At most, they may occupy my thoughts for a few days; if I loved them deeply, maybe two or three weeks. I simply withdraw from society and return when I am better, when I am healed. During my healing process, I commit to self-improvement. I channel my energy into refining the parts of myself that led to unnecessary pain. I acknowledge my mistakes, see where I went wrong, and take responsibility for my role in my suffering. And as long as he makes no effort, I am gone. The quickest way for any man to lose me is to stop trying and to make his intentions clear. While he may think I am suffering, I am actually healing. I am recalibrating, renewing, and rehabilitating. I am resurrecting, realigning, adjusting, refocusing, and resetting. I am fine-tuning. In the midst of this, I give him nothing—no attention, no thoughts, no feelings. Exes thrive on your negative emotions, so silence must be so profound that it echoes. No attention, no access. They may resort to stalking through fake profiles, but let them exert the effort. Block all other avenues of communication. I am reshaping, reorienting, tweaking, reassessing, reconfiguring, restructuring. In my absence, I am transforming. Ducked. I am for all ill purposes and intentions, my most productive and fruitful self when I am hurt or alone. This leads my naysayers, detractors and enemies to learn that for the most part, excluding death, I am by most standards, indestructible. I will build empires with the stones one throws at me. I will create fertilizers with the trash and feaces hurled at me. I will rise like pheonix from the ashes. I am antifragile, I can withstand trials, tribulations, chaos and uncertainty and grow in the face of adversity. I am the epitome of the resilience paradox, trial bloom, adversity alchemy, refiners fire and the pheonix effect. I am fortitude - me. Ducked. What’s even more magical, is what comes out on the other side of this process. It’s a peace, you do not want anyone to destroy. A clarity, you won’t risk blurring. A renewed you, a different version of you, stronger, fierce, centered and certain. A rebirth, refinement. You never saw it coming. Neither will they. Copyright ©️ 2024 Crystal Evans

The transitional state of a long journey has always seemed to me the most romantic and magical of places to find yourself in; marooned in a cosy pod of your own thoughts, suspended in mid-air, travelling through a wodge of silent, blank pages between two chapters. A place where phones dip in and out of consciousness and you’re forced to spend time with your thoughts, working out what needs to be reshaped and reordered. ” Excerpt From Everything I Know About Love Dolly Alderton This material may be protected by copyright.

Legos encourage endless adding, especially when you have a dad who supports your habit. In Jenga, the rules promote balance. Jenga forces us to subtract first, requiring that we pull out a block from one of the lower levels before we add to the top level. Sure, Lego’s adding approach has been good for business; but so has Jenga’s mandate to subtract first. It was the game’s novel subtracting rules that Leslie Scott copyrighted, to the tune of one hundred million copies sold.

You feel like you’re going to fall because you’re broken into a hundred different floating pieces,’ she told me. ‘You’re all over the place. You’ve got no rooting. You don’t know how to be with yourself.’ The back wall of my eyeballs finally gave way and tears poured out from the deepest well in the pit of my stomach. ‘I feel like nothing is holding me together any more,’ I told her, my breathlessness punctuating my sentence like hiccups, the stream of my tears on my cheeks as hot and free-flowing as blood. ‘Of course you do,’ she said with a new softness. ‘You’ve got no sense of self.’ So that’s why I was there. The penny dropped. I thought I had a fear of falling, but really I just didn’t know who I was. And the stuff I used to fill up that empty space no longer worked; it just made me feel even more removed from myself. This overwhelming anxiety had been in the post for a while and it had finally arrived, fluttered through the letter box and landed at my feet. I was surprised by this diagnosis; there I was thinking my sense of[…]” Excerpt From Everything I Know About Love Dolly Alderton This material may be protected by copyright.

Her best friend did a reading of a breathtaking piece Florence had written for her year-book page. ‘It may seem that life is difficult at times but it’s really as simple as breathing in and out,’ she read. ‘Rip open hearts with your fury and tear down egos with your modesty. Be the person you wish you could be, not the person you feel you are doomed to be. Let yourself run away with your feelings. You were made so that someone could love you. Let them love you.” Excerpt From Everything I Know About Love Dolly Alderton This material may be protected by copyright.

It’s funny. I think back on it now—the Apple II would turn out to be one of the most successful products of all time. But we had no copyrights or patents at all back then. No secrets. We were just showing it to everybody.

When you begin to wonder if life is really just waiting for buses on Tottenham Court Road and ordering books you’ll never read off Amazon; in short, you are having an existential crisis. You are realizing the mundanity of life. You are finally understanding how little point there is to anything. You are moving out of the realm of fantasy ‘when I grow up’ and adjusting to the reality that you’re there; it’s happening. And it wasn’t what you thought it might be. You are not who you thought you’d be. Once you start digging a hole of those questions, it’s very difficult to take the day-to-day functionalities of life seriously. Throughout my twenty-fifth year, it was as if I had created a trench of my own thoughts and unanswerable questions, and from the darkness I peered up, watching people care about the things I had cared about: haircuts, the newspaper, parties, dinner, January sales on Tottenham Court Road, deals on Amazon – and I couldn’t fathom climbing out and knowing how to immerse myself in any of it again.” Excerpt From Everything I Know About Love Dolly Alderton This material may be protected by copyright.

So it was that Lavinia fired a shot against Sue’s publication. Her protest to Ward laid out the law of ownership. A writer might give a manuscript to someone else, but the possessor is not the owner. Legally, the copyright on the writing remains with writer, and upon death transfers to the writer’s heir. On the basis of Emily’s will, which left Lavinia ‘everything’, Lavinia claimed (pushing the point) that Emily had granted her exclusive rights to her papers, and though Emily gave copies of poems to others they were given simply for private reading ‘and not to pass the property in them, which is mine’. Unsurprisingly Susan challenged this. She had lost her husband to Mabel. Her friendship with Lavinia was being destroyed and now the thing she held most dear, her private relationship with Emily, was being ripped from her. She sounds a little desperate as she writes to Ward: ‘the sister is quite jealous of my treasure … All[?] [the poems and letters] I have are mine—given me by my dear Emily while living[,] so I can in honor do with them as I please.

Beams of blue light lanced out into the corridor, moving and dancing as indistinct shapes shuffled through the blinding brilliance inside the room. The light was misty and actinic, the sort of light to make Steven Spielberg reach for his copyright lawyer.

I asked Saf. “How do you do that?” Saf smirked. “He has you on punishment, he thinks you are hurting and wasting your time morosing over him while he lives his life” “He is exacting punishment and he is enjoying it!” “He probably not thinking of you any at all” “His hope is to come back and see you same place he left you!” “And ready to take him back and take you out of your suffering!” Saf chuckled. “Waste his time!” Saf half shouted. I leaned in conspiratorially. “Me no understand!” Saf always spoke in colloguish manner. “Change the ending, the outcome!” “Let when he checks in back, he has lost the compass!” “You can’t be found!” “That’s how you get back control!” “Right now he has all the control in the world!” “And you have none!” “You start to get back your control!” “Remember when i told you about that rope!” “The one people tug every now and then to see if you still at the end of it!” “We move pass that now…!” “You come tie the rope to a stump of a tree!” “Or on a stick or staple it to the ground!” “And you gone run…!” “You gone play the same game he is playing…!” “Play it his way but still play against him” Saf sucked her teeth. “Precognitive!” She pressed her index finger against her forehead. “Same story as the Tortoise and the Hare” Yakima II Crystal Evans Copyright ©️ 2023

birth the dream. feel it move through you until it is out of you. nurture it. raise it. and never be afraid of where it could go.

for the rest of the night. Other than to refuel with holiday leftovers. “Would you still love me if I told you I didn’t know what tasted better, Christmas leftovers or you?” Jana cocked her eyebrow with a sexy smile on her face. Damn, she was beautiful. “No but I will be mad unless you do some very thorough research and come up with a satisfying answer…” I grinned. This Christmas was unlike any of the others Jana and I had spent together. This time we had two little boys, a bigger family and we’d faced our biggest threat yet and come out on top. “If it’s for the sake of research, consider me in babe.” And I spent the rest of the night doing science. Between the gorgeous legs of my beautiful wife. I was pretty sure in that moment, life for the Reckless Bastard’s couldn’t get any better. Merry friggin’ Christmas to us! * * * * If you think the Reckless Bastards are spicy bad boys, they’re nothing compared to the steam in my next series Reckless MC Opey, TX Chapter where Gunnar and Maisie move to Texas! There’s also a sneak peek on the next page.   Don’t wait — grab your copy today!  Copyright © 2019 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Chapter One Gunnar “We’re gonna be cowboys!” Maisie had been singing that song since we got on the interstate and left Nevada and the only family we’d had in the world behind. For good. Cross was my oldest friend, and I’d miss him the most, even though I knew we’d never lose touch. I’d miss Jag too, even Golden Boy and Max. The prospects were cool, but I had no attachment to them. Though I gave him a lot of shit, I knew I’d even miss Stitch. A little. It didn’t matter that the last year had been filled with more shit than gold, or that I was leaving Vegas in the dust, we were all closer for the hell we’d been through. But still, I was leaving. Maisie and I’d been on the road for a couple of days. Traveling with a small child took a long damn time. Between bathroom breaks and snack times we’d be lucky to make it to Opey by the end of the month. Lucky for me, Maisie had her mind set on us becoming cowboys, complete with ten gallon hats, spurs and chaps, so she hadn’t shed one tear, yet. It wasn’t something I’d been hoping for but I was waiting patiently for reality to sink in and the uncontrollable sobs that had a way of breaking a grown man’s heart. “You’re not a boy,” I told her and smiled through the rear view mirror. “Hard to be a cowboy if you’re not even a boy.” Maisie grinned, a full row of bright white baby teeth shining back at me right along with sapphire blue eyes and hair so black it looked to be painted on with ink. “I’m gonna be a cowgirl then! A cowgirl!” She went on and on for what felt like forever, in only the way that a four year old could, about all the cool cowgirl stuff she’d have. “Boots and a pony too!” “A pony? You can’t even tie your shoes or clean up your toys and you want a pony?” She nodded in that exaggerated way little kids did. “I’ll learn,” she said with the certainty of a know it all teenager, a thought that terrified the hell out of me. “You’ll help me, Gunny!” Her words brought a smile to my face even though I hated that fucking nickname she’d picked up from a woman I refused to think about ever again. I’d help Maisie because that’s what family did. Hell, she was the reason I’d uprooted my entire fucking life and headed to the great unknown wilds of Texas. To give Maisie a normal life or as close to normal as I was capable of giving her. “I’ll always help you, Squirt.” “I know. Love you Gunny!” “Love you too, Cowgirl.” I winked in the mirror and her face lit up with happiness. It was the pure joy on her face, putting a bloom in her cheeks that convinced me this was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to move to Texas, and I didn’t want to live on a goddamn ranch, but that was my future. The property was already bought and paid for with my name

Who was that Prince? Yesterday Anybody hasn't knew my name, It’s really true (gorgeous Prince with brightly brown eyes. Watch Out!). He swishes U’ve seen Us makin' shields (She've got her eye on this Prince, couldn’t get him off her mind). Even though Everybody has me thinkin': Who was that Prince? © Copyrights/ Who was that Prince, Author and Teacher: Jocylio Moraes (The Little Prince), March 8th/2020-Sunday, Chapter 68/366

that’s when Kevin arrived onto the scene. “I-would-call-this-dynamic-entry-but-cannot-for-fear-of-copyright-laws-kick!” His body spinning in midair, the young man lashed out at the woman with a kick from behind. She seemed to sense it, however, and managed to avoid getting her head rung like a bell. Her body smoothly rolled across the grassy ground, where she kipped back up to her feet. She turned around to face her newest attacker… and froze.

PROSTITUTION – AN ACT OF SEX (A POEM) BY E.T.H…AINA Hey young girl, Why do you want sex often and often? Oh! Dogs ate your placenta! And now your clitoris is always itchy. Hey little bro, why is your penis always nodding Like a read headed agama lizard? And you always want to insert it somewhere. Lemme open your eyes to some things. Girlie, to you, prostitution is just a practice Of engaging in sexual relations for payment or benefits. Hear this, prostitution is sexual harassment, Sexual exploitation, often worse. You become in your mind what your client does or says. It is internally damaging and disgraceful as he uses you to learn various sex patterns What he can’t do with the girl he truly loves. From Backstairs Boogy to Deep Impact, from the Head Game to Arc de Triomp And from Ladder Loving to the Pinwheel, from Electric Slide to Passion Propeller He uses you like a public convenience – a toilet After all, he pays for your ungodly service. After being used as a sex-slave, You’ll still suffer spiritually – what a pity. Girl, remember when the act of sex takes place, There is a spiritual union. Brotherly, hear this, he that has sex with a prostitute Becomes one body with her. He leaves a part of his DNA in her. Something a condom can’t protect you against. Back to you, young girl. You think sex is just pleasurable You moan – f**k me hard, give it to me, Baby Oh, I’m enjoying it. Oh, I’ve almost reached orgasm Then you cum and he cums – loba’tan! You think it’s over, right? You may not know – but he might be using you to enhance his wealth And your insufficient glory is depleting. Bro, you have done it, ten rounds. Champion! But what has gone out of you If only you have a spiritual eye – then you will be sober. Your sperm has been saved inside a black and red ritual calabash She will use it to boost her fame. Bro, it is finished! Wait, you think it is over, right? What if you contract diseases – chlamydia, HIV and AIDS If things fall apart, you tend to suffer on earth And fire will burn you in heaven. Na me talk ham – so, think ham oooo Copyright @2019 E.T.H…AINA All right reserved: no part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms or by any means, electronically, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the poet -E.T.H…AINA (hercules_temitope@yahoo.com)/+2348184171204

. Recommendation: One avenue for ensuring that all civilian CCTV equipment is SCORPION STARE compatible by 2006 is to exploit an initiative of the US National Security Agency for our own ends. In a bill ostensibly sponsored by Hollywood and music industry associations (MPAA and RIAA: see also CDBTPA), the NSA is ostensibly attempting to legislate support for Digital Rights Management in all electronic equipment sold to the public. The implementation details are not currently accessible to us, but we believe this is a stalking-horse for requiring chip manufacturers to incorporate on-die FPGAs in the one million gate range, re-configurable in software, initially laid out as DRM circuitry but reprogrammable in support of their nascent War on Un-Americanism. If such integrated FPGAs are mandated, commercial pressures will force Far Eastern vendors to comply with regulation and we will be able to mandate incorporation of SCORPION STARE Level Two into all digital consumer electronic cameras and commercial CCTV equipment under cover of complying with our copyright protection obligations in accordance with the WIPO treaty. A suitable pretext for the rapid phased obsolescence of all Level Zero and Level One cameras can then be engineered by, for example, discrediting witness evidence from older installations in an ongoing criminal investigation. If we pursue this plan, by late 2006 any two adjacent public CCTV terminals—or private camcorders equipped with a digital video link—will be reprogrammable by any authenticated MAGINOT BLUE STARS superuser to permit the operator to turn them into a SCORPION STARE basilisk weapon. We remain convinced that this is the best defensive posture to adopt in order to minimize casualties when the Great Old Ones return from beyond the stars to eat our brains.

This is not a conventional “how-to” book. It contains no exercises, and it has few formulas saying “first do this, then do that.” This is intentional. As we’ll see later, eros doesn’t like to be told what to do. If you set a goal, your sexual mind will be happy to reject it. It’s kind of childish and brilliant that way. You also won’t find much about sexual biology or neurochemistry on these pages. Sex books these days tend to be full of advice for “boosting your dopamine”—or your oxytocin, or some other such nonsense. In all my 30 years as a sex therapist, I’ve yet to see a dopamine molecule walk into my office. We’ll stick with things you can see and feel yourself, without needing a laboratory. I’ll also spare you the body diagrams. You already know what a penis and vagina look like, right? And we won’t discuss how many neurons are concentrated in your clitoris. It’s an impressive number, but who really cares? There are a few great sex books already out there, and I’ll point them out to you as we go along. But reading most of the others is like gnawing on dry bones. As my friend and colleague Paul Joannides, the author of Guide to Getting it On (one of the aforementioned great ones), has accurately noted, “the trouble with most books on sex is they don’t get anyone hard or wet.” This book is not intended to get you hard or wet. But it’s meant not to get in your way either. The chapters are short, so you can read them even if you get a little distracted. Hey, I hope you get a little distracted. There are no lists to memorize, and there won’t be a test afterwards. We’re dealing with a part of the human mind that hasn’t gone to school yet, and never will. Any questions? OK, let’s get started . . . Adapted from LOVE WORTH MAKING by Stephen Snyder, M.D. Copyright © 2018 by the author and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Press, LLC.

Beat snorts, leaning into her bag that’s near her ankles and dropping a book onto the table. She points. “Join the club.” My eyes fall on the cover, the bright green title catching my eyes first. The title is simple. MANIK. The cover image is of Aeron’s chest, but where his face is supposed to be, there are ravens flying out. “Wow! You have a book?” She waves me off. “I didn’t write it, but yes. It’s the story of how Aeron and I met. I’m all for creepy stories. I wouldn’t recommend this author, though. “She drinks too much, procrastinates a lot, and is easily distracted.” Excerpt from In Peace Lies Havoc Amo Jones This material may be protected by copyright.

If ideas were fully liberated, then entrepreneurs wouldn’t be able to profit from their innovations, because their competitors would immediately adopt them. And so where innovation is concerned, we have deliberately built inefficient markets: environments that protect copyrights and patents and trade secrets and a thousand other barricades we’ve erected to keep promising ideas out of the minds of others.

My Evil Twin is Herobrine Book 1: The Big Prank Mark Mulle PUBLISHED BY: Mark Mulle Copyright © 2017 To get a FREE book and be updated on Mark Mulle’s books and latest releases, click here to find out

All the boys are out there looking for a god to thank. We call her boy 'Big Mike' although he's six foot two, And he likes to be the boy behind the barbecue. It's a good time, and a big free-for-all... Or it was until the moment that the zombies came to call. So run for the river, run for the trees, Run faster than the next guy, honey, if you please. We came out to the lakeside for a holiday, Now it seems we're in the wrong in 'predator and prey'. We came out for the fish, we came out for the fun, But we're captives now in the zombie river run. Well, Dave was first to see them, took it for a joke; He was standing by the forest sucking down a Coke. When they grabbed and started chewing he was real surprised, And that's about the time we came to realize That the locals had decided to crash our soiree Despite their state of fairly well-advanced decay. It wasn't very social at all... But that's the crap that happens when the zombies come to call. We tried to hold them off, but they would not turn back, It was another stupid clip from 'When the Dead Attack'. Then Mike got real annoyed and started spitting flames, While Suzy summoned demons by their secret names. Bambi shed her skin and started to constrict, And that's when all those zombies knew that they'd been tricked. We aren't all that normal at all... I guess this is the last time that the zombies come to call. So run for the river, run for the trees, Run faster than the next guy, honey, if you please. We came out to the lakeside for a holiday, Now it seems we're in the wrong in 'predator and prey'. We came out for the fish, we came out for the fun, But we're captives now in the zombie river run. We're a simple little family, and we like our lake, And if you want to make us cranky, that's a big mistake, Because we bring the whole damn family out every year, And we only want our peace -- I hope I've made that clear. It's not hard to form a posse when you've got a brood, And I only hope this warning won't be misconstrued, Because if anybody bugs us at all... You'll be wishing things were clear as when the zombies came to call. Written on: 2006-07-26. “Zombie River Run” Copyright © 2006 Seanan McGuire

that my obsession with Barbie © ended after I aged into the double digits, but it turns out that I just stopped collecting the dolls. My fascination with the glossy world of Barbie has continued, if not intensified as I got older, and I replaced my doll dresses with real dresses.However, it really took the Barbie Runway Show yesterday at the tents to remind me of the special place Barbie’s always occupied in my heart - and in those of little girls and grown up fashionistas everywhere. Everyone has a Barbie story. I fell in love with the doll after spotting it among its friends at a local supermarket at a very young age, and spent the next few years giving her haircuts and even making her clothes. The first pair of shoes I really loved were the pink heels Barbie wore. I was so disappointed that Barbie couldn’t actually stand up in them - though now years later I often face the same unfortunate results when I don on my most Barbie-esque of shoes, the Christian Louboutin Decollete. At any rate, during the show I realized that each girl’s fantasy of the Barbie world lives copyright

Welcome To My World © Have you ever tried to cry But there's no tears left to shed Have you ever seen the face of misery Or looked into the eyes of dread Have you ever gripped the pain Cause it's all that's left to hold Have you ever tried so hard to love But found, your heart was just too cold Have you ever just had to accept, Your agony has no end Have you ever been so desperate, You've claimed the sorrow your best friend Have you ever held hands with depression Wept on the shoulder of fear Have you ever reached out to emptiness But there's nothing to pull near. Have you sobbed yourself to sleep Anguish at the foot of your bed Have you ever been shaken from your dream To be thrown in a nightmare instead Have you felt the cringe inside Embraced by betrayal and hate Have you ever then just had to dwell In a world that terror creates Have you ever been left empty No Courage to unfold If you've ever known the hurt Then welcome to my world Written by Shannen Wrass Copyright © 1995 Shannen Wrass. All Rights Reserved

When I thought I felt better, grief shot its silver tip arrow at my heart to remind me that it was still there.” Excerpt From: Holster, S.G. “Thirty Seconds to Die.” iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright. Check out this book on the iBooks Store

I have now scoured your Internet, and have identified several ersatz concierges that were created by your own society, and are in current and active use throughout it. I strongly suggest that you allow me to import and implement one of them.” I caught Manda’s eye. She shrugged. “Sure,” I said. “Earth’s most popular ersatz concierge has had hundreds of millions of users—although its usage has declined rather dramatically in recent years. Shall we try that one?” I really, really, really should have asked why the thing was shedding users. Instead I shrugged and said, “Why not?” The dazzling, octodimensional projection instantly transformed into a flat rendering of a paperclip with googly eyes. “That’s an ersatz concierge?” Manda whispered after a shocked silence. “Dear God …” As she said this, the paperclip’s eyes darted cunningly from side to side. Then a cartoon bubble appeared above its head reading, “It looks like you’re writing a letter. Would you like help?” It was Clippy—the despised emcee of Microsoft Office. I knew him well. Because while he had allegedly retired long ago, my firm—like so many others—had clung to the Clippy-infested Windows XP operating system for years beyond its expiration date, staving off the expense and trauma of a Windows upgrade. That process had finally started eighteen months back. But copyright associates are low in the priority queue—and I had been slated to get upgraded “next month” for as long as I could remember. “Okay, go back,” I said. Clippy stared at me impassively. “Stop it. Cut it out. Go back. Use the other interface. Use the gem thing.” As I said this, Clippy’s eyes started darting again as he scribbled on a notepad with an animated pencil. Another cartoon bubble appeared. “It looks like you’re making a list. Should I format it?” I fell into an appalled silence. Then Manda gave it a shot. “We do not want to use this ersatz concierge,” she enunciated clearly. “Please return us to the previous one.” Clippy gazed back with bovine incomprehension. We went on to try every command, plea, and threat that we could think of. But we couldn’t get back to the prior concierge. Luckily, the stereopticon’s projector mode was still working fine (“If you download Windows Media Player, I’m throwing you under a bus,” Manda warned it).

Leaning against the side of the house, I breathed rather in the manner copyrighted by the hart which pants for cooling streams when heated in the chase. The realization of how narrowly I had missed having to mingle again with this blockbusting female barrister kept me Lot's-wifed for what seemed an hour or so, though I suppose it can't have been more than a few seconds. Then gradually I ceased to be a pillar of salt and was able to concentrate on finding out what on earth Ma McCorkadale's motive was in paying us this visit. The last place, I mean to say, where you would have expected to find her. Considering how she stood in regard to Ginger, it was as if Napoleon had dropped in for a chat with Wellington on the eve of Waterloo.

If you're facing legal issues with Facebook, such as copyright violations, calling ₆₅₀-₅₄₃-₄₈₀₀ or +1-828-270-5565 can help you report them. You can reach out by calling ₆₅₀-₅₄₃-₄₈₀₀ or +1-828-270-5565 to file a report about intellectual property infringements. To address any legal disputes, try calling ₆₅₀-₅₄₃-₄₈₀₀ or +1-828-270-5565 to speak to a legal representative. Facebook’s support team is available at ₆₅₀-₅₄₃-₄₈₀₀ or +1-828-270-5565 to guide you through the process of reporting policy violations. If you need to escalate a legal matter, calling ₆₅₀-₅₄₃-₄₈₀₀ or +1-828-270-5565 is your best option for direct assistanc

The original sin of song copyright in America is that it wasn’t set up for a context of collective creativity. “Songwriting . . . is the only instance of creativity that is singled out for special payment,”29 wrote Deena Weinstein. “Writing songs is a form of domination [in which] the egalitarian myth of bands is almost always violated.”30 When the collectives that enforce song copyright were initially established (ASCAP in the US and PRS in the UK were both founded in 1914), popular songwriting was the domain of professional songwriters, or partnerships of a songwriter and a lyricist. As a result, while bands are, of course, free to split percentages as they please, the traditional split has been 50 percent ownership to a lyricist and 50 percent to writer(s) of “the music.” “The music” is historically defined as a melody line and chords, as notated on a “lead sheet.