Allen Stanford, perhaps the most unusual criminal of the banking bubble of the 2000's, was finally perceived by the S.E.C. as indictable through the work of a little known but highly aware blog named Inca Kola News, devoted to the dubious adventures of banking and resource exploitation in Latin America (Inca Kola is a yellow bubble-gum flavored soda sold throughout the region originating in Peru).

The site, though poorly designed, is filled with inside jokes, underlines of unusual data spikes (check out the 'graffiti' on the COMEX chart below), and rumors of the raiding of coffers, illustrating to the planet how bankers really operate at the edges of law-enforcement.

Invented by Fletcher Hanks

The fovea (the center of the eye's vision) suggests we have a limited range with which to encrypt ideas via an alphabetical, linear page-based horizon, but this is merely mezzanine-thinking. Videogames, movies and earlier glyphic-expansive storytelling of meso-america suggest peripheral vision can add discriminating levels of data to our simplified and lazy text-storytelling. Next stop?

A new book by cog scientist Dehaene continues the debate between text innateness thinkers like Chomsky and his alternates.

A DC-10 sightseeing tour of Antarctica was destroyed, smashing headlong into Mt. Erebus, all due the switching of the on-board computer and the pilot's flght plans, leading the pilots to believe they would never be flying near a mountain. The pilots simply never saw the vast mountain they were approaching, something called sector whiteout affected their vision: overlapping whites that appeared to be snow below and clouds ahead.

The innovative and horrific recovery is detailed by the team's leader below.

The fact that we all spent about a week camped in polar tents amid the wreckage and dead bodies, maintaining a 24 hour work schedule says it all. We split the men into two shifts (12 hours on and 12 off), and recovered with great effort all the human remains at the site. Many bodies were trapped under tons of fuselage and wings and much physical effort was required to dig them out and extract them.

Initially, there was very little water at the site and we had only one bowl between all of us to wash our hands in before eating. The water was black. In the first days on site we did not wash plates and utensils after eating but handed them on to the next shift because we were unable to wash them. I could not eat my first meal on site because it was a meat stew. Our polar clothing became covered in black human grease (a result of burns on the bodies).

We felt relieved when the first resupply of woollen gloves arrived because ours had become saturated in human grease, however, we needed the finger movement that wool gloves afforded, i.e. writing down the details of what we saw and assigning body and grid numbers to all body parts and labelling them. All bodies and body parts were photographed in situ by U.S. Navy photographers who worked with us. Also, U.S. Navy personnel helped us to lift and pack bodies into body bags which was very exhausting work.

Later, the Skua gulls were eating the bodies in front of us, causing us much mental anguish as well as destroying the chances of identifying the corpses. We tried to shoo them away but to no avail, we then threw flares, also to no avail. Because of this we had to pick up all the bodies/parts that had been bagged and create 11 large piles of human remains around the crash site in order to bury them under snow to keep the birds off. To do this we had to scoop up the top layer of snow over the crash site and bury them, only later to uncover them when the weather cleared and the helos were able to get back on the site. It was immensely exhausting work.

After we had almost completed the mission, we were trapped by bad weather and isolated. At that point, NZPO2 and I allowed the liquor that had survived the crash to be given out and we had a party (macabre, but we had to let off steam).

We ran out of cigarettes, a catastrophe that caused all persons, civilians and Police on site, to hand in their personal supplies so we could dish them out equally and spin out the supply we had. As the weather cleared, the helos were able to get back and we then were able to hook the piles of bodies in cargo nets under the helicopters and they were taken to McMurdo. This was doubly exhausting because we also had to wind down the personnel numbers with each helo load and that left the remaining people with more work to do. It was exhausting uncovering the bodies and loading them and dangerous too as debris from the crash site was whipped up by the helo rotors. Risks were taken by all those involved in this work. The civilians from McDonnell Douglas, MOT and US Navy personnel were first to leave and then the Police and DSIR followed. I am proud of my service and those of my colleagues on Mount Erebus.^[17]

—Jim Morgan

Pieces taken from the Wiki entry of Flight 901

Terminator Salvation, since the filmmakers are plotting the whole war as just a ruse that leads directly to earth that sets The Matrix (Kyle Reese is labeled 'unplugged' in a machine's view). Like The Wachiowski's first outing, it's a retro-satire of John Connor's heroic acts discovered in reverse (precisely what The Matrix is forwards, Zion denizens think the search for the one is important, when it's really what the machines have put them up to: the task of finding him to enslave him). Think about it. They do the same thing to Marcus Wright, they bring him in for reunification (the pre-Zionists even string him up in a Jesus pose) just as Neo was supposed to accomplish meeting the architect. Connor, Reese et al are essentially pawns in the machine's grand game. The inventor of sky net is a woman, Serena Kogen, who plots her machine game beginning with a willing death-row inmate. Rather ingenious if you really ponder the scale of it.

She is the matrix. 

It goes WAY over the audience's heads, but it is precise if you watch the film carefully (it begins with a Warner Bros. logo shift, of course). Check out all those pre-squiddies (and their POV).

Book One of the Velvet Comet--the enormous, exclusive, elaborate, and infamous orbiting brothel: As a field accountant for the Vainmill Syndicate, Harry Redwine is assigned to the Velvet Comet for the delicate task of financial sabotage. By inserting 'errors' in the accounting logs, the Syndicate intends to expose a phony embezzlement scheme as an excuse to shut down the troublesome orbiting pleasure palace. When the reclusive Redwine falls in love with the madam, he begins a tricky double-cross that threatens more than the financial well-being of the Comet

M. Night's Malthusian dilemna The Happening