All words are made up. All words spoken between us are nothing more than made-up sounds from manipulated air. They’re just lung puffs. All of the letters that we text, email, and write are made-up symbols to coincide with our made-up noise. It’s really just hand scribbles. This would mean that everything from existence theories to religious ideologies to politics to our names and much more are all one hundred percent fabricated from thin air, literally. In fact, these words here and the pronunciation sounds you hear in your head as you read the symbols on this page are made up as well. Essentially, this book uses made-up words to further dissect and clarify other made-up words. However, by the end of this mental deconstruction and rebuild, you will walk away with this liberating awareness- we just are. Existence just is.
In The House on Dogbone St., Julia Duthie takes us on a walk through the tumultuous life she was destined to endure.The feeling of treading on eggshells for the little girl who had no choice but to navigate one of the most dreadful paths that life could offer, displaying her resilience and go-getter attitude no matter what obstacle was thrown her way, is fascinating. We cannot blame her for being naive in some circumstances as the two people meant to protect her were in a world of their own. One, in a depressive trance, while the other was never fully present.
However, from start to end, her story is a lesson for every one of us. Ignorance takes no blame in this journey as Julia made the best of what she had and what she thought to be right. It is the advantage taken by elders and those who camouflaged their real personas that are the actual culprits of a life filled with scars at every turn. How she turned those dents into beautiful blooms is the intrigue of it all. Walk her path through this great rendition to encounter neighbours and teachers who stood in the shadows and shed a slight reflexion of hope toward her direction, never knowing how much it would finally mean to her and what she would eventually become.
Although it is a triumph to be celebrated, the unwelcome demons she collected along the way sometimes threaten to manifest themselves and take her back to a state of defeat. But will she follow suit? Find out in her extraordinary memoir.
Agent Mali Hooper is back, and the line between justice and revenge is blurred in a new case that will leave her at odds with her beliefs.
Mali is working with boyfriend and Special Agent, Jacob Black, on a sinister case where pedophiles and human traffickers, the most perverse members of society, are being brutally killed.
The person behind the murders, a woman calling herself Justitia, broadcasts the murders on social media and invites the public to participate. They love it and jump at the chance to be involved, feeling that justice is prevailing.
But is it?
Hot on the trail of Justitia, Mali and Jake use a new tool with questionable legal and ethical ramifications, not looking too closely at whether the ends justify the means. While the tool helps in unexpected ways, Justitia manages to stay one step ahead of them. She continually taunts Mali and the FBI for their inability to stop her, questioning why they would even do so given the service she is providing.
Mali begins to wonder why herself as her past collides with her present life. When her beliefs are put to the ultimate test, Mali must make a choice. In the end, will justice prevail?
Don’t miss this fast-paced thriller that will grab you and won’t let go! Buy #JusticePrevails now!
1993. The war-torn Bosnian countryside. Jane Abbott, a seasoned English conflict zone photographer who is no longer easily surprised, is surprised. Stunned, in fact, to’ve come across the son of THE notorious Ingrid Heimlich—who, until her traceless disappearance twenty years ago, had been the world’s most infamous leftist terrorist. Ben Heimlich, the stranded German kid and wannabe reporter she has picked up by the roadside, is either fearless or incredibly naïve—though probably naïve—and were it not for the platoon of Serbian partisans who intercept them on their way, she’d pestered him incessantly with questions of his mother’s whereabouts.
1994. Still reeling from the horror he had seen in Bosnia—and, as ever, wondering where in the world his mother is—Ben Heimlich moves to the United States and settles in the sparkling local neighborhood and global allegory known as Hollywood. As he gets older and, eventually, more affluent, Ben realizes that, no matter how ostensibly successful he’s become, he can’t escape his lingering despair. When he meets Isabel, who’s left her own traumatic early life in Mexico behind to make a new beginning in Los Angeles, his life takes a dramatic upward turn.
Chapter after chapter, Ben and his mother’s backgrounds and personae are illuminated from a multitude of angles by, among others, a former student activist aboard a hijacked airplane on a dusty stretch of tarmac in the capital of Libya in 1971; an aging homeless actor in Los Angeles still waiting for his break in 1994; a young girl who stumbles through the smoldering ruins of Berlin in 1945; a US State Department operative who interferes with sovereign states all over South America; the involuntary teenage wife of an imperious Sinaloan drug lord who attempts to flee her gilded cage; and the ninety-something-year-old son of German immigrants who’d fought for the United States against his parents’ onetime countrymen in World War II.
No, stop, you’re not supposed to like him.
All your life you’ve been told that you would marry Triton Amerson and that would be that. You don’t get a say on who or what you want to you. You’re the firstborn, the next in line of the throne, you’re the Alpha Princess of Wolves.
Stop thinking about how good he smells; the way his cheeks dimple when he smiles.
You resign yourself to a life of not wanting to get close to him. To give in means you’re accepting your fate. You push him into the arms of another.
The last thing you want to do is fall in love with him, but it’s happening.
Push and pull, you don’t know what to do with yourself as your feelings grow stronger. How are you supposed to cope with life when the one you’re falling for thinks you don’t want anything to do with him? There’s only one thing you can do, be the princess that you are, the Princess of Wolves.
Author’s awakening to the truth to our racial divide. Our racial framed positions by Color have always from elementary learning till now at age 65 have seems wrong and dishonest.
The Red, Black, White, or Yellow of our races have always been a theory with no facts of scientific or medical proof. Understand these races were created in medieval times and it is time to evolve from all the mistakes of mankind’s decisions from our past histories.
May we all evolve to see we are all one of a kind as DNA proves which makes each of us a masterpiece made by God. I can assure you we are all One Race with One God. America is my home, where I hope this can lead not only you but our leaders all to lead us as to what we should be One Race, One Nation under Our One God.
We once upon a time believed our pledge of allegiance was what kept our nation together and it did. Help mend our Indivisible Spirits to come back to our hearts and accept all our citizens as one native breed of Americans by birth and homeland
When LA social worker Anabel Medina sees a heavily armed gunman open fire at a shopping mall in Malibu, she almost snickers at the cruelly ironic fact that, after everything she’s managed to survive throughout her violent childhood in El Salvador, she’s now about to die. Here. In Malibu.
Soon thereafter, while being interviewed on live TV—and asked how she was able to subdue the shooter with such unfazed bravery, as has been seen by millions on a viral video—Anabel demurs. She doesn’t want to talk about how she had spent her adolescence fleeing from marauding death squads in the Salvadoran hinterlands, and how a childhood in such constant close proximity to death begets a kind of callousness that’s difficult to grasp for people from the North. The hero worship fluff piece she’s expected to partake in comes entirely undone when Anabel—instead of giving some redundant play-by-play of the ordeal, or leaving it at yet another feckless argument for stricter gun control—opts to speak about the deeper reasons for the ceaseless stream of violence in, and from, America while giving an articulate assessment of a western system rife with corporate greed, extreme iniquity, perpetual wars, and smoldering rage.
Days later, Chris Heller, a disenchanted war photographer who’s visiting his hometown of Los Angeles, meets a woman by the name of Anabel who, as it turns out, has recently made waves in Malibu. Two damaged souls begin to bond and for the first time in god-knows-how-long, feel close to someone else.
When Anabel faces calls to use the platform she’s unwittingly achieved, Chris, afire with a newfound sense of purpose in her wake, encourages her to run for office as an independent candidate. What follows is an unrelenting media smear campaign against the former ‘Heroine of Malibu’ who, through her enormous popularity, rises to become a threat to the establishment.
PRANKS. OIL. PROTEST. JOKES BETWEEN NEWLYWEDS. AND ONE HILARIOUS SIEGE OF A MAJOR CORPORATION.
Remmy grows up with Beth in Bellhammer, Illinois as oil and coal companies rob the land of everything that made it paradise. Under his Grandad, he learns how to properly prank his neighbors, friends, and foes. Beth tries to fix Remmy by taking him to church. Under his Daddy, Remmy starts the Bell Hammer Construction Company, which depends on contracts from Texarco Oil. And Beth argues with him about how to build a better business. Together, Remmy and Beth start to build a great neighborhood of “merry men” carpenters: a paradise of s’mores, porch furniture, newborn babies, and summer trips to Branson where their boys pop the tops of off the neighborhood’s two hundred soda bottles. Their witty banter builds a kind of castle among a growing nostalgia.
Then one of Jim Johnstone’s faulty Texarco oil derricks falls down on their house and poisons their neighborhood’s well.
Poisoned wells escalate to torched dog houses. Torched dog houses escalate to stolen carpentry tools and cancelled contracts. Cancelled contracts escalate to eminent domain. Sick of the attacks from Texaco Oil on his neighborhood, Remmy assembles his merry men:
“We need the world’s greatest prank. One grand glorious jest that’ll bloody the nose of that tyrant. Besides, pranks and jokes don’t got no consequences, right?”
:: PRAISE FOR LANCELOT SCHAUBERT AND BELL HAMMERS ::
“Schaubert recounts a mischievous man’s eight decades in Illinois’s Little Egypt region in his picaresque debut. Remmy’s life of constant schemes and pranks and a lifelong feud with classmate Jim Johnstone and the local oil drilling company proves consequential. This is a hoot.”
— Publisher’s Weekly
“BELL HAMMERS is written in a style not unworthy of John Kennedy Toole and William Faulkner – the vivid characterization of Southern ethnography commingled with stark, episodic spectacle breathes with the spirit of quintessential Americana. It is a text I would happily assign in an American Novel class and would expect it to yield satisfying discourse alongside works in the canon, whether beside the sardonic prose of Mark Twain or the energetically painful narratives of Toni Morrison.”
— Dr. Anthony Cirilla
“Schaubert’s words have an immediacy, a potency, an intimacy that grab the reader by the collar and say, ‘Listen, this is important!’ Probing the bones and gristle of humanity, Lancelot’s subjects challenge, but also offer insights into redemption if only we will stop and pay attention.”
— Erika Robuck, national bestselling author of Hemingway’s Girl
“Myth, regret, the lore of our heritage and the subtle displays of our castes — no one so accurately and imaginatively captures the joys and sorrows of life in the Midwest as Schaubert does here. BELL HAMMERS is a Tree Grows in Brooklyn as told by Gabriel Garcia Marquez if Marquez lived in rural Illinois and only told stories to his grandkids. Seriously a delight to read.”
— Colby Williams, author of the Axiom Gold Medal winning book Small Town, Big Money
“Loved BELL HAMMERS because Lancelot wrote about people who don’t get written about enough and he did it with humor, compassion, and heart.”
— Brian Slatterly, author of Lost Everything and editor of The New Haven Review
“I’m such a fan of Lancelot Schaubert’s work. His unique view and his life-wisdom enriches all he does. We’re lucky to count him among our contributors.”
— Therese Walsh, author of The Moon Sisters and Editorial Director of Writer Unboxed
After publishing his bestselling novel The Transhumanist Wager in 2013, Zoltan Istvan began frequently writing essays about the future. A former journalist with National Geographic, Istvan’s essays spanned topics from the Singularity to cyborgism to radical longevity to futurist philosophy. He also wrote about politics as he made a surprisingly popular run for the US Presidency in 2016, touring the country aboard his coffin-shaped Immortality Bus, which The New York Times Magazine called “The great sarcophagus of the American highway…a metaphor of life itself.” Zoltan’s provocative campaign and radical tech-themed articles garnered him the title of the “Science Candidate” by his supporters. Many of his writings—published in Vice, Quartz, Slate, The Guardian, International Living, Yahoo! News, Gizmodo, TechCruch, Psychology Today, Salon, New Scientist, Business Insider, The Daily Dot, Maven, Cato Institute, The Daily Caller, Metro, International Business Times, Wired UK, The San Francisco Chronicle, Newsweek, and The New York Times—went viral on the internet, garnishing millions of reads and tens of thousands of comments. His articles—often seen as controversial, provocative, and secular—elevated him to worldwide recognition as one of the de facto leaders of the burgeoning transhumanism movement. Here are many of those watershed essays again, organized, edited, and occasionally readapted by the author in this comprehensive nonfiction work, The Remnants: Essays, Interviews, and Other Writings. Also included are some of Zoltan’s new writings, never published before. This book is part of a 7-book box set collection of his essential work, the Zoltan Istvan Futurist Collection, focusing on futurism, secularism, life extension, politics, philosophy, transhumanism and his early writings. Enjoy reading about the future according to Zoltan Istvan.
I gave my son a paperback version of the book for his Birthday. He saw the video teaser for the book and loved the concept. He is an extremely intelligent teenager and is loving the book! He wants to be a Movie Director after college, so perhaps he does a Documentary or movie of your Book.
– Sanford Davidson, Sales Leader, OneStream Software
This book will blow away your preconceptions of the almighty American Empire and its Enterprises. I guarantee it!
This book takes its title from the 1980 comedy film “The Gods Must Be Crazy,” in which an empty Coca-Cola bottle is dropped from a plane onto a community of African bushmen. The bottle is thought to be a gift from the Gods, but after it incites bitter fighting amongst the villagers, the tribal leader decides to return it to the Gods, embarking upon a journey to the end of the world. Through my own metaphorical coke bottle, I visualize the dawn of a daunting new Empire. This book serves as both a testament to the past glories of the current American Empire and a guidebook to restoring Capitalism and Enterprise – before it is too late.
Steve Hilton:” A lot of people say that China wants to replace the US as the superpower …, Do you believe that that’s their intention?”
Trump: “Yes, I do. Why wouldn’t it be? They’re very ambitious people. They’re very smart. They’re great people. It’s a great culture.”
– Fox News interview (05-19-19)
It’s halftime America!
Ay Yi Yai Yi! We are in the middle of The New World Order!
Empires rise, decline, and fall. History has witnessed this cycle with the Romans, the Ottomans, and the British. They have all toppled, and if we are not careful, the US will be the next.
Many of today’s enterprises are a gaggle of debt-addicted extreme financial engineering frogs floundering in tepid snake oil. Unfortunately, many will find their demise in the clutches of IP vultures.
If we don’t play our trump cards right, the next voracious Empire – the Middle Kingdom of China – will consume us; sending their errand boys to collect bills from the US and over a hundred other countries that it has economically and digitally colonized since the Economic Tsunami of 2008, through “Belt and Road Initiative” (BRI) to its “Digital Silk Road” (DSR).
“Make Enterprise Great Again” digs into the foundations of capitalism and traces the ideals, triumphs and zeitgeist of the Roosevelt years in order to “Build Back Better” – and to save us from the impending Fourth Reich.
Yeah! It’s halftime, America!
Meet EPM Mavericks
I was born and raised in God’s Own Country, Kerala, a tropical paradise in India. In Kerala, we are followers of St. Thomas, the Apostle, educated by Christian missionaries brought by colonizers from Portugal, France, and Britain. 100% literacy and high educational standards in Kerala have led to many progressive movements, including Communism. Kerala has many unique records, such as a model COVID-19 recovery rate being higher than most Western countries. The first place where communists became democratically elected to power in world history, ruled as such since 1957. The resulting industrial desert brought on by Communism forced me to pack up my bags after obtaining my Industrial Engineering degree (with specialization in Total Quality Management) and seek a job in Bombay (the commercial capital of India).
I soon realized my prospects beyond the factory floor became limited by my dark skin (as a lungi-wearing Kala Madrasi). Fearing for my future, I fled to the South to escape the racist professional ladder. I obtained my MBA in finance as a candidate for national integration. Providentially for me, in 1990, the entire Indian economy collapsed under the weight of the half-a-century-old mighty Indian License Raj. The result was a liberalized Indian economy. The timing was impeccable, as it provided me the opportunity to start my career as an Investment Banking Analyst. Fortune smiled upon me again when the 1996 stock market crash in India allowed me to come out of my investment banking career.
India took the socialist route and, during the conflict of the 1970s with Pakistan, which declared emergency rule. Due to the Pakistan war and other non-alignments, the US and India’s relationship soured, and IBM abandoned India. Hail to the vacuum (to be filled), TCS and the other Indian IT conglomerates were born out of desperation. They coded us in IT to kickstart the legacy computers and mainframes left behind by IBM. Thanks to the biggest blunder in business history (Y2K), IBM and the other western enterprises saw us (‘Cyber Coolies’) as the thrifty solution to fix the doomsday Armageddon code.
During this time, I managed to migrate from corporate finance to ERP (Enterprise Resource Planning) solutions and snatched my passport to the epitome of capitalism, the USA. Nevertheless, in 2000, the (Netherlands-based) BaaN Brothers got involved in the Dutch scandal, and the #3 ERP (BaaN) system I was riding became a dead horse.
Since then, I have spent over a decade volunteering for PMI. I have etched my name on PMI’s key standards (including PMBOK, OPM3, PP&PM, etc.), thanks to my PMI papers, publications, and books (especially Project Portfolio Management Standard). I even served in Gartner’s PPM board room panel and later became one of the three PM Methodology SME at E&Y. In 2008, amid the economic tsunami, I served as an advisor to CFO’s office, setting up the Project Portfolio Management Office for a Fortune 10 World’s Most Admired Company. I saved them around a half a billion dollars, but I became the victim of my short-term financial engineering. I managed to capitalize on the 90s legacy Hyperion Enterprise and moved on to the fancy world of a CFO’s suites of products for more prominent Financial Engineering in the BIG4 consulting world.
In 2009, I packed my bags for the Cambodian Jungles in search of answers from the bottom of the pyramid through Chinese GIFT (Global Institute for Tomorrow) – a Clinton Global Young executive Leadership Program (YLP). The more I examined the finance world in the West, the more disillusioned I became. I lost faith in the rollercoasters of flash markets. 90% of today’s stock market without long-term fundamental values is chasing stock buybacks, the Tweets, QE , the hot dollars, and high-frequency algorithmic flash gambles by BOTs. Hail to Hernando de Soto, I was born again to The Mystery of Capital Gospel. Since 9/11, I have won a few dollars betting against the conventional Western market wisdom by gambling in Petro China and Total .
After returning from the wilderness of the Cambodian killing fields , I reincarnated my career yet again, becoming an EPM (Enterprise Performance Management) consultant out of the 2008 Economic Tsunami in the BIG4 world. I made 95% of my net worth between 2008 to 2011 by betting against conventional wisdom. When the whole world deleveraged, I leveraged to the extreme in some of the most iconic real estate in the world which was on Fire-Sale. I do have a fair share of blood on my hands with mindless EPM Financial Engineering through fancy jargon (aka Cost Cutting) such as Tax Effective Supply Chain Management (TESCM), Business/Finance/IT Transformation, BPR, Six Sigma and Pricing and Profitability strategy.
To greenwash my guilt, I had the fantastic honor of volunteering for the most extensive Professional Not-for-Profit for over a decade (PMI [Project Management Institute]), which serves ~3 million professionals, including over 500,000 members in 208 countries around the world. I have contributed to about half a dozen books and ~50 publications/presentations. I started to become involved in several Entrepreneur of the Year (EOY) Awards at Ernst & Young.
Sadly, after over two decades, it looks like I need to ride back through that Mad Max fury redemption road and climb through the apocalypse rubble of Roosevelt’s capitalist nostalgic era.