storming the hurricane beach; lesson learned

sunday morning, i looked out my window and decided that i would be “one of those people” who have to do the unwise and go to the beach as tropical storm irene passes over the new york area.
going, i already acknowledge that i won’t be able to make it into fort tilden and at best, might make it to floyd bennett field to survey “glass-carnage” at the windows of recently-gutted “hangar one” where the banks of old glass panes on the huge, sliding doors are an antonioni movie waiting to happen.
this is an older photo of the hangar in question;

as not to bore my faithful readers – the two new ones and the creepy-desperate one who’s been stalking me (yes, i’m being stalked – and i’m serving notice to you dear, selfish, whiney, horrible reader who i probably know and more than likely, pity) – i’m not going to link this note with past references. i have an earlier note – started three days before the storm – and will incorporate that because it’s got loads of incidental crap and – by the way – has to do with more said, “weasel-behavior” from other vermin-like humans, prior to the stalker described above.
there’s been a spate of this going on in and around my little orbit of friends and loved ones – they and i are being subjected to what i call “random acts of despicability” – yes, more than likely not a word till now, but give it time… – and i’m wondering if it has to do with this culture, the ever-increasingly-desperate world, a virus of pathetic stupidity or simply luck-of-the-draw out there on the fine, green-felt tables located all over the big casino, trillions of miles west of “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension” or whatever….
(well, i gotta link some things.)

but i digress…off on a tangent.

tangent – noun – 1. george hamilton

i kid, i kid….but seriously;
as i drove up to the small entrance road to floyd bennett field, i saw park-police cars ahead barricading the road. a quick U-turn later, i followed cars heading to the gil hodges-marine parkway bridge which was open, so i stuck the e-z pass onto the windshield and hoped for the best.

such joy! the scanners were off – free ride to fort tilden.
to my right, the road to breezy point and the fisherman’s parking lot was barricaded by more police cars (NYC type), so i turned left and drove to my, “secret-default-one parking area,” a just-made-up name of a place i’ve used a few times when i needed to.
i parked, threw on the blue “georgetown” hoody, pulled out the wfmu record-bag full of supplies, tossing it over my shoulder, secured the camera in a belt-holster on my hip and with a big, excited dog on a long leash in my hand, ducked in through a side entrance of the fort and felt the negative ions feed me.
if you don’t know, that’s a good thing, hence the link.
this is the first photo i took;

my journey felt promising.
i would remember to exercise caution on my hike, acknowledging the small gulf between foolish and stupid.
i am foolish.
i try to keep stupid down to a minimum.

i snapped away, working toward the dunes, hoping to remain under the park-police radar. making it onto the beach, i noticed two other bands of adventurers in the distance. we shared the conspiratorial joy of being here.
i just know it.
we acknowledged each other with furtive waves and head bobs. we made it here and it was every beach adventurer for himself.
the tide was low but the waves churned.
i found myself photographing the one, little tern (lower-left-corner) at this bay again and again.
it walked unimpressed, busy about its business –

the beach at low-tide offers an expansive look, and the wind bit into our skin as we walked westward against the eastern howl.
i DID note that this was not an unforgettable experience. there was no drama or small buildings being thrown around here, but it was a force to be reckoned with.
i’m a believer that everything is a force to be reckoned with.

i believe that a broken shoelace can start a war…
that one person’s decision to do something good could affect an entire planet…for a moment.
and little more.
humanity is flighty and will, in the end, do something far stupider than go to the beach during a hurricane, but will inevitably continue to survive just like other species will and do…just like that tern; but maybe us, like them, are nothing more than lucky.
ahhh, luck.
so much the object of my thought.
so much the hotwire to my childhood and my first walk into the void. the still-comfort of that place that humms and whistles at times, assuring me of….nothing.
because there is always nothing.
it’s where i come from and it’s a pretty amazing place.
it’s the space between the roll of the dice.
it the distance between the cause and the effect.

i didn’t need assurances of the miraculousness of this moment.

just like things that have an overwhelming occupation of being yellow, were being yellow this day.
i walked from beach to dune to beach.
i clicked and clicked and clicked.

i photographed interstellar maps for the first time in a while. i knew that i had to and it had nothing to do with my friend – the one who talks like eduardo ciannelli and looks like omar sharif – who may or may not have been in the fishermans parking lot, just west of here…

http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l213/sbluemon/earth%20reclamation%20project/SAM_3862.jpg

it might have to do with my future journey, or maybe it was telling me where i came from.
maybe i’ll find my friend there, maybe not.
i photographed distant places and electronic images, seared onto the pallet of sand.
the black and greys that comprise the “faxes” i see, are made of iron that whips in the air here.
you can look it up.
or you can reach back here and read about it, the day i came here and the entire beach was black.

i would walk and shoot and walk some more. there’s loads of pics in photobucketland.
we would, after about two hours, decide to go home.
i took a path that lead to a path that lead to the path i took when i got here.
as i approached the area where i took that first photo of the wind’s havoc on signs and barriers, i saw this;

i can go on about whether this was a hurricane or not, or whether anything matters about anything.
and that previous note i wanted to incorporate into this?
why bother?
maybe later.

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sen-sen

i didn’t see this stuff in forever, but in my last foray into economy candy in the LES, where i was re-upping the chocolate necco stash for my dearest friend (for when we have that rendezvous), there they were – sen-sen

i chose to picture them as i remember them – a small, cardboard box with sliding inside tray; today it’s a foil packet – whatever.
in conversations with my friend, we spoke about (and i collected) adam’s gum – blackjack, sour apple and sour cherry – B-B bats, red licorice whips, twizzlers and chuckles.
these things reside in a black-cotton dirtybook art shopping bag along with books, toys, tchotchkes, tee-shirts and whatever else might have become pertinent to conversations we’ve had in the past two years.
and that’s about all i have to say about that.
but i digress….
sen-sen.

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…againing…

a lot of what i’ll write was written before, hence the title.
what’s more, a lot of what i’ve been trying to do lately has not been…done.
again, hence the title.
a few days ago, i drove out to the darkest place in the metropolitan area – i added the link for my new friends. most everyone knows what i’m referring to, but i know that i have at least two new readers here.
one of them was a brilliant surprise.
i live for brilliant surprises and i’ll leave it at that.
as a secret “nod,” i will say that this person is well versed in the world of the irish riveria as i remember.
another thing my two new readers don’t know about is my relentless shilling for gateway national park as well as my relationship with that lizard guy who sounds like eduardo ciannelli (and looks like omar sharif). they’ll learn that these lizards live quietly among us and cultivate a certain portion of humanity the way we cultivate kobe beef.
at this point, i suggest they click the link below or just start reading this scroll of notes from the beginning.
here’s the link about the grifting lizards from mars.
here’s a link about “the eighth electro-plasma ocean of the ninth dimension”.
i haven’t spoken of this in a while.
i’ve tried to avoid peering in that direction, thinking it could hold sway over matters above and beyond the playings in celestial casinos. i choose not to look in fear of seeing my friend slip by, skittering eternityward (probably not a word till this moment), laughing and howling delightedly.
from me, guilt and shame (in equal amounts) score on my selfish-o-meter while another part of me, the one that roots for joyous vastness, for an end of pain and fear, make me to glance in hope of such a sight.
it’s intrinsically-linked in an organic way that sounds totally ridiculous.
i’m totally ridiculous, at least today.

the camera is being charged since hearing that thunderstorms – complete with hail – are headed this way.
i’m sure lightning will work into the proceedings.
my eyes shoot to the window where i see gray and darkness barreling its way into the quiet, blue sky.
a shiver runs through me….”third one’s a charm?,” i mutter to my heap of maxx, lying silently next to my chair.
againing.
i rewind stories.
i gather maxx and head to gateway to photograph lightning and storms in a huge, open space.
again…as i’m againing, again.

“oh-for-two,” in that department.

“oh-for-one,” was when i drove out and it became hot and sunny and so humid that the my lizard friend chose to run like hell and give me the finger as he left – the last note posted here entitled “the hot.”

“oh-for-two,” was a couple of days later when the sky flashed a brilliant light show at around ten at night. i rushed out to floyd bennett field.
all i got was – as i told my musically-brilliant friend – was…bupkis…and a few night shots;

maxx and dark – above.
lightning never flashed and thunder never rumbled, but it was a calm respite. we stayed and walked around for a while and i posted some other darkness-photos in the “earth reclamation project” folder.

re/thunderstorms and HAIL?
yes. i went.
again.
the storm moved north.
i photographed plants in cement cracks….

and maxx not want to fetch…

when the rain arrived, i dozed off in the “wagon” section of my stationwagon with the back-hatch opened, the pitter-patter lulling both me and my pooch to our dreams.
mine involved my dearest friend and it smacked of endings of sorts. the house was being emptied, so many rooms were vacant and the walls, bare.
the whiteness reminded me of other things.
when i came home, i opened the goody bag i had been compiling oddnesses and gifts for our eventual rendezvous and snared a pack of “chuckles”……

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the “hot”

i’ve been here when it was hotter, but this past monday, me and maxx headed out to the beach under a gray sky and threateningly swift breezes. i looked at this as the blessing of a rainy-cool day and even put a jacket in the record bag to go with the camera, water and dog biscuits. i was set for this in my body, hard drive and intergalactic cosmic wireless port.
in the eighteen minutes it took to get onto the belt parkway heading west, the skies began to clear.
it was all downhill from there.
by the time i parked the car at fort tilden, the world was bright and the air was like soup. i peeked across the length of the parking lot and noticed a wine-red honda element backing out of its parking space and immediately sensed it was that lizard guy – the one who sounds like eduardo ciannelli and looks like omar sharif – making a run for it. I stood, waiting for the car to drive by and it did, stopping briefly, enough time for the window on the driver’s side to open and that grifting lizard to say, “…getting out of here. you’re a mess and don’t want to get into it with you today..,” and before i could answer, the window was up and the car was away.
i thought about flipping him the bird.
at that moment, his car’s window reopened, his left hand raised, middle finger upward to the heavens as the car passed out of sight.
“douchebag,” i muttered.
that’s my “default resentment word.”

the above photo has maxx in the shadow of a big concrete box. his eyes – to me – are asking, “what the fuck and when is this asshole going to take me home?”

we went home.

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my point exactly…..

one of the richest people in the world, warren buffet wrote an opinion in the sunday times that should have gotten headlines in the “liberal media.”
this goes back to something i wrote in a note entitled “this is indicative…” where i tried to explain the weak-kneed behavior by the press that “seems” to lean toward supporting the president.
i remind myself just where i am when i count the commercials for oil, insurance, bank and investment companies.
and that’s on msnbc.

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the shards and the jed

above are the shards (obviously) – startling beauty from the “earth reclamation project.”
i went combing the innernet for group photos of buddy ebsin/jed clampett- and would have completed the joke if i knew some photoshop.
i forgot.

so, it’ll have to be the, “the shards and the jed”
do i need to hint the, “west side story” reference?
i am scraping the bottom of the wit-barrel with this one, huh?
blame it on the rain.

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the earth reclamation project, reclamation project

it seems the initial subject of my photobucket account section entitled “the earth reclamation project” is experiencing either a death or rebirth, depending on who’s looking.
after posting the previous note – the curiouser-stupider one – i felt the need to put my camera to work during the daytime. this would turn out to be a mixture of good fortune and bad news.
today – friday – was beautiful, sunny, not all-that-hellish and by late afternoon me, maxx and a samsung digital camera were heading toward gateway national recreation area.
i opted to go to floyd bennett airfield, parking on the edge of runway “big #24”. (there’s also a smaller 24)
when maxx went into the greenspace that separates runway #24 from runway #1, it was time for his 2011 summer portrait.

after a little bit of this and that, we drove to the old airplane hangars where i first fell in love with moss and decay (which might be a good name for an acoustic duo who sing old-timey music). i would sneak in and photograph everything, everywhere.

well, this is what’s happening there now –

there goes that moment.
good thing there’s a mega-trillion more out there.

i posted a lot more on photobucket.

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curiouser and curiouser to stupider and stupider. now, about that deck of cards

oh boy. i was ready to go off and draw parallels between lewis carroll’s work and the united states government’s three chambers of madness.
i have since decided to say, “fuck it,” with a low-degree of wiseassness to offer on the matter. anyone can see it. i don’t have to connect any dots.
i can only move forward on that shit when i’m gregariously witty or chock-full of coffee.
i don’t doubt i’ll walk this road again, venting impotently-opinionated yammerings about politics on stupid, pointless wars run by criminals for criminals about criminals, but not today and hopefully not tomorrow.
let me say this and let it go:
STOP THE WARS
i’ll probably make it part of my shtick and blurt it out like i’m suffering from a politically-driven form of tourettes.

but i digress….
when you know that it’s – in the end – about intergalactic farming, what can you really say?
what do you say when a planet of lizards, one mighty step above humanity in the milky way, call their gastronomic AND our economic shots, based on the most basic of rules best put into words by ginger rogers who said, “a girl’s gotta eat.”
fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly…and lizards gotta grift.
imagine being at the whim of a host of greedy, mindless buffoons who have no sense of right or wrong any longer, like common sense was distracted by something shiny. those martian lizards know their business and consequently, their feasts are epicurean wonderlands – if you’re into that kind of thing – where their properly-stuffed charges are fed the finest of everything, propped-up with promises of economic invincibility and outright arrogance. the link above is almost three years old and it’s like i wrote it yesterday, that’s how little things have changed.
that is unless if, “worse” of the same counts.

let me return to ginger rogers in my black and white world..
i thought of ginger because the film “stage door” appeared on turner classic movies again.
they were celebrating lucille ball’s hundredth birthday by showing her history in film.
she had a medium-sized part in the this film and to use the lexicon of the day (1937), lucy was “quite a dish.”
from this black and white i went to another one……
i gathered maxx and headed out to gateway national park.
i planned this a few days earlier, mainly as a promise to my dog.
i make promises to people, animals and assorted inanimate objects. i always did and always will.
i do my best to keep these promises.
i thought of these things when i drove over the marine parkway gil hodges memorial bridge.
i decided, instead of driving to the fishermans’ parking lot (where i met the grifting lizard guy – the one who looks like omar sharif and sounds like eduardo ciannelli four years ago, as well as the park policeman who, last week, asked me if i had any drugs), to double back and park at the side of the beach where the three-par golf course is located.
walking toward the sound of water crashing on the shore, i turned back and took this photo.
somewhere in the lighted area is where i parked the car.

as i looked at the receding patch of light, i thought of it as a painting on a large, black wall.

that’s sort-of like it, maybe.
the portraits in my head are always better.
we walked ahead.
the semi-cool, off-shore breeze seemed a little waterlogged. looking left, my eyes captured four lights illuminating the final stretch of the beach’s cement walk….

taking this photo, i thought about how little i’ve been using the camera and when i did, how it’s always been at night.
i also recalled sitting somewhere amid these four lights. years ago i sat in a beach chair under a cement overhang and watched an extraordinary lightning storm followed by blinding rain.
there was a smattering of humanity on and around the beach that day and i came to the consensus that we were feeling like a humanity of the ilk who build houses next to volcanoes.
this moment came and went.
i laughed out loud and maxx jumped up, taking my right forearm into his powerful jaws and biting into my arm.
he does this when he’s pleased or excited.
now i think it’s his way of laughing with me.
the last time here, i was writing extended paragraphs to my dearest friend, 160 characters at a time, trying to simulate e-mail. she doesn’t consult her computer any longer, i’m sure of it.
as i walked onto the sand, i could see white, churning water and hear the smack of waves on the shore. high tide. reaching the wet sands, i turned west toward fort tilden, walking about a quarter-mile.
all-at-once i stripped down, jammed my clothes into my record bag and hung it on a wooden post buried in the sand. calling maxx, i turned and ran to the ocean, diving into an incoming wave, my stomach skimming an ocean floor of seashells. coming up from under, i was pelted by a series of waves that sent me shoreward. i rode one in and looked around for maxx. he was comfortably placed on the sands around the wooden post where my bag was. as i approached him, he got up and began to dig into the sand, throwing clumps and sprays into the air, some of it finding its way into my bag over three feet in the air.
he’s got great aim.
is this a good place for political thought?
out here, in a place reserved for love and serenity?
i delineated these thoughts;
we’re living in a country where a portion of it really hates the black guy in the white house.
the black guy in the white house thinks like a cross between the president jack nicholson character and the pierce brosnan character in mars attacks…the trailer for the film is perfect for putting american thought into perspective and i don’t think i need to explain it;

so, here i was at 11:30 at night, alone on a beach, thinking this nonsense. given the option of considering my dearest friend, the one who always gets a moment or two here, i wondered what makes me tick better – sadness or despair – and quickly decided neither.
this is idle chatter. i mean none of it.
my only wishes concerning how i feel about these matters are;
1 – politics – that someone smack the president across the face and holler, “wake up – they hate you and never want to be your friend, not even for a minute. they mock you and call you all sorts of names behind your back and some of them do it even to your face.”
2 – my friend – morphine and love.
i googled “morphine and love” and there is not yet a song by that name. i call “dibs” on that song title.
i’ll get on it right away.

oh, and that deck of cards thing;
because of all those umbo boxes spurting out all those numbers everywhere, all over the place, this is what i propose –
double or nothing.
e.g. – greece goes to the EU and let’s say they owe them 130 billion dollars. they cut the cards and if greece has the high card, the debt is eliminated. if they have the low card, they cut the cards again until they win.
then ireland, italy, spain and everyone else does it.
in america, we can play it with ourselves. i guarantee we’ll win. we’re america, we always win, right?
in a matter of a week, everyone will be winners, everyone’s slate will be clean, everyone’s books will be balanced.
it’s pretty-much what we did a few years ago and it’s what the teabag-republicans were pushing for all through the debt ceiling debate.

stupid? stupider?
got it covered.

“ok,” i thought to myself gathering my stuff and my maxx, walking eastward, back toward riis park and my car…, “fixed those little problems.”

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this is indicative…..

….the “sell” the democratic party did on itself – again – is and has become a knee-jerk acknowledgment of the successful bullying tactics not only of the republicans and the tea party, but the doublespeaking press that professes two and three opinions simultaneously.
oh, by the way, this is the low-level headache that the debt ceiling scam has become.
add that to the questionable realities of the independent voter and the fractured, staged structure washington is and has become and hell, here walks in gabby giffords.
don’t get me wrong, i love ms. giffords.
she’s miraculous and believe you me, i know miracles, but she’s also a poster child of the the wholesale bloodletting and the obscene arrogance of the people who profess to “care.” she survived, others died and nothing happened regarding the weapon.
see under, “extended magazine.”
there were people gathered around her on the television who, eight months ago, were making plans on how to pounce on her congressional seat – after all, it’s about winning, you know….. and you can be confident these are the same people who muttered “goddam busboy,” when obama was elected, have hearts, black-as-night and passionately use phrases like, “we want our country back.”
gabby was a sentimental sideshow to an ongoing white-collar crime.

the obama presidency becomes more ineffectual by the minute, leaving the – ready for this? – GOP an actual chance for the presidency.
maybe not a BIG chance, but you know…
the press will bring up the, “independent voter,” and what do they do?

this stuff isn’t new and it’s endemic to the obama presidency.
“we want our country back,” was a whisper back when bill clinton was elected president. does anyone remember clinton and the black vote?
……and guess what? it was the unspoken word in 1963 dallas, hours before jack kennedy became a dead kennedy.

what’s going on – what’s ALWAYS been going on – is the gradual muzzling of something that became clear to me weeks after the terror attacks in new york in 2001.
want to know what happened? follow the money.
i’ll leave that alone.

ok. maybe i’m fracturing a little here.
my hard drive is skipping like a corrupted i-tune song file.
i get like that when i well-up inside;
when i think that things matter more than they do, i.e. – when the orbit of my tiny sphere of influence is disturbed further than i’m used to, that being the weary person i faced this morning while shaving feels a bit more hopeless than usual.

coming from a time of open dissent in the late 60’s and early 70’s, that gave way to cynicism and flip sarcasm (what works best with a nose full of blow and a martini or two), that later became shrouded mutterings with eyes averted, to finding my voice again and hollering about criminal behavior by a stolen presidency and a rubber-stamped, complicit judiciary around Y2K…
whether by ill-fortune or complex design, 9/11 altered behavior and foreign policy and what more – for me – it put the gag across my mouth when i wondered aloud the wisdom of going into iraq.
i knew, the media knew, the politicians knew – EVERYBODY KNEW, but the administration was able to easily move forward with nothing more than words and guarded ones at that, coming from a few voices.
anti-war movement? surely you jest…
it became infinitely clear that such thought is unamerican and i found myself “rooting” for our troops when i should have been saying, “they’re using you for cannon fodder – don’t let them.”
we’ve “been settled” into accepting the role of politically-correct cheerleader in the illegal and immoral for the likes of the military-industrial complex, halliburton and blackwater.
oh, and aside from the government contracts, somewhere in there is oil.
we’ll pay what we’re told by oil companies in the service of speculators
because the fix is in and the addiction to wealth parallels the addiction to oil. talk about a match made in heaven….

the “liberal” press never fails to mention the length of the two wars,
but the neocons still with the wars in obama’s lap, the bush economic doctrine still holds the taxes in check, grover norquist holds trump cards on grown men and women who sign behavioral promises. he’s a part-time comedian. really.

what the fuck is that?
what do i do other than keep my head down and hope.
hope.
i remember that word getting a lot of play a while back.

i’ll start hoping when america stops killing it’s soldiers in places they don’t belong.

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the umbo box and a deck of cards

dragging those words around for days (in my head), unable to do a damn thing with them.

i wrote the above a week ago, then i became enmeshed in something that is totally beyond my control – the debt ceiling debate, or whatever that thing is called.
is it a debate? a battle? a conflict? a theater piece? a drama?
it’s saturday night and i’m waiting for news. earlier today i listened to the weaselly-turtle McConnell, that terrified stooge Boehner (the scared one) and loads of talking heads and quasi-experts yammer home some trite bullshit about how everything’s gonna be just fine or whatever.
intellectually, in my brain of brains, i don’t care anymore, that is of course, if i ever really cared to begin with, but it’s like my mind needed something to latch onto to get away from the wholesale slaughter going on inside me.
sometimes i could be extraordinarily cruel to myself for reasons i can’t even imagine…..
so, i key into an ongoing trainwreck running-on in real time – the debt.
the murdoch thing disappeared from the headlines – along with the dead guy , who hasn’t been even mentioned since the day he was found in his home on the 18th of july.
i’m running on low-grade headaches of late, the kind that reminds you how uncomfortable you are just often enough to let you know that, “this is not normal.”
i huddle next to cablenews and listen to the warnings of dire terribleness, the kind where they remind you about the potential downgrading of the entire united states economy’s credit rating. how moody’s and standard and poor’s could lower america’s creditworthiness and all the hoo-haa that’ll result because of this.
these are the same agencies that raved about Lehman Brothers who tanked, Bear Stearns who was sold for pennies and Merrill Lynch who was sold for dimes.
three years ago these bastions of business foresight and wisdom were bought and blindfolded.
i wonder why the greatest economy on earth (well, what was the greatest economy on earth) couldn’t polish a few apples and carry some chocolates to those same corporate schoolmarms and squeeze a little favor from the same darlings. we’ve got enough borrowed cash to grease a bigger economy than greece, right?
a ratings agency? no problem….
re/ this great economy – now it’s just a gang of hustlers and shills being groomed and plucked by my below-the-beach-located friends who i visited a couple of nights back, but that’s another story.

i just visited my friend.
he reminds me of me when i was dancing the cancer calypso a few years back. we talked about this load of hooey going on in washington.
he told me that his sweetheart across the earth told him that the debt-deal was made and it probably happened while i drove to his house.
all my hours of angst for nothing.
like missing the bus when i went into the bodega for a yoo-hoo, walking outside only to see the red lights fade away before me.
like i give a damn.
the screws will be set, as always.
they will deal under the deck.
now, about that umbo box……

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