I meet a wall inside,
a barrier to freedom,
and such structures keep me from something grand–
to melt these rigid formations my sought for miracle.

I stare at one of these walls,
calling out to the other side,
and hearing my own voice answer in report…
understand the predicament.

All this mindstuff,
hardened matter fixing fantastic imagined what’s it,
for old happenings created these walls,
my work dismantling takes time–
i shall succeed,
love breaks ‘em down.

an assignment for my intermediate creative writing class–write a story involving a predicament and characters’ responses to a predicament.

On April 17^th, 2004, the students at Flatrock High School were surprised and delighted to see a large brown and white Hereford cow pacing the linoleum of the third floor hallway.  Green and yellow spray paint spelled ‘Seniors 04’ across her left side.  A row of teachers stood at the entrance of the stairwell, directing waves of excited faces away from the big-eyed bovine and towards their lockers and classrooms.

It was nearing the last week for the seniors and pranks were to be expected: food fights, classrooms filled with upside-down furniture, and saran-wrapped toilets.  The teachers had attended a mandatory meeting the week before and talked about possibilities, preventative measures, and penalties.  They had not discussed cows.

It is a well-known fact that a cow will easily allow itself to be led up a flight of stairs, but lacks the proper anatomy and grace to make a comfortable descent.  Caroline Brinks, senior in the graduating class of 2004, knew this to be true.  She also knew that pulling off such a prank as the cow incident of 04 would be the icing on the cake of her various stunts and shenanigans executed while attending Flatrock High.  That is why on the night of April 16^th, Caroline and two of her friends led a misty-eyed old cow up three flights of stairs and left her to roam, providing one janitor’s bucket filled with hay and two with water.

Connor had heard Caroline leave the house around 2:30 in the morning—her ankles always cracked late at night, and so did the floorboards outside of Connor’s bedroom door.  He had checked the digital clock on his bedside table, breathed out a huff of frustration, and turned over in bed, his scarlet locks flaying fan-like over the pillowcase.  Their red hair was the only thing Connor had in common with his sister, besides their birthday.  Connor was always drawing lines; Caroline was always toeing them.  She wore her red hair like a badge of honor and he topped it with a baseball cap to keep it from reflecting too much light.

On the morning of the cow’s arrival, Caroline’s ponytail mirrored the rosiness of her two red cheeks as she walked proudly down the hallway.  Connor’s friend Albin nudged his arm at the lockers.

“Dude, it was Caroline, wasn’t it?  Your sister did this?”  he was grinning.

Connor fingered the brim of his cap with an unsteady hand.

“What? I don’t know. No.  Someone else.”

All during World History Connor could hear the clacking of the cow’s hooves above him.  Every time the florescent lights trembled with the heavy step of the cow, the students snickered and stole glances in Connor’s direction, looking for a grin in return.  Connor pulled his hood up over his capped head and kept his eyes faced towards the whiteboard.

The teachers and staff acquired a halter and lead to make the impossible attempt of leading the cow down the stairs.  It happened after school was let out for the day, but there were still kids around and a few stopped to watch the struggle with amusement.  Ms. Buchanan and Mr. Geoffries pulled and Mr. Scott, Mr. Reynolds, and Mr. Baerd pushed.  The cow stood with her hooves planted at the top of the steps and mooed loudly.  The struggle ended when Mr. Scott was kicked in the stomach by a flying hoof.  The janitor came by with a bucket to shovel the manure from the third floor hallway and the teachers retreated to their classrooms to check their email and grade papers.

After track practice, Caroline followed Connor out to the car.

“Did you hear everyone at school today?  Everyone is talking about the cow.” She said, swinging her spike bag into the trunk and tossing her backpack in the back seat.  Connor slammed the driver’s seat door and snapped his seatbelt across his chest.

“Yeah of course I heard about it, I saw it with my own eyes.” he muttered.

Caroline laughed and turned up the volume on the radio before Connor swatted her hand away and turned it back down.

“Geez, Caroline, why? Why did you do that?  To get attention?  Like you don’t get enough already?  Geez.  Mom’s gonna have a cow.”

Caroline burst out laughing at the mention of a cow and reached over to turn the radio up again.  Connor didn’t stop her, gritting his teeth and focusing on the road instead.

He figured someday she would have to pay for her running around, have to account for her reckless activities that went without consequence.  For now he tolerated it at best.  It was embarrassing to protest too much and be shut out and ignored in the end.  She was his older sister (two minutes older) and she wasn’t going to be bossed around.

When Connor and Caroline pulled into the driveway their mother was standing in front of the garage, washing the dog with the garden hose.  Connor parked the car in the driveway and Caroline jumped out before the engine was turned off, running to embrace the wet dog.  “Caroline!” her mother scolded lightly, smiling at the large wet spot on Caroline’s t-shirt.

“What?  I’m all hot from track practice.  Feels good.”

A big pool of soapy water crept towards Connor’s feet as he stood by the trunk of the car, unloading his book bag.  His mother called over to him, asking about school.  Caroline shot Connor a look over her shoulder, a look that meant don’t you dare say a thing about you-know-what. Connor slammed the trunk shut and pulled his cap over his head, walking past the dog and into the garage.  “It was fine. I got a lot of homework to do.” he said and disappeared into the mudroom.   Caroline’s mother raised both eyebrows at her and Caroline gave a shrug and a “teenage boys and their mood swings” eye roll.  “He’s been pouty all day!” she said to the dog and took off her wet shirt, swinging it at her side.

When the students returned in the morning the cow was still there, but she was enclosed in a small pen made from tables and chairs at the very end of the hallway. She stood on a blue tarp that was scattered with hay.  Two white buckets of water sat in the back corner of the makeshift enclosure.  Throughout the day the students decorated the cow’s pen with various items: green and yellow pom pons from the gym closet, handmade posters, and socks, gloves, and hats.  The cow didn’t seem to mind all the attention.  She stomped her hoof and blinked at the kids who reached out to pat her wet, drippy nose.  The students of Flatrock High had already begun to call her Rocky, which was actually already the name of their bulldog mascot.  A cow was a much better mascot, the students decided, and even though the teachers continued to investigate the prank, they were secretly amused to have a cow living on the third floor of the school.

The pressing concern was how to get the cow out of the school in a timely and efficient manner.  There were no elevators to bring her safely to the ground floor, and the windows on the third floor were few, and much too small for a cow.  Even if the windows were big enough to hoist Rocky through, there was no way (physical or financial) of obtaining the crane necessary to lower her down.  Though she was not an immense cow, she had to weigh at least 1,200 pounds.  The situation became increasingly frantic as local newspapers and television stations rang all day, wanting to see the spectacle of the “Flatrock High Cow.”  The janitor popped his head into the principal’s office every time the cow dropped a new pile on the tarp, saying he had not taken this job so he could muck out cattle stalls.  Mrs. Whitehall, the secretary, picked up the phone and began making calls to every farm within 15 miles of the school to see if anyone was missing a Hereford cow with a large white patch on her left side.

By the morning of the following day the cow had been identified as belonging to Topher Wing, the farmer of the beef farm two miles down the road.  He came by the school, took one look at the cow’s bowed back and drippy white nose and nodded his head.

“That’s one of mine alright.  She’s been dried up a couple years now.  Well, guess now’s a good a time as ever.  Should’ve done it last fall anyway.”

The cow had to be without food for at least 24 hours prior to butchering.  The principal organized for Topher to come in the following night at 8:30 pm, when there would be no students in the school or in sports practice around the building.  Topher would bring his bolt gun and some of his men to quickly carve the cow so they could get it out of the building to finish properly processing the meat.  The principal would of course keep the plan from the students; it would only lead to angry protests and unflattering cartoons in the school newspaper.  They would come to school the morning after next and the cow would be gone; no further explanation needed.

The principal, however, did not take Connor’s acute skills of observation into account when making these conclusions.  Connor witnessed Topher Wing starting his noisy blue pickup in the parking lot from the window by his third-floor locker.  He noted the absence of hay from Rocky’s stall.  He noticed the teacher’s prolonged glances at the brown-and-white cow standing placidly in the corner of her pen.  By the end of the day Connor was sure of Rocky’s fast-approaching fate.

After track practice Connor and Caroline drove home together as usual.  Caroline had the passenger window rolled down, the seat back and her right foot propped up so the arch faced towards the rear-view mirror.  She wiggled her toes in the breeze.  Connor pressed the automatic window button on his door and Caroline shrieked and pulled her leg to her chest to get it out of the path of the rising window.  “Geez, Turdface, what’s your problem?”

Connor looked out the driver’s side window, waiting at the stop sign to turn onto Mason Road.  Caroline frowned and poked her brother sharply in the ribs.  “I said, what is your deal?  You’ve been acting like such a freak since two days ago.  Are you still mad about the cow?”

Connor avoided her flashing green eyes, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel instead.

“Shit, Connor, come on.  Everyone thinks it’s hilarious.  You’re the only one with his panties all up in a bunch over a stupid cow.”

Connor’s head spun to the right, his baseball cap nearly flying off his head.

“Oh, stupid cow, right?  Yeah, nice job stealing a cow from the Wing farm.  You know they raise beef cattle, right?  You know Topher’s bringing a shotgun to school tomorrow night and putting a bullet between that ‘stupid cow’s’ eyes?  What are they calling her now?  Rocky?  How is everyone going to feel when they found out their mascot got ground up and turned into hamburger meat?  Hope you’re happy, Caroline.  Hope you’re real damn proud of yourself.”

Caroline’s eyes grew large and her features began to twitch nervously on her pale face, as if she were about to burst into tears.  It was rare to see Connor so worked up, and the sight was both fascinating and terrifying.  His face got all purplish-red and one of the veins near his left temple popped out.  Connor and Caroline sat facing each other for a few seconds, car horns beeping impatiently behind them.  Connor wiped a fleck of spit from his lip and looked both ways down the street, flicking on the turn signal and turning left onto the road.

After a few minutes of silence Caroline began to sniff loudly, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her t-shirt.  Connor felt somewhat sorry for his outburst: for all of Caroline’s spontanaeity and vigor she could be extremely sensitive, especially when animals were involved.  She adored all furry creatures big and small, which is why Connor could not wrap his mind around the answer to why she would steal a poor cow from its home in the middle of the night and lead it up three flights of stairs.  He pulled the car into the driveway and turned off the ignition but did not open the door.  The only sounds were the sniffles coming from Caroline and the plink-plink of the warm engine.

“Why Caroline? Why, why, why did you do it?  How did you think this was going to turn out?”

Caroline snorted loudly and swallowed.  “I don’t know- I wasn’t, I didn’t think they would shoot it!” Her face began to scrunch up and she pressed her lips together to prevent an outburst.  “Connor, I don’t know what to do.  Please,  just. . .we have to. . .” Caroline pressed her lips together again, her body shaking with distress.  Connor breathed out deeply, lifted his hat and smoothed his red hair flat on his head before replacing the cap and opening the car door.

“You can chill out here as long as you want.  I’m going inside.”  Caroline unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs close to her body.  When she finally came inside her face was puffy and red and she went straight to her room.

At 1:30 in the morning Connor walked into Caroline’s room and shone a flashlight in her face.  She squinted at him and scrambled for her phone buried in the covers of her bed, glaring at the time on the screen.

“C’mon.  Get some shoes on.”

“Connor, what the hell?”

“I’m saving your ass from years of guilt and self-loathing.  Get some shoes on.”

Caroline threw the covers off her bed and followed Connor out to the driveway.  He was holding their dad’s keys to the pickup.  A long sheet of plywood from their father’s scrap pile was sticking out of the bed of the truck.  Caroline hesitated for a moment, before climbing into the passenger seat.  In one fluid motion Connor started the engine and reversed out of the driveway, heading towards the high school.  When they got to the parking lot Connor lifted the end of the plywood from the back and Caroline climbed into the truck bed and lifted the other end, easing the wood onto the pavement.  She held the strips of scrap board horizontally across the plywood as Connor hammered them in, leaving a few feet between each strip.

Wordlessly, they carried the ramp from the parking lot around to the side of the school, where the entrance to the theater was.  Caroline knew from experience that the back theater entrance had a faulty lock; she had no idea how Connor knew of this secret.  Connor led the way backwards through the entrance, tilting the plywood so the two could guide it through the doorway.  By the time Connor and Caroline walked to the top of the main stairwell their faces were covered in a thin film of sweat.  Two more trips produced cinder blocks and a bucket of alfalfa.

The twins rested at the top of the staircase to look down at the ramp, braced at the bottom with a series of cinder blocks.  Caroline was unsure about this plan: after all, a ramp wasn’t all that different from a flight of stairs.  It was dark in the stairwell, lit by the smallest bit of glow coming from the security lights in the hall.  Maybe the cow would smell her and remember that she was the one who had gotten her into this predicament.  Between the darkness of the environment and her personal history with the cow, Caroline doubted the success of Connor’s plan.  She knew better than to voice her opinion, since he was awake at 2 am on a school night, and obviously not in the mood to humor her comments.

Caroline followed Connor as he headed towards the pen where Rocky was kept.  When she first spotted their dark outlines Rocky snorted and shifted to the back of the stall, but upon smelling the alfalfa allowed Connor to slip a halter over her nose and lead her out of the pen.  It only took about 20 minutes of coaxing to get Rocky from the third floor to the first landing.  She was hungry after a day of no food and eager to get at the bucket of alfalfa.  The second flight she descended with slightly more courage, her hooves thudding heavily on the plywood.

It was between the second and first floors, with two short flights to go, that Rocky balked.  She had had enough, and planted her hooves at the start of the ramp, swinging her tail so it slapped against her rump.  Caroline’s shoulders slumped and she set the bucket of alfalfa down heavily.  “It’s 3:45” she said,   “We don’t have much time.”  Connor looked over at Caroline.  It was the first time either of them had spoken since Connor woke his sister from her bed.  “You just need to relax” he said,  “You’re getting all worked up and it’s making her nervous.  Just sit down for a while.”  Both of them rested against the wall of the landing, watching Rocky look down the ramp and then behind her at the two humans, blinking her large brown eyes slowly.  Eventually her tail stopped swinging and she eyed the bucket of alfalfa on which Caroline was resting her arm.  Connor stood slowly and gripped the lead, Caroline walking backwards next to him holding the bucket.  Rocky sniffed and shuffled her way down the final two flights, hesitating only three times along the way.  When they got her outside it was almost five thirty, and the faintest strip of pink could be seen creeping from the skyline.  Connor tied the cow to the railing on the main entrance, knotting the rope twice.  He set down the bucket in front of Rocky and sat next to Caroline, who was resting in the damp grass.

They looked at each other and a smile began to inch across Connor’s face.  Caroline blurted out a relieved bark of laughter that caused Rocky to shift her weight and snort loudly.  She reached over and grabbed Connor’s cap from his head, pressing it over her own red locks.  “I must say, Connor Brinks, that I am very impressed with the outcome of Operation Cow Rescue.  Congratulations, you saved me from years of ‘guilt and self-loathing.’ ”

“Shut up,” said Connor, smiling and smoothing his hair with one hand as he reached for his hat with the other.  Caroline giggled and held the cap down on her head with both hands.  “No, really.  Thanks.” she said, pulling a handful of grass from the ground and separating it with her fingers.  Connor stood up and brushed off his jeans.  “Guess we better load that stuff up and get home before people start waking up,” he said.  They carried out the last of the supplies to the parking lot and sat in the truck, looking at the cow watching them from her outpost.  “What’s going to happen now?” Caroline asked as Connor started the car.

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure now everyone’s going to harass Topher Wing until he sells the cow to some student.  She’ll be fine.”  Caroline pulled Connor’s cap down over her eyes and leaned against the cool window.  “I think I’m gonna lie low for a bit.  You know, keep a low profile until graduation.  A break.  For a little while.”  Connor laughed and turned onto the road to their house.  “I think that’s a good idea.”

I’m of the opinion that of all that predicaments that could be predicated (and I don’t care if that doesn’t make sense), the worst is having to take a dump while in the shower.  Usually, I’m careful with this stuff.  Usually, I analyze my intestinal situation prior to entering the shower, but sometimes, for whatever reason, I screw up or fail to do so.

So, I mean, you have to either get out, brown bomb, then get back in, or hold it and hope for the best.  You can’t, with a clean conscience, complete your shower and then clear the old intestinal tract.  That’s gross.

Gross.

The dramatic scene gives one aspect of the larger conflict but ultimately leaves the larger conflict still unresolved. In the Great Mouse Detective, Basil thinks he’s solved the location of Ratigan by analyzing the chemical components of a list left behind. When he arrives as the location, he finds out that he was set up and that Ratigan was expecting him. Thus, Basil puts himself in a new predicament necessary to solve.

(CFD.net.au – Contract for Difference, Share, Forex, ETFs, Commodities Traders) –

by Kathy Lien and Boris Schlossberg

(

Contact Author

|

Biography

)

Most traders are reluctant to buy

breakouts

for fear of being the last one to the party before prices reverse with a vengeance. So, how can they learn to

trade breakouts confide …

by Kathy Lien and Boris Schlossberg ( Contact Author | Biography ) Most traders are reluctant to buy breakouts For fear of being the last One to the party before prices reverse with a vengeance. So, how can they learn to trade breakouts confidently and successfully? The “do the right thing” setup is designed to deal with just such a predicament. It tells the trader to buy or sell when most ingrained lessons are against doing so. Furthermore, it puts the trader on the right side of the trend at the times when many other traders are trying to fade the price action. Read on as we cover this strategy and show you some examples of how it can be used. do the right thing – Trade breakouts In the “do the right thing” strategy, the capitulation of top and bottom pickers in the face of a massive buildup of momentum Forces a covering of positions, allowing you to exit profitably within a very short period of time after putting on a trade. “Do the right thing” employs a rarely used indicator in FX called the Commodity Channel Index (CCI), which was invented by Donald Lambert in 1980 and was originally designed to solve engineering problems regarding signals. The primary focus of CCI is to measure the deviation of the price of the Currency pair from its statistical average. As such, CCI is an extremely Good and sensitive measure of momentum and helps us to optimize only the highest probability entries For our setup. (For background reading, see Timing Trades With The Commodity Channel Index .) Without resorting to the mathematics of the indicator, please note that CCI is an unbound oscillator with a reading of +100 typically considered to be overbought and any reading of - 100 is considered oversold. For our purposes, however, we will use these levels as our trigger points as we put a twist on the traditional interpretation of CCI. We actually look to buy if the Currency pair makes a new high above 100 and sell if the Currency pair makes a new low below -100. In “do the right thing” we are looking For new peaks or spikes in momentum that are likely to carry the currency pair higher or lower. The thesis behind this setup is that much like a body in motion will remain so until it’s slowed by counterforces, new highs or lows in CCI will propel the currency farther in the direction of the move before new prices finally put a halt to the advance or the decline. Rules for the Long Trade On the daily or the hourly charts, place the CCI indicator with standard input of 20. Note the very last time the CCI registered a reading of Greater than +100 before dropping back below the +100 zone. Take a measure of the peak CCI reading and record it. If CCI once again trades above the +100 and if its value exceeds the prior peak reading, Go long at market at the close of the candle. Measure the low of the candle and use it as your stop. If the position moves in your favor by the amount of your original stop, sell half and move the stop to breakeven. Take profit on the rest of the trade when the position moves to two times your stop. Rules for the Short Trade On the daily or the hourly charts, place the CCI indicator with standard input of 20. Note the very last time the CCI registered a reading of less than -100 before poking above the -100 zone. Take a measure of the peak CCI reading and record it. If CCI once again trades below the -100 and if its value exceeds the prior low reading, go short at market at the close of the candle. Measure the high of the candle and use it as your stop. If the position moves in your favor by the amount of your original stop, sell half and move the stop on the remainder of the position to breakeven. Take profit on the rest of the trade when position moves to two times your stop. CCI Setup On Longer Time FRAmes In the daily chart of the EUR/USD pair (Figure 1) we see that the former peak high above the CCI +100 level was recorded on September 5, 2005, when it reached a reading of 130. Not until more than three months later on December 13, 2005, did the CCI produce a value that would exceed this number. Throughout this time, we can see that EUR/USD was in a severe decline with many false breakouts to the upside that fizzled as soon as they appeared on the chart. On December 13, 2005, however, CCI hit 162.61 and we immediately went long on the close at 1.1945 using the low of the candle at 1.1906 as our stop. Our first target was 100% of our risk, or approximately 40 points. We exited half the position at 1.1985 and the second half of the position at two times our risk at 1.2035. Our total reward-to-risk ratio on this trade was 1.5:1, which means that if we are only 50% accurate, the setup would still have positive expectancy. Note also that we were able to capture our gains in less than 24 hours as the momentum of the move carried our position to profit very quickly. Figure 1: do the right thing CCI Trade, EUR/USD Source: FXtrekIntellichart For traders who do not like to wait nearly a quarter of a year between setups, the hourly chart offers far more opportunities for the “do the right thing” setup. It is still infrequent, which is One of the reasons that makes this setup so powerful (the common wisdom in trading is “the rarer the trade, the better the trade”). Nevertheless, it occurs on the hourly charts far more often than on the dailies. In Figure 2, we look at the hourly chart of the EUR/USD between March 24 and March 28 of 2006. At 1pm on March 24, the EUR/USD reaches a CCI peak of 142.96. Several days later at 4am on March 28, the CCI reading reaches a new high of 184.72. We go long at market on the close of the candle at 1.2063. The low of the candle is 1.2027 and we set our stop there. The pair consolidates for several hours and then makes a burst to our first target of 1.2103 at 9am on March 28. We move the stop to breakeven to protect our profits and are stopped out a few hours later, banking 40 pips of profit. As the saying goes, half a loaf is better than none, and it is amazing how they can add up to a whole bakery full of profits if we simply take what the market gives us. Figure 2: do the right thing CCI Trade, EUR/USD Source: FXtrekIntellichart CCI Setup On Shorter Time FRAmes Figure 3 shows a short in the USD/CHF. This example is the opposite of the approach shown above. On October 11, 2004, USD/CHF makes a CCI low of -131.05. A few days later, on October 14, the CCI prints at -133.68. We enter short at market on the close of the candle at 1.2445. Our stop is the high of that candle at 1.2545. Our first exit is hit just two days later at 1.2345. We stay in the trade with the rest of the position and move the stop to breakeven. Our second target is hit on October 19 – no more than five days after we’ve entered the trade. The total profit on the trade? 300 points. Our total risk was only 200 points, and we never even experienced any serious drawdown as the momentum pulled prices farther down. The key is high probability, and that is exactly what the “do the right thing” setup provides. Figure 3: Do the Right Thing CCI Trade, USD/CHF Source: FXtrekIntellichart Figure 4 shows another example of a short-term trade, this time to the downside in the EUR/JPY. At 9pm on March 21, 2006, EUR/JPY recorded a reading of -115.19 before recovering above the -100 CCI zone. The “do the right thing” setup triggered almost perfectly five days later, at 8pm on March 26. The CCI value reached a low of -133.68 and we went short on the close of the candle. This was a very large candle on the hourly charts, and we had to risk 74 points as our entry was 140.79 and our stop was at 141.51. Many traders would have been afraid to enter short at that time, thinking that most of the selling had been done, but we had faith in our strategy and followed the setup. Prices then consolidated a bit and trended lower until 1pm on March 27. Less than 24 hours later we were able to hit our first target, which was a very substantial 74 points. Again we moved our stop to breakeven. The pair proceeded to bottom out and rally, taking us out at breakeven. Although we did not achieve our second target overall, it was a good trade as we banked 74 points without ever really being in a significant drawdown. Figure 4: Do the Right Thing CCI Trade, EUR/JPY Source: FXtrekIntellichart When “Do the Right Thing” Does You Wrong Figure 5 shows how this setup can go wrong and why it is critical to always use stops. The “do the right thing” setup relies on momentum to generate profits. When the momentum fails to materialize, it signals that a turn may be in the making. Here is how it played out on the hourly charts in AUD/USD. We note that CCI makes a near-term peak at 132.58 at 10pm on May 2, 2006. A few days later at 11am on May 4, CCI reaches 149.44 prompting a long entry at .7721. The stop is placed at .7709 and is taken out the very same hour. Notice that instead of rallying higher, the pair reversed rapidly. Furthermore, as the downside move gained speed, prices reached a low of .7675. A trader who did not take the 12-point stop as prescribed by the setup would have learned a very expensive lesson indeed as his losses could have been magnified by a factor of three. Therefore, the key idea to remember with our “do the right thing” setup is – “I am right or I am out!” Figure 5: Do the Right Thing CCI Trade, AUD/USD Source: FXtrekIntellichart Conclusion “Do the right thing” allows traders to trade breakouts confidently and successfully. CCI can put you on the right side of a trade when many others are trying to fade the price action. However, this setup only works if you apply it along with disciplined stops to protect you from major losses if the expected momentum fails to materialize. by Kathy Lien and Boris Schlossberg , ( Contact Author | Biography ) Boris Schlossberg runs BKTraderFX , a Forex advisory service and is the senior currency strategist at Forex Capital Markets in New York, One of the largest retail Forex market makers in the world. He is a frequent commentator for Bloomberg, Reuters, CNBC and Dow Jones CBS Marketwatch. His book, “ Millionaire Traders ” (John Wiley and Sons) is available on Amazon.com, where he also hosts a blog on all things trading. Kathy Lien is an internationally published author and the director of currency research at GFT . Her trading books include: “Day Trading the Currency Market: Technical and Fundamental Strategies to Profit form Market Swings” (2005), “High probability Trading Setups for the Currency Market” E-Book (2006) and “Millionaire Traders: How Everyday People Are Beating Wall Street at Its Own Game” (2007). Lien also runs an FX Signal Service, BKForex Advisor , with Boris Schlossberg – one of the few investment advisory letters focusing strictly on the 2 trillion/day FX market. <IFRAME width="664" height="73" scrolling="no" src="http://investopedia.com/CommonControls/NewsletterEmailCollection.aspx?RegLink=Onestep_Articles&NewsletterName=basics,newstouse" FRAmeborder=”0″>

Source: Channel Breakouts With The CCI

The Export

This is more Kiwis do good outside of New Zealand – Jemaine Clement stars in the new film from Jared Hess (Napoleon Dynamite) – Gentlemen Broncos. I had to add it. Flight of the Conchords is one of NZ’s most successful cultural exports. So watch as Jemaine channels Patrick Stewart. Plus frightened leaping ocelot.

The Big Picture

District 9 becomes a massive success in New Zealand, as predicted.

A gigantic success in the US with a $37 million opening weekend.

And Australia? Not so much. Australian crowds preferred to see the critically panned rom-com The Ugly Truth. Good taste guys.

The Talent

Armagan Ballantyne – director of the Strength of Water (really good – I will look into Australian release dates for you) gets some attention for her feature debut. Deservedly so.

Lily and Ra is a short Ballantyne created as a part of Art for the World, to mark the 60^th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

The Ticket

The filmmakers of The Insatiable Moon have seemingly launched an appeal for lotto tickets to fund the production. The idea is that the public donates lotto tickets, and the production gets to keep any winnings. Interesting. Though the smart cookies at Flicks have pointed out that the filmmakers haven’t supplied any contacts to send your lotto tickets to… perhaps then just an ineffective stunt?

The Future Films

Predicament –Jemaine Clement (again), Aussie comedian Heath Franklin (Chopper – Harden The Fuck Up), Rose McIver (The Lovely Bones) and musician Tim Finn were recently announced as the cast of upcoming film Predicament. The film is described as a crime comedy involving black mail, adultery and murder. And I bet a fair amount of wacky hijinks. Read the press release at the NZ Film Commission site.

Under The Mountain is new adaptation of a classic New Zealand children’s favourite. This is not going to help my fear of volcanoes.

From Book... to TV... to Film

The Expansion Pack

One of my favourite music sites Cheese On Toast has expanded into film reviews. Sure, go ahead and read them, but just remember we’re your favourite film review site.

Until next time!

- Morgan Stewart

Yesterday I had my first pro-sub gig.

Mostly it was very heavy bondage, no pain other than the soreness of very tight bondage over a long period of time. I spent three hours in various rope ties, as well as leather restraints. I had a great time. The following is a fictional story.

…

I’m gagged and blindfolded when I wake. I can feel rope around my wrists behind me and something is pulling my hair so my head is tipped way back. It’s very quiet. I don’t think anyone is in the room.

Feeling the length of the rope and the ties around my wrists, I find the end and slowly work out the first knot. With my eyes covered my sense of hearing is extremely heightened, but still there is no sound, not even breathing. The rope loosens around my wrists. It hurts to move my arm, but I remove the blindfold and gag. My fingers are tingling as the blood rushes back into them. I don’t know how long I’d been tied.

I take a deep breath and experimentally shift my legs. When you’ve been in one position for a long time it can be very difficult to move. I thought the was the problem, but it seems that my ankles are tied to my hair. My joints are a little creaky, but I manage to get the rope untangled from my hair and realize that my ankles are in cuffs, locked together.

The room is a typical motel room. I’m laying on a double bed. There’s a dresser and a tv and, I assume, a closet and a bathroom around the corner. It’s very dim. There is a bedside table lamp on behind me, but the rest of the room is dark. There’s something on the dresser across the room. Rolling over to my stomach, I stretch out my legs and point my toes for the journey. I skooch down to the end of the bed, and off, onto my knees on the floor. My ankles are pretty close together, so actual crawling is not really possible, but I slither over to the dresser on my belly, crawling on my elbows.

My jaw is so sore from the gag.

Pulling myself up using the edge of the dresser I manage a kneeling position and retrieve the tool- it’s a wire cutter. It’s not the ideal tool for the job, but I’ll make it work. The locks are a little too heavy duty for this tool, but if I just have time I’ll get through them. My hands are so tired and weak. After cutting just the center lock to separate my ankles, I give up. I’ll have to wear the shackles until my hands get back to normal, or I find a better tool.

I stand unsteadily, swaying slightly and return to the bed to rest. My joints are beginning to feel better so I stretch my muscles, my hands, my legs, my feet, my back. After a bit I’m feeling safe and much more comfortable so I find my clothes in the closet and get dressed. Glancing around the room, my attention is drawn to the lamp on the table. There, under the small circle of light is a stack of bills. I tuck that in my bra and leave the room.

S is standing outside. I collapse into his arms and he sets me down on the floor. “I need to go get the camera, babe. Go wait in the car. Here’s the keys.”

Being in the communication space, something we cannot escape is the client-agency, love-hate relationship. From my title and the exclaimation marks, I am sure the intelligent ones can figure out which side of the table I am on.

Well I have been in client servicing for sometime now and have come across a wide variety of clients…some bright, some crazy but thankfully mostly ‘not-so-bad’. But guess the challenge is to ‘tame’ the wild ones. Till the time, you are sercvicing them, these clients are usually considered as pain but later on the time spent with them become subject of anecdotes for friends.

The reason for me writing on this topic suddenly is well firstly I don’t feel like working much today(tired, woke up early) and secondly of this experience that I encountered early in the morning. Here goes the story..

Yesterday, CEO from my client’s company calls up CEO of my company (the agency) regarding a new campaign the client wants to launch. Tells my CEO to meet somebody at his office (lets call him Brad) and get a download on the thought process behind the campaign so that we can develop a communication strategy around it. CEO calling CEO…becomes a BIG DEAL. My CEO calls me up immediately and asks me to fix up the meeting the very next day and double up on the pace of deliverables. Branch head (lets call him Owen) is advised to be a part of the meeting so that he can give global strategy.

Poor me – CEO calling me, client’s CEO calling CEO, Owen involved…think its best to call up Brad immediately.  Called up Brad and told him about the CEO’s call and how we would want a brief on the campaign. Brad seems to be in sync. Wants to have the meeting, the very next day (i.e. today) at 8:30 in the morning at his office, citing

“suburban office + avoiding office rushhour = early morning meeting”

as the reason for the timing.

Owen cribs and cries, sulks and swears and somehow ensures I agree to pick him up from his place on the way to client’s office. So I wake up today at 6am. get out of the house by 7, pick up Owen by 7:30 and we cover the 30 km distance to client’s to reach at 8:25. Oh wow, what a pleasant surprise, Brad is on time and comes to greet us promptly at 8:30. So far so good! He then takes us to the conference room of third floor as the ones at the ground level are all occupied for some internal training. Did I say so far so good? well we realize that the lift has some technical error and we have to take the stairs.

Finally in the conference room, water is served, Owen and I stare at Brad, Brad stares back. Owen finally starts with why we are there. Brad says ‘Yes of course my CEO told me about it. Infact yesterday when Fascinated called, I told her about my being aware of it and you guys should come over.’

Owen and my expression: So? Then? If you could elaborate further..

Brad continues, ‘Hmmm but I have got to know of it only yesterday. I would like to prepare a concept note on our thought process so that it can be a background for your communication plan. Will send you that note by end of this week / beginning next week’

Owen and my expression: So? Then? Why have we come all the way here, early in the morning?

I realized that Owen might have lost his speech at the ridiculousness of the episode, global strategy flowing down the drain – I had to step in to salvage the situation. Asked Brad about when can he send us the note and some other related questions like some idea on the thought process, etc.

But yeah you guessed it right – he did not want to divulge anything to anyone except to his precious ‘concept note’.

Later, we realized including the time we spent going up and down the stairs, we were inside the client’s office for precisely 9 minutes 42 seconds.

I am still exasperated…waiting for it to start feeling like an anecdote!

“Sir? she called out, her voice wavering. “Sir, please Sir. Be careful, Sir.”

Pain coursed through her body, the clamps were digging in, settling into her tender flesh. Nipples aching as they pressed and rubbed against the jacket with every breath. She tried to be still, but it did nothing for the agony. Turning her head carefully, she strained to hear him coming, hear anything.

“Sir? Are you there, Sir? Please, Sir.” Her voice broke with half a sob. “Please be careful, Sir. It’s a trap, please, Sir.”

A sharp knock on the door rang in the silence, and she froze.

“Careful!” She cried, bracing for the pain.

Some slight tugs on the rope and the pressure was gone. She started shaking as he weight settled on the bed beside her. He murmured, but she couldn’t make out the words. He touched her face and she pressed against the contact. Slowly, he unwound her head. She blinked in the light and remembered to breathe again as she saw the concern in his eyes.

“Thank you, Sir.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You are welcome, little one.”

He surveyed her body, hand running lightly down her chest to the clothespins. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir.” She gasped for breath, not ready at all.

He held her eyes and plucked them off, one at a time. She groaned at each one, forcing out a Thank you, Sir, as the pain came in waves. When the were all off he stroked her and kissed her softly.

“Such a good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She trembled against him.

Then he got up and moved around to her feet. The ropes were tight, but came undone swiftly. He pulled them off, kissing each ankle ans slid her legs together, crawling up the bed beside her. Trailing his fingers up her legs, he stroked her gently, grinning at her whimpers.

“Time for the jacket, roll on your side, little one.”

Gritting her teeth to stifle moans, she rolled onto her side, unable to stop the cry as the clamps shifted and the jacket pressed against her sore nipples. He pulled the straps loose ans she whimpered and tried to hold her breath. Pushing the fabric off her shoulders, he rolled her onto her back and freed her from the confining fabric.

“Well look at that, whatever did you do to deserve those, little one?”  He grinned and tugged lightly on the chain, then caught her eyes, moving his fingers to one clamp. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kissing her hard, he swallowed her scream as he removed the clamp. She shook against him, gasping for breath, and managed a weak Thank you, Sir. He took hold of the other, diving onto her mouth again as she screamed with its removal, pinning her down with his body as another spasm wracked her frame.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re welcome, little one. You are wonderful.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her against his chest, stroking her hair and back as she clung to him. “Such a good girl.”

“So, your white knight is coming to save you, is he?” He towered over her, pulling things out of his black leather bag.

“Yes, sir.” She knelt, head down beside the bed.

“Well, then, we must be creative, can’t have it go easy on him, or you, for that matter.”

“Yes, sir.” She shivered at the distinctive metallic sound of nipple clamps being pulled from the midst of rope and tossed on the bed.

“We’ll need to set a trap, won’t we, just to teach him caution.”

Whimpers were her only answer as he pulled a small bag of wooden clothespins out and set them aside. She kept her eyes on the floor, tracking his movements by sound as he piled up his tools beside her, ropes, clamps, a straitjacket and a five pound weight. Her breathing already growing fast while she struggled to remain calm.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet, spinning her around to face away from the bed. He chose the nipple clamps first, cloverleaf-style, and slips them on, listening to her soft squeak of pain. The rustle of fabric behind her and the clink of metal rings as he opens the straitjacket in front of her. She dutifully puts her arms in, and he spins her a quarter turn to strap it up. She whimpers, her breath catching sharply as the fabric pulls against her pinched nipples. Leaving the crotch straps free for the moment, he picks a small piece of rope and kneels beside her. He reaches up inside the jacket and quickly ties it off to the chain between the clamps, giving it a gentle tug just to hear her squeal. Then back on his feet, he quickly secures the last two straps and give her a quick shove onto the bed.

“Lie back, head at the top, spread your legs.”

“Yes, sir.” She squirmed on the bed, arms secured across her belly, whimpering at every move as the clamps rubbed against the jacket until she was in place.

“Good girl, spread wide.” He grabbed the rope cuffs and quickly tied her ankles to the corners of the bed. “Now then, the trap needs a bit more bite, I think.” He scooped up a handful of clothespins and another thin rope.

He carefully threaded the rope through six clothespins and then attached three to each side of her pussy. She groaned as they sank in, whimpering at the glee in his eyes ans he tied the rope from the clamps to the rope attached to the clothespins. Grabbing a longer rope, he set up a pulley between her, the bedroom door and the weight. If the door was not opened with the utmost care, and the weight stopped from falling, it would yank all the clamps off of her tender flesh.

“Do you see? You’ll have to yell for him, warm him to be careful. You wouldn’t want him to come rushing in, eager to save you, would you? Yank all those clothespins, not to mention the clamps, all at once, you’d never survive.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” She was shaking and gasping, fear and adrenaline coursing through her.

“But we can’t make this too easy, can we?” He grabbed some bondage tape from his bag and began wrapping it around her head, covering her eyes and ears. “Don’t want you to be able to hear him arrive, do we? You’ll just have to start yelling for him as soon as I leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you ready? I have to go. Are you ready to scream for you white knight?”

She whimpered in response, trying to catch a steady breath, struggling to feel him one more time before he left.

“Oh, do you want a kiss before I go?” He leaned forward, pressing a hand down on her clamped breast, eliciting a scream as he kissed her. “Very good. Now scream for him or you’ll regret it. Good bye.” He kissed her one more time and then carefully exited, setting the trap behind him.

Recently I was asked by my fourteen year old daughter for a cell phone. As it is I pay well near two hundred dollars a month for mine and my wives iPhones, so an iPhone was out of the question for my daughter. I started doing some research for a cheap and easy solution for my predicament. I had promised my daughter a phone if she preformed well in school, and to my delight (and dismay) she got a 4.0.

After doing some research and looking around I thought I was doomed. I told her I would get her a nice smartphone, but nothing is affordable when it comes to any smartphone. Most plans them selves run any where from 70-120 dollars a month. Most smart phones themselves cost over two hundred dollars.

After days of searching I started giving up hope. It was only when I was doing research for unlocking and jailbreaking my iphone that I ran across the dream deal. On the site http://www.iphone-sim-unlock.com I was able to find the perfect phone the blackberry curve, for free. I figured it must be a 5-year plan, or something with no minutes included, but after looking, doing some research it truly was an amazing deal! My daughter got a free phone and plenty of minutes to talk to her friends., and after a year the phone is free and I will have no more contract.

The phone features a metallic finish, clean lines and soft edges, the BlackBerry Curve 8320 smartphone is the smallest and lightest BlackBerry smartphone ever to come with a full QWERTY keyboard.It’s packed with incredible features, including a camera, media player, Wi-Fi capabilities, expandable memory, Voice Dialing, BlackBerry Maps and trackball navigation. Plus, you get all the core functionality you’ve come to expect in a BlackBerry smartphone – email and text messaging, instant messaging, web browser and advanced phone functionality. The Black Berry Curve is every thing smartphone users have come to expect from the constantly expanding market of amazingly advanced phones.

Considering the phone its self is nearly 400 dollars it was an amazing deal. I recently received the phone more then a month ago. My daughter is ecstatic. She keeps telling me how all of her friends keep saying they wish their dad was as cool as hers was. It is a wonderful feeling making your loved ones happy, and at an affordable price it’s a deal that wont leave you in the poor house.

This is not a story. This is not a book. This is your life. Your real LIFE.

A deafening silence filled the night.

How long will this go on? Tell myself it’s no longer worth the pain I’ve suffered, no longer worth the time I’ve wasted. That it’s just another matter of the heart that couldn’t be embraced. As much as I constantly remind myself to let go I know I keep on holding on because I couldn’t get why it has to be you who told me to give up without even trying. I’ve never been so willing to loose myself .

You make me scared… the kind of scared that keeps me at a certain distance… so far that I couldn’t almost touch you.

If it’s hard to forget the moment you’ve suffered, it is harder to forget that instant when you learned you are capable of falling in love. I’ve been rushing time. I’ve missed a lot of sunshine. I’ve had too much rain. I was hoping that after all these I could finally forget but moving on is letting go of both love and hate. There’s still so much life to live though a lot have been wasted. There’s so much to know and learn but some will stay unknown, strange to kin.

Funny how I seem to know the way out yet I keep on running around in circles. Strange how every word comes out and goes back yet I keep on struggling to understand.

It ain’t easy to walk away but there is no place for me in you. You and I aren’t meant to be.

I guess all love stories are the same.

I have been in a roller coaster ride lately. And I feel like I would pass out any minute now. But thanks to an old blog entry, I have gained back my composure and my sanity. So yeah, I just want to share one of the entries that I have made last December which could really summarize my predicament these past few weeks.

Click here to read the entry. 

The Tank became a fan of social commentator and author Cornel West after reading an article on the former Black Panther and campaign advisor to President Obama in a recent issue of “Rolling Stone.”

Here is an excerpt by journalist Jeff Sharlet:

“The future, [West] says — the democracy he dreams of, the democracy we have yet to achieve — demands prophecy, piety ‘and the poetic. And by poetic I don’t mean a person who writes verses.’ He draws the word out like an English don. ‘I mean all those who exercise imagination and get us outside of our egocentric predicament! Give us a sense of awe and wonder! So we become concerned about something outside of our own little bubbles, our own little slices of reality, our own little professional managerial spots‘ — West makes that sound like a filthy word, then pulls up in a hard pause, hunches down to the edge of the stage and whispers slowly: ‘our own little iron cages.’ He stands. ‘There’s a lot of material toys in the cages. But you’re still in prison. And poets allow us to shatter those bars.’ “

G

BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL is having the courage to beg and the audacity to make light of your predicament. You got screwed, no fault of your own, and now you’re suffering. But first you go on, get down, have a little fun, mock those before you, and get a move on. It’s all good. Don’t let the ignorant blowhards tell you it ain’t civilized to beg. Begging is difficult enough without anyone scolding you for it. Yo blowhard, see my f’d up circumstances? Then chill. News flash to all beggars: Judgers judge and subscribe to a soul-eating conscience of capitalistic boo-hoo where little people are stepped on after being trampled and one can’t do a darn thing to make them see the light. But take heart, knowing everyone, I repeat everyone needs a helping hand at some critical point in their life. This helping hand isn’t welfare, a hand out, or food stamps and even if it is, who gives a hoot? There you go judging Judgers. Stop. It’s also an opportunity to gather you and start anew. And when you somewhere somehow find a way to break through or are given a chance and the pieces are all picked up and survival means more now than ever before, well then, why don’t you smile, exhale, and do a little dance? Shake, shake it baby. Before offering a helping hand to the fool who didn’t give you his.
(Photo courtesy of SeenyaRita at flickr)