Monthly Archives:

January 2015

The Madonna Timeline: Song #110- ‘Into the Groove’ ~ 1985/1987

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

Music can be such a revelation
Dancing around you feel the sweet sensation
We might be lovers if the rhythm’s right
I hope this feeling never ends tonight…

It was a hot and happening Saturday night in my bedroom. The girls from ‘The Facts of Life’ had just departed, leaving me alone in the bright lights of the neon-clad 80’s, and we were headed into the lateness of the nine o’clock hour. Fly 92 was probably playing its Saturday night dance jam, but I had a cassette tape of non-stop Madonna mixes, and I didn’t need Shadoe Stevens clogging up my head with his smoother-than-Black-Velvet voice.

While it was originally released in 1985, I had my head in the sand at that time, as I don’t quite recall the initial chart-storming that Madonna made with ‘Into the Groove’ – instead, my memory is of the re-release it got on 1987’s ‘You Can Dance’ remix EP. On those Saturday nights when I was freed from the chains of school, I found safety and salvation in the meanderings of my bedroom. A childhood bedroom holds wonders that no parent or guardian could ever fully understand.

Yet as much as I wanted safety and security, I yearned for escape. Even then I knew I had to create my own world and forge my own way because the things I thought were secure were about to come tumbling down. And the only constant in any gay boy’s world at the time was Madonna. The rest of the world, and sometimes our own families, wanted to quiet us with shame and silence, but Madonna embraced all – gay, straight, black, white, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim – it did not matter to the Material Girl. Everyone was invited to her party ~ hell, that’s how you made the money. Not by excluding or silencing, but by celebrating. We didn’t know how deep she went then, we only cared that she knew her way around a proper pop song. She was always one step ahead of the rest of us.

And so, on Saturday nights I’d lock the door where no one else could see, and dance my worries away. Escapism was the only way out. They could belt me, they could hate me, they could shame me, but they couldn’t take away what was inside my head. They couldn’t take away what was in my heart. That’s where the groove was. That’s where freedom would be found.

Only when I’m dancing can I feel this free
At night I lock the doors, where no one else can see
I’m tired of dancing here all by myself 
Tonight I wanna dance with someone else…

Regarding ‘Into the Groove’ – The Song – I actually never loved it. It’s sacrilege to say so to certain Madonna fans, but I just never connected to this one, which is odd because so many consider it a seminal piece of the Madonna mythology. The most fun I had with it was her Reinvention incarnation with bagpipes and drums. I was touched that she was making such an overt nod to her then-husband Guy Ritchie. Love makes us do odd things – and it’s always touching to see that. I guess I just needed that incongruous Scottish mash-up – kilts solve a multitude of problems. (Oh, and put this into your blasphemous files: I’ve never seen ‘Desperately Seeking Susan’ in its entirety. Yeah, I know. Kenneth in the 212 can shoot me now.)

SONG #110 – ‘Into the Groove’ ~ 1985/1987

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Time Stills All Tricks

“It is possible, if we have real courage, to live all of life as if in play. This does not mean being frivolous or lacking compassion toward others. It means to carry a light, trusting, and open attitude toward ourselves and the world. In Tibetan Buddhism it is said that what distinguishes human nature from that of animals is not intelligence but humor. To experience life as play one must learn to see with the eyes of humor. This helps us balance the tragedy of human existence with the wonder of it. Such an attitude requires courage because it demands that we open ourselves both to uncertainty in the outer world and to the irrational in the inner world.

A truly playful attitude, even if short-lived, can act as a catalyst to synchronicity. Moreover, an attitude of lighthearted openness reduces the shadow to a bare minimum, since the defenses are relaxed. As a consequence, coincidences are often delightful. At times, a positive sense of trust and openness will allow everyday problems almost to solve themselves, as opposed to the more usual sense of struggle against chance events that the Trickster so often throws in our path.

Opening the mind to a lighthearted, playful attitude, we may avail ourselves of intuition, which is a particular kind of gnosis, or knowledge, that seems to come through the now permeable borders of the conscious mind. Intuition is a type of knowledge emphasized in virtually all spiritual traditions. This is not to say that to be lighthearted is to become psychic, as the term is usually used, but rather that we may develop en exquisite feeling for certain situations, a feeling which, if trusted, often proves correct. Intuitive feelings hold a special relationship to synchronicity, a relationship that few people have actively cultivated.”

~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

“True openness to experience comes via a connection through the Trickster to the archetypal Self. This openness is play, and play is the Trickster’s game – irrational, paradoxical, and creative.” ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

 

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Words of Love, Words of Light

Poets have a much finer way with words than I could ever hope to achieve. Here are some choice words by Mary Oliver:

“It has frequently been remarked, about my own writings, that I emphasize the notion of attention. This began simply enough: to see that the way the flicker flies is greatly different from the way the swallow plays in the golden air of summer. It was my pleasure to notice such things, it was a good first step. But later, watching M. when she was taking photographs, and watching her in the darkroom, and no less watching the intensity and openness with which she dealt with friends, and strangers too, taught me what real attention is about. Attention without feeling, I began to learn, is only a report. An openness – an empathy – was necessary if the attention was to matter. Such openness and empathy M. had in abundance, and gave away freely… I was in my late twenties and early thirties, and well filled with a sense of my own thoughts, my own presence. I was eager to address the world of words – to address the world with words. Then M. instilled in me this deeper level of looking and working, of seeing through the heavenly visibles to the heavenly invisibles. I think of this always when I look at her photographs, the images of vitality, hopefulness, endurance, kindness, vulnerability… We each had our separate natures; yet our ideas, our influences upon each other became a reach and abiding confluence.

I don’t think I was wrong to be in the world I was in, it was my salvation from my own darkness. Nor have I ever abandoned it – those early signs that so surely lead toward epiphanies. And yet, and yet, she wanted me to enter more fully into the human world also, and to embrace it, as I believe I have. And what a gift [that she] never expressed impatience with my reports of the natural world, the blue and green happiness I found there. Our love was so tight.

~ Mary Oliver

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Waking to Awareness

It was January 28, 1986. I was in fifth grade. We were just coming back from a ‘Gifted & Talented’ meeting (decidedly not my term for the group of loons that lucked out on a certain aptitude test) and our homeroom teacher ushered us back into our usual seats while a television played in the background. Blue – the brightest blue the sky could be – was the first thing we saw. A trail of clouds, then a puff of smoke that was the end of seven lives. Miss Lampman whispered in a stern tone, “The Challenger exploded.”

We sat down quietly, each taking it in in his or her own way. The moment you realize the significance of something happening is the moment you start to grow up. Whether or not we were ready, there was life knocking at our door, in a silent explosion against a blue sky. It felt a little closer because one of our teachers had applied to be on that Challenger flight. The one who was chosen was schoolteacher Christa McAuliffe. Either way, it was a civilian, and somehow that made it sadder.

It was the first time the news broke through my childhood innocence. Until that point, I never really cared, or was even aware, that anything of import happened outside of Amsterdam, New York. Hell, I didn’t care much beyond what went down in my backyard and bedroom. From that moment I was obsessed with everything to do with the explosion – the twin rocket boosters, the various theories as to what happened, and, most importantly, the seven men and women who lost their lives, including the first teacher who was supposed to go into space. I set up a photo album of news events, and it grew from the Challenger news to anything of importance. I remember the stock market meltdown being one of the last items I pasted into the book – a couple years later I had no need for a book. It was occupying my head. It was an awakening, and while not altogether a pleasant one, it was necessary, it was inevitable, and I had no choice.

The best part of childhood – if you’ve had a decent one – is that for a few years you can pretend that nothing bad could ever happen in the world. If you’ve had that freedom, if you’ve had that moment, you might be ok. At least, you might have a chance. What we do with that chance is another story for another post.

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Andrew Hayden Smith in Sexy Undies

Sometimes all it takes for a revisiting of someone’s Hunk of the Day status is a new photo shoot and some judicious photoshopping (not that anything here was photoshopped…) Here is former Hunk of the Day Andrew Hayden Smith in his second appearance on this wayward blog. There’s nothing else to say, other than Mr. Smith deserved the honor then, and he more than deserves it now. White briefs always make the man.

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Trickery & Tomfoolery

“Look for the archetypal trickster in any story of growth, for growth always means moving toward one’s own human richness which, in turn, means the growth of one’s soul.

The Trickster delights in frolicking with symbols… Jumping across boundaries between the conscious and the unconscious, between the psychological and the physical, the Trickster tosses out images in play that express the sheer vitality of the imagination.” ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

One does not have to be psychotic to have an inflated self-image. We are all at times prone to think too highly of ourselves. At such moments the Trickster may pay us a visit in the guise of a prankster, to bring us back to earth, to make us look foolish or ridiculous in little ways just when we want to look our best. He is adept at undercutting self-inflation. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

For the inner, archetypal Trickster, play includes a synchronistic taking hold of whatever materials come to hand in order to break the boundaries of our usual perceptions of reality. In addition, trickster stories almost universally emphasize his doing exactly what he pleases regardless of the consequences. The apparent selfishness is, in part, a way of portraying his sovereign nature as an uncontrollable aspect of the human psyche that originates totally outside the reach of the conscious mind. The meaning of his actions, however, depends not on himself but on some deeper aspect of the psyche in whose service he acts.

There are no limits to his antics. It is his delight to shatter our boundaries, borders, and frames, stripping us of our protective coloration and baring us helplessly to something new. This is his play, and when we ourselves are playful, we are in harmony with him. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

Allowing our imagination to play, letting our fantasies have their day, is to honor him. Utterly to deny this natural tendency of the mind, to suppress the imagination, to refuse to give it a hearing, to refuse even to honor it with our momentary attention, will cause it to carry its case to the shadow where the sympathetic ear of the prankster awaits it.

Allowing the imagination to play means to lighten up from time to time, to let our fantasies run free. To do this we must relax rigid attitudes or moods, even perhaps our concepts of morality… Temporarily relaxing your morality means putting aside your culturally created and therefore limited conception of reality, including the reality of your own self. The Trickster can then reveal aspects of our selves that are hidden from our scrutiny. Growth of the personality is certainly not guaranteed by this. But if we allow the Trickster to be our guide and we follow his play consciously, we are given the very real possibility of expanding our sense of who and what we are. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

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When Tom Ford Gets Extreme

Before anyone gets the wrong idea, I have not gone off Tom Ford. Despite recent dabblings in Byredo and this Valentine wish (which is still in effect), my heart belongs to Mr. Ford. I’m simply not a fan of absolutely everything the man produces, which includes the recent Noir Extreme. I did not at all like the original ‘Noir’ he put out, so an Extreme version of that has the expected effect. It’s nothing against Ford, it’s more against the Noir.

Of course, in time tastes change, so I won’t say that one day I won’t be completely enamored of Noir, but that day has not yet arrived. Until it does, I’ll satisfy my Ford cravings with any one of his Private Blends, with the exception of ‘Noir De Noir.’ See, it really is a noir thing.

A perfect example of the evolution of cologne likes and dislikes is my relationship with ‘Grey Vetiver.’ When I first tried that I was decidedly unimpressed. Again, it was due mostly to a dislike of vetiver over any fault of Ford’s. Yet as the years progressed, I came around to the Grey, and it’s about to become a winter staple of my fragrance garden. There’s a lesson here. Never say never, and always give yourself the option of changing your mind. One more thing: Tom Ford is rarely wrong. The rest of us just take a little longer to get there.

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Recap the Day Away

The last week of January has begun! I was quite over this winter before it even began, and I’m not going to say anything about it just yet as we’re still not quite over the hump. Let’s just take a quick look-back over our shoulders to survey what damages came before – and some of these damages are hot hot hot!

Take for example the Hunk of the Day. These guys kept things scorching in the face of sub-zero weather and snow storms. Four-name wonder Francisco Javier Gómez Noya started things off on the right foot, whizzing through triathlons like nobody’s business.

Hot on his heels was Cam Newton, who kept things thrilling by his winning smile (and a body to-die-for.)

Not one to let the fit and hairless have all the fun, Brian Maier brought hirsute hotness to the proceedings.

Taking a break from the hunkdom, we paused for a moment of love, or at least love of fragrance.

Sometimes something smells so good that I have to have it right then and there. Mandarino di Amalfi was one of those times, but this week it was Black Saffron.

It turned out that hunks weren’t the only thing that could keep things hot, as evidenced by this steaming bowl of Tom Yum soup.

A onesie kept my package warm in Boston.

These guys certainly helped.

Barrett Pall is in a class all his own, and is a prime example of when the Hunk of the Day becomes so much more than just a hunk.

Music makes the people come together. It also makes the winter more bearable.

Family does that too.

Once upon a time, I was a Trickster. (And at my best moments, I still am.)

Finally, the most important invitation of the year was posted. I’m opening up this platform (isn’t it pretty?) to you. Yes, YOU. The reader, the viewer, the up-to-now-silent partner in all things to do with this website. On certain Sundays I’ll be hosting a “Special Guest Blogger” with someone else helming the post of the day. The best part is that all content and submissions will be up to you. (For those who like a few guidelines, you are welcome to stick with the tried and true themes you see here on a regular basis – all things gay, beautiful, fabulous, fun, deep, moving, disturbing, decadent, depraved, sexy, seductive, scented, tumultuous, sweet, upsetting, depressing, wonderful, melodious, deleterious, witty, courageous, touching, calm, and daring – oh, and if you want to throw in your take on Tom Ford, Madonna, David Beckham or Ben Cohen, be my guest.) In other words, sky’s the limit. Oh, close friends, ex-boyfriends, and former-crushes are especially encouraged to apply, as they may give the other side to all the stories I’ve spun over the years. (I may end up regretting this, but it will be well worth watching.) Hit me up at alanilagan1[@]gmail.com if you have something to say.

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Palin for Prez!

Sarah Palin, the person who quit midway through her governorship, is hinting that she may run for President. Personally, and all politics aside, I hope with all my heart that she does throw her hat into the GOP nomination ring. There is no greater spokesperson for the Republican Party. Go Sarah!

“The man can only ride ya when your back is bent. So strengthen it! Then the man can’t ride ya!” – Sarah Palin

To be fair, I’ve always found this to be true.

[See also “Bat-shit crazy.”]

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Further Trickery

“Through synchronistic coincidences the Trickster can sometimes confront us with what we do not know about ourselves but must recognize if we are to know the whole of our own reality… As a creature without boundaries, his existence and activity are never absolutely fixed in place. He makes connections across the limits we ordinarily set for life, bringing together polar opposites and disclosing that which is hidden.

The Trickster puts life in our path in spite of our denials. We continue to stumble over his gifts, ignoring their disturbing nature when our luck is good, cursing some vague fate when our luck is bad.”

~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

He is the mythic embodiment of the unexpected. He symbolizes the unexpected eruption into awareness of truths hidden away from the ego. In a psychological sense, the Trickster is one mode by which other archetypes, such as the archetype of the self, assert themselves.

This appearance of the Trickster is characteristic of his style: he pops up unexpectedly. The quality that he brings to synchronicity, however, is not simply that of surprise. his manner has the impish charm of cunning and magic. There is a flavor of roguish enchantment to the situations he orchestrates. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

One has the feeling that in synchronicity the Trickster engages in the fabulous play of a divine jester; he is a “juggler of reality.” It is in the notion of play, we believe, that we may find the key to understanding our best relationship to the Trickster and thus to synchronicity. It is also the key to discovering his divinity in ourselves.

As a messenger and herald he represents the interests of a considerable range of unconscious or mythic figures. The most roguish play of the Trickster, however, is in the role of the prankster. In these the Trickster acts on behalf of an unconscious structure known as the shadow. ~ Allan Combs & Marl Holland

 The Trickster’s play frequently gives us opportunities, usually unwelcome, for personal growth by flaunting our most private secrets for the whole world to see. This seems to be the Trickster’s delight.

Thus, the play of the Trickster makes us confront our own faults in the everyday world, much as we are forced to confront them in our dreams. These instances offer the opportunity to recognize our faults and, by owning them, to take away their sting and in the bargain render ourselves more whole.

This is the Trickster as the shadow, stealing our purpose when we want to appear flawless – just to amuse himself with our foolishness. If we are open to this impish play, we realize that we have been reminded that we are only human, that we have limitations, no matter how perfect we might wish to appear. ~ Allan Combs & Marl Holland

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Tricksies

“Virtually all cultures have stories involving the Trickster, most notably connected with the related ideas of creation, boundaries, and change

Since synchronicities abound at times of transition, we can also expect to find the Trickster present at such times, giving with one hand while he might take away with the other, but he will certainly play a few tricks in the process.” ~ Robin Robertson

Of all the mythological characters, it is the Trickster who is most associated with chance and synchronicity, who is the bearer of good or ill fortune, who stirs the sands of fate and melds together glad and unhappy chance in patterns guessed only in the gleam of his eye. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

But the Trickster is nothing if not paradoxical, and so he is also the joker, as selfish and unreliable as they come. His faults are ridiculously evident:

Sometimes he made mistakes, and although he was wise and powerful, he did many foolish things. He was too fond of playing tricks for his own amusement. He was also selfish, boastful, and vain.

~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

The world of modern mechanistic science is a world bounded by the rigid constraints of causality. It is the Trickster’s predilection to cross such boundaries, bringing the unexpected to the commonplace. His gift of synchronicity, however, seems dark, sinister, and threatening to that world, because it appears to be an intrusion from an alien landscape, a world that mechanistic science cannot enter. Synchronicity plays the devil with the myth of causality. The expressions of the Trickster, who returns to us the life that our boundary-making tries to exclude, raises a satanic specter in the eyes of science. Its qualities are the most offensive: it cannot be objectively tested, and it makes itself unavailable for prediction and control. Synchronicity represents a hostile other because it is acausal, and as such blasphemes against the mythos of the causality principle. ~ Allan Combs & Mark Holland

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Kids Incorporated

When you sit next to my nephew Noah and Suzie’s son Milo at the dinner table, there’s a good chance you get to witness some pretty funny things. Such was Andy’s vantage point when he captured these photos on his new iPhone (yes folks, Andy is finally on the 21st century texting scene!) We gathered the crew to celebrate Mom’s birthday, and the pictures tell more funny stories than I ever could.

(Be sure to watch for the frightening shot in which Suzie unhinges her lower jaw to take a bite of some pasta. To be fair, I also included a photo in which my mouth was full too. Throwing shade on myself, look, I can do it.)

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When Snowflakes Fall…

Most of us complain when a snowstorm wreaks havoc with our plans, but lately I’ve learned to embrace them. For a few hours, or as long as the snow keeps us inside, we are bound in one place. A favorite place to ride out a winter storm is at the condo in Boston, where I can watch the falling snow from the cozy environs of that stalwart structure.

A cup of hot tea in hand, a book waiting to be opened on the table, and a slow song like this one on the stereo.

Goodbye, no use leading with our chins
This is where our story ends
Never lovers ever friends
Goodbye, let our hearts call it a day
But before you walk away
I sincerely want to say
I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss, but more than this, I wish you love

And in July, a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade
I wish you health, and more than wealth, I wish you love
My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be
So with my best, my very best, I set you free
I wish you shelter from the storm
A cozy fire to keep you warm
But most of all, when snowflakes fall, I wish you love
But most of all, when snowflakes fall, I wish you love.

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Be My Guest [Blogger]

Earlier this year I promised a few changes on www.ALANILAGAN.com, and one of those was the implementation of a Guest Blog feature. In an ongoing effort to make this site slightly more interactive, and to give voice to better writers than myself, I’m opening a few select spots up to those who have something to say. It need not be ground-breaking or earth-shattering (and I’d prefer if it wasn’t the latter as I know I wouldn’t fare well in an earthquake) but I know some of my friends have a gift for gab, as well as some sharp minds and wonderful wits.

First up is my pal Skip, for whom this feature was pretty much created. I begged, pleaded, and bothered him until he agreed to spill some words for the cause, and after reading his virgin entry it’s just as impressive as I knew it would be. He’ll premiere the Guest Blog spot with a two-part introduction that’s as hilarious as it is moving.

After that, I’ll be opening the series up to anyone who has something they’d like to contribute, particularly on the issues of love, life, sexuality, Tom Ford, Ben Cohen, and Madonna. (And pretty much anything else.) If you think you have what it takes, or just have something to say, contact me at alanilagan1[@]gmail.com.

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Boston Chill, Boston Solitude

It is, even by Boston standards, a crazy cold night. Not so much because of the temperatures but because of the wind. ‘Fuck’ seems to be uttered by every third person I pass in regards to the evening at hand. I’m in Boston for the weekend, trying to find some comfort in solitude, some way to make the winter bearable.

My soul had started off somewhat chilly too. I had a solo dinner of Pad Thai, with an introductory bowl of Tom Yum soup in an effort to warm the tongue and the body. I was not in the mood to be around people, and ate my dinner alone in the front window table of House of Siam. I had just done something I hardly ever do: canceled an appearance at a friend’s party. I wanted solitude. I wanted quiet. I wanted a moment to myself. Yet as I rounded the corner to Braddock Park, a woman smiled from ear to ear and said that she loved the color of my coat. I smiled back and thanked her. Later, a woman checking me out at the register remarked on my ring, saying how beautiful it was. Even the normally taciturn sales-clerk at Barneys was all smiles, probably because I just purchased one of their Byredo Parfums, but no matter. The city was welcoming me, the city that so many have called cold and charmless, and it thawed my bruised heart like only Boston ever could.

Whenever I run the risk of over-inflating my ego, there are one million different people with one million different pins ready to pop that shit up. Not tonight. Tonight they cradled my tired soul. Tonight they held my raw hand. Tonight they reminded me that just when you are ready to give up on people they still hold the power and capacity to surprise, to please, to comfort.

On this evening, I returned early to the condo. It was just too bitterly cold to explore the city. Besides, I had come there just for this – a quiet night of reading, of hot tea, of looking out onto the gray but beautiful expanse of Braddock Park, up at the towering and twinkling Hancock Tower – all from within the warmth of this sturdy brick building. When safety is no longer to be found in our childhood homes, we have to find it elsewhere.

I pick up a book of Edna St. Vincent Millay poetry, and read the following:

Some Things Are Dark

Some things are dark – or think they are.
But in comparison to me,
All things are light enough to see
In any place, at any hour.

For I am Nightmare: where I fly,
Terror and rain stand in the sky
So thick, you could not tell them from
That Blackness out of which you come.
 
So much for ‘where I fly’ but when
I strike, and clutch in claw the brain –
Erebus, to such brain, will seem
The thin blue dusk of pleasant dream.

A recording of Tibetan prayer bowls rings its low calming tones as I turn off the lights in the front room. Braddock Park glows through the windows. I shuffle into the bedroom, where a candle burns on the bedside table. A ridiculous gray union suit keeps me relatively warm and cozy, and I slide under the covers of the bed to read a little.

So much of my life is spent alone.

And so much isn’t.

 

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