The Fog [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

“The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.” ~ Helen Keller

A mile to the west it is 75 degrees and sunny. Here, by the lake, it is foggy and 10 degrees cooler. The inland heat meets the cool lake water and produces a layer of thick fog. Standing on our front porch we cannot see the end of the street.

It is quiet in our pocket of fog. Today I welcome the protective solitude it inspires. It provides a magical respite from the happenings of the world. Fog brings permission to unplug, some breathing space from the news of the day. Sitting on the back deck I imagine that we are on the shores of Avalon, disappearing into the mist, becoming invisible to the rest of the troubled, enraged world.

In the Arthurian legend, Avalon is a magical, mystical place. It is symbolic as a place of virtue.

Virtue requires vision. Choose any adjective that describes virtue – goodness, morality, integrity, dignity, honor… – all serve a clear ideal. A vision. A vision based on the capacity to discern between right and wrong, truth and lie, service and exploitation. A vision that follows a steadfast moral compass.

By this or any standard, our current leadership has sight but no vision. The milksop Republicans in Congress play cowboy while sacrificing themselves on an alter of greed. How else do we make sense of their dedicated impotence in the face of the worst constitutional crisis in our nation’s history? It’s a crisis that they could stop in a day if they honored their oath to the Constitution. If they did their jobs. The Republican president sells the national soul to the highest bidder, personal profit the glutton-master he and his peers serve. A fall from grace, our isle of vice is not disappearing into a fog of uncertainty, rather it reveals itself in the harsh light of moral indifference, it adorns itself in a festival blanket of foxy-lies producing angry maga-followers awash in a cultish brain fog. Sight without vision.

There is nothing mystical going on here. The unprincipled disavowal of ethics, the blatant bribery and unbridled greed, the hard right turn away from truth and democratic ideals – all happening in plain sight – renders us worse than blind.

Is it any wonder I welcome the fog and imagine myself disappearing into the quiet of the mystical island, a sanctuary symbolic of virtue?

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOG

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Cartoon Worthy? [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

It was unusual. The vine coiled around the tree like a boa constrictor. It seemed in no hurry to squeeze the life from its captive, content with the threat of imminent constriction. “Now, that’s a happy thought,” she said.

I’m bumping into a problem I’ve never before encountered. MM is prompting me with many great cartoon ideas borne of the daily outrage from the baggy blue suit and his clown car cabinet. My problem is twofold. First, they lampoon themselves so completely that every drawing seems like been-there-done-that. Since they are already dedicated made-for-tv-cartoon-characters, a kakistocracy (governance by the least competent), the challenge seems less about poking fun and more about cartooning cartoons. It’s dangerously redundant. How does one lampoon a president who posts pictures of himself as the Pope or a Jedi knight? He’s doing an excellent job of making a fool of himself. As is his cheering squad.

Second, their entire media strategy is meant to keep us outraged. Outrage is a very potent drug. Outraged people do not think clearly. They react. They hunker down in their reptile brain. I’m having an inner debate about my part in fueling the outrage. I’d love to draw cartoons that moved folks forward into their neocortex and engage their higher order thinking. Critical thinking is, after all, the enemy to MAGA, the fox, and this Republican administration. “Stop and think about it” is exactly what this administration and their propaganda machine does not want us to do. We might then see what is actually happening behind their comedy-chaos-curtain.

Stop. And think about it:

We have a Republican party whose characters strut like cowboys (even the cowgirls don bulletproof vests and pull their rhetorical pistols at the least sign of altercation) and yet, day after day we witness events like the vomit-inducing-sycophancy of the most recent cabinet meeting. Really. Stop and think about it: emasculation is the price Republicans pay for playing the role of cowboy for their leader. This lean, mean, destruction machine is all strut and no cajones.

Republican cowboys’ self-castration might be a worthy cartoon.

Hypodermic needles filled with outrage might be a worthy cartoon. A drug den of people screaming at each other while the dealer makes off with their wallets and purses.

Legislators who preach free markets but prohibit free thinking – that might be a a worthy cartoon.

The party that loudly promotes itself up as champions of limited government while imposing draconian limits on the rights of the many to give unlimited privilege to the few – that might be worthy. Imagine armored knights high atop war horses trampling unarmed peasant farmers while patting themselves on the back for their strength and courage.

Oops. I’ve worked a circle back to outrage. Outrageous.

One wonders when the red hats will move out of their reptilian brains and recognize that they are wrapped by a boa constrictor. They, too, strut like cowboys and do not see how they castrate themselves. Cartoon worthy? Or simply too sad to stop and think about?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE VINE

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Ancient Oak Wisdom [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Oak may live for 1,000 years, although 600 may be more typical on many sites.”

It’s very possible that this oak tree is older than our nation. It stands in a field plowed and prepared for planting, visible from a trail that we recently explored. The trail passes through a stand of ancient oaks, gnarled and twisted with time.

There is wisdom in the oaks, something not found in our leaders who view the world exclusively through the lens of dollars and cents. Power people who play let’s-make-a-deal with the lives of others.

Even though we knew it was coming, even though it was a trumpeted intention in the fascist blueprint, Project 2025, the sale and privatization of our public lands for short-term profit has arrived like a surprise unwelcome visitor on our doorstep:

“Elon Musk is now effectively in charge of America’s public lands,” says Jennifer Rokala, executive director at the Center for Western Priorities. Secretary of the Interior Doug Burgum just issued an order ceding oversight of the Department of the Interior to the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (which is not a government department at all)…”

The ruse is – of course – that our protected public lands, our national parks, are nothing more than waste, abuse and fraud. To the fundamentally greedy and terminally myopic, they are resources ripe and ready for exploitation. Destroying them, so the marketing spin goes, will not only save the nation money, it will make lots of money for the privileged few. And then there will be trickle down! (insert eye roll here).

Dollars. No sense.

“Project 2025 is a ‘wish list’ for the oil and gas and mining industries and private developers. It promotes opening up more of our federal land to energy development, rolling back protections on federal lands, and selling off more land to private developers.” ~ Heather Cox Richardson, Letters From An American, April 22, 2025

It is shortsighted hubris akin to the Taliban’s destruction of the Buddhas of Bamiyan. Two monumental statues carved in the 6th century in the Bamiyan valley in Afghanistan, a holy site for Buddhists, a cultural treasure for the people of Afghanistan, a UNESCO World Heritage site, destroyed [by the Taliban] in 2001, “..so that no one can worship or respect them in the future” Fundamentalists. Nationalists. Ideologues.

Islamic or Christian, nationalist fundamentalism, rigid ideology, leads to the same end. Purblind action, senseless destruction for short-term gain. Violence enacted on people and culture. Suppression of the many so the few might profit.

Purblind (adjective): having impaired or defective vision. Slow or unable to understand. Dimwitted.

Like the Buddhas of Bamiyan, once destroyed, our public lands, our Grand Canyon and Arches and Bears Ears, our old growth forests, our Yosemite and Yellowstone and Glacier National Park and Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, our protected ocean shelf ecosystem…once mined and drilled and developed, will never come back. Our national inheritance, sacred sites, reduced to rubble for profit so that no one can worship or respect them in the future.

Wisdom is the province of the ancient oak, borne of an acorn of understanding that grows beyond knowledge, beyond information, and far beyond the accumulation of data. It cannot be attained through fundamentalism nor through righteous nationalism wrapped in greasy paper-thin religiosity. It cannot be bought or sold or legislated. Wisdom transcends passing ideology since it takes time and perspective. Wisdom is an open hand, not a tight fist.

It takes no time and requires little in the way of perspective to recognize that the destruction of the sacred in the name of private gain is nothing more or less than the avarice of the purblind, the action of the profoundly dimwitted.

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora (among others)

read Kerri’s blogpost about the OAK TREE

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The Nest [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Apparently, House Sparrows are aptly named. They are making their nest in the architectural element above our front door, taking up residence at our house. Needless to say, we are delighted. We are also limiting our use of the front door.

It is our practice to write posts a few day in advance. We like to let them simmer for a day or two and give ourselves the chance to edit and improve our thoughts. Lately, with the pace of the assault on our democracy, although we are writing ahead, by the time we publish it feels as if we are running behind. For instance, I am writing this on Friday to be posted on Tuesday. Between now and Tuesday (when you will read this) there will be mass protests across the nation against the current administration. The executive could – as he has threatened – invoke the Insurrection Act, essentially placing the nation under martial law, turning the power of the military on citizens. It will mark the end of democratic governance as we know it. The Republican Congress will remain silent, further abdicating its power. The Supreme Court, having already neutered itself, will consider considering one of the many lawsuits filed by a public wondering whatever happened to the rule of law.

In the next few days it is very likely that we will step across the threshold into fascism.

Those of us not lost to the fox misinformation hole will know it. Those who have swallowed the fox-swill will believe that the loss of their Constitutional freedoms is the road to making America great again.

At dinner with pals the other night we discussed the impulse to hunker down. To stay safe in our homes. To nest – as we did in the pandemic. And, although I feel the same impulse, I know that disappearing into our nests is the last thing we should do. It is foolish to nest in a house that is on fire. We need to ring the alarm. We need to throw cold water on our elected representatives, wake them up and prompt them to act rather than speechify. We-the-people need to act since I am uncertain that even after a cold water bath that our elected leaders will find their courage.*

The sparrows are welcome to nest above our door.

Fascism is rapidly building a nest in our nation-home. It’s way past time to take a broom to their nest and shoo them away.

*The day after I wrote this post I saw this…Conservative New York Times columnist David Brooks has called for a mass uprising to oppose President Donald Trump, going so far as to quote The Communist Manifesto.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE NEST

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No Words [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

With markers in hand, we stared at the blank poster board. We wanted to make signs to carry to the Hands Off rally but couldn’t decide which egregious offense by the current administration and their pet billionaire warranted signage. All were worthy. All were immediate. In the end, we went sign-less to the rally.

We know what we stand for and could not begin to reduce into a single slogan all that we stand against.

This morning I confess to again being rendered speechless. After reading and fully comprehending how completely the tech billionaires/fascists have invaded, compromised, and intend to use our personal information, I was disheartened. And then I read that the two people “advising” the executive branch on whether or not to invoke the Insurrection Act are a former fox news talking head (famous for his rampant alcoholism and sexual abuse) and a past-governor who reveled in shooting her puppy in the face. That’s when words failed me.

Congress rolls over. The Judicial has no teeth. Checkmate. Democracy falls. At least temporarily.

A “civil” war is so named because it is between citizens of the same country. I find it ironic that another definition of the word “civil is “quiet and peaceful behavior”. We should all wish that we were capable of a quiet and peaceful war. A paradox. That does not appear to be the case.

Words fail. Democracies fall. Experiments fail. The poster board remains blank.

A couple of Sandhill Cranes just flew over our house. Their call, prehistoric and beautiful, beckoned me back to the moment. Sun streams in the window. The cranes will continue to migrate long past the time that we play out this story. They are not really concerned. They require no words.

read Kerri’s blog about POSTER BOARD

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Ten Years [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

It’s that time of year. The air temperature is still cool but the sun, when it makes an appearance, can warm your bones. More than once we’ve donned our jackets, scooched our Adirondack chairs into the sunny spots, and enjoyed the collision. “Oh my god,” I moan.

“Uh-huh,” she sighs. I appreciate that no matter how busy our day appears, we rarely fail to stop the pursuits and immerse in the moment. Against every Puritan commandment, we slow down to maximize productivity.

It’s been 10 years. 2015 was an extraordinary year. We produced and performed The Lost Boy. It was a heart project, a promise to Tom McK that took years and his passing to finally realize. After the production I thought I’d never again do anything more meaningful. Then, within a matter of weeks, we were jamming to illustrate and produce Beaky’s books. Kerri’s mom was 93, a brilliant woman born in a time when women were discouraged from any profession other than “housewife”. Nearing the end of her life she grieved the absence of “letters after my name.” Kerri knew that Beaky had years ago written and submitted for publication three manuscripts. We searched heaven and earth to find them. We produced the first book, self-published it, launched a website, organized and publicized a reading and author-signing event. And then we told Beaky. She was thrilled. Over 70 people attended her reading including the local newspapers. Beaky’s first sale, prior to the event, was in the Netherlands; she was officially an international author. She passed 18 days after her book launch. And then, in the fall of 2015, Kerri and I were married.

It’s 2025 so we are celebrating many anniversaries. In February we marked The Lost Boy. Ten year ago today (I am writing ahead) we held Beaky’s reading/signing event. In eighteen days we will mark the day she passed.

Bitter sweet. Warm cold. No matter how busy our days appear, we never fail to thread our story to the present moment. Today we will take some time and return to our Bristol Woods. We’ll reminisce about the day ten years ago that Beaky, preparing for her event, gave me a lesson in applying blush and lipstick. Kerri laughed and said, “Mom!” My heart was full and warm.

The daffodils feel the sun, too. Even though the air temperature is cool, they are making an appearance, poking their green-green shoots through the muddy soil, stretching their leaves into the promise of a new season.

It’s 2025…

read Kerri’s blogpost about DAFFODILS

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Some Necessary Perspective [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

A hot flash drove her from the kitchen and onto the back deck. We were making dinner when she exclaimed, “I’m burning up! I have to go outside!” Dogga and I followed but before we made it through the back door she rushed back into the house. “I have to get my camera!”

The evening light was gorgeous. Directly above us a half moon peeked through the clouds. Even with all the visual beauty, the thing that most impacted me was the stillness. There wasn’t a whisper of breeze. It felt as if time was standing still. I felt as if I could breathe. So I did.

Until that moment I wasn’t aware that I was holding my breath.

Earlier in the day we’d attended a Hands-Off rally. The energy of the crowd was vibrant and angry. Prior to the rally we’d read warnings from the organizers not to engage with any maga counter-protestors or to incite violence. The pot is boiling, the circumstance is increasingly volatile. Peaceful protest is our right so keep it peaceful.

Civil unrest is not an abstraction for us. It has not been so long ago that our city was under martial law during the riots that followed the police shooting of Jacob Blake. The night we heard gunshots we were sitting on the deck, listening to the sounds of the rioters, scrolling for news, our go-bag packed and ready: Kyle Rittenhouse murdered two protestors and maimed a third mere blocks from our house.

Kerri showed me her photos of the sky. Her shots of the half moon. I took another deep breath.

The sky has always been a great perspective-giver. If I ever fool myself into thinking I’m-all-that, I need only look at the night sky to put myself into proper context. When I feel blue or frightened I find a sunset or sunrise a healing balm. This, too, shall pass. The drama of humankind is not the bigger picture.

“I think we have a bit of ptsd,” she said, reading my mind.

“I think you’re right,” I agreed, adding, “And, I think we have to prepare for what’s coming.”

Taking one more deep breath, breathing in the balm of the sunset, we went back inside to finish making our dinner. Grounding the chaotic abnormal in the stable normal, the sky once again provided some necessary and welcome perspective.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SKY

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It’s In Their Plan [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Wisconsin is evenly split between the parties, but when Republicans control the legislature and the supreme court, they suppress voting and heavily gerrymander the state in their favor…Currently, the state gerrymander gives Republicans 75% of the state’s seats in the U.S. House of Representatives although voting in 2024 was virtually dead even.” ~ Heather Cox Richardson, Letters from an American, March 28, 2025

Wisconsin is a perfect example, a fractal, of what literally ails our nation. In brief: republicans do not believe in democracy. If republicans actually believed in democracy, they’d spend less time suppressing the vote, gerrymandering, misinforming, fearmongering – and more time bringing relevant ideas to democratic governance. They’d earn votes rather than stifle voters.

If they were honest with what they actually represent, they’d never win an election.

The current occupant of the White House knows he cannot legislate his Project 2025 agenda. It is so wildly unpopular that he disavowed it until after he won the election. Now, in a fit of unconstitutionality, he jams it through by executive order. He wraps it in a thick veil of lie and misinformation.

If you are paying attention you’ll note that republican representatives in Congress are not showing up to their town halls. They are afraid to face their angry constituents and accept responsibility for their (in)action. And, since taking responsibility is not in their wheelhouse, they’ve invented yet another fantasy to explain the discord: the evil libs are paying people to rabble-rouse.

At least the republicans are consistent up and down the food chain. “It’s all a witch hunt”. “Not my fault.” “Never heard of it”.

The nation’s pet oligarch is coming to town. He’s trying to buy the election for the open state supreme court seat. “Musk has told voters that if Crawford wins, “then the Democrats will attempt to redraw the districts and cause Wisconsin to lose two Republican seats.” Not only has Musk said he is going to Wisconsin to speak before the election, but also he is handing out checks to voters who sign a petition against “activist judges,” a suggestion that it would not be fair to unskew the Republican gerrymander. Last night, Musk advertised a contest that would award two voters a million dollars each, with the condition that the winners had to have already voted.” ~ Heather Cox Richardson

To be clear, in the current republican world view, an “activist judge” is one that does their job, interpreting and clarifying the law, serving as a check-and-balance to the other branches of government. An “activist judge” upholds their oath to the Constitution.

Paying voters for their votes to maintain gerrymandered maps is a well-worn-page from their playbook. It’s also an act of desperation. Again, if they believed in democracy, if they actually believed in our system of governance, they would attempt to win on principle rather than with a festival of misinformation and blatant corruption.

Whoops! I forgot. Their weak man in the White House is dismantling our democracy in favor of fascism. In an authoritarian government, a judge’s job is to facilitate the criminality of the leadership so why should it be a surprise that the oligarch is buying votes for the republican candidate for the state Supreme Court?

It occurs to me that this may be our last free and fair election. Voting matters more now than ever. After Tuesday we’ll either have a court that fights corruption and attempts to preserve our democracy – or one that plays for payola. On Tuesday, we’ll either send a message to the silent republican majority in congress and prompt them to apply some brakes to the fascist takeover of our country or we’ll greenlight the gaslighters, watch as they comply with the weak man and eliminate our right to vote altogether. It is, after all, what the weak man promised: Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump told Christians on Friday that if they vote for him this November, “in four years, you don’t have to vote again. We’ll have it fixed so good, you’re not gonna have to vote.” ~ Reuters, July 27, 2024

Voting is unique to a democracy. Fascism, not so much. They’re not even trying to hide it. It is, after all, in their plan.

read Kerri’s blogpost about VOTE

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The Pizza Thing [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

My latest painting I did for Kerri. It is a painting of invocation. I did not paint it from knowledge or plan. I felt my way through it.

On the day I thought I’d completed the painting I asked her if she wanted me to make any changes. After staring at the image for a few minutes she said, “I love it,” and then asked, “But what’s up with the pizza thing?”

In the many art openings I’ve had in my life I’ve learned that what I paint is rarely the whole of what a viewer sees. I used to be surprised by what others saw in my paintings but now I expect it.

“Pizza thing?” I asked.

“You know, the thing they use to put pizzas in the oven. A paddle.”

“Where is it?”

She pointed to a series of connected shapes on the canvas.

Once someone sees something in an abstract image – like a dragon in a cloud – they can never again not see it. I knew the painting was not-yet-done. She would always see a pizza paddle in the painting if I didn’t alter the shapes. “Do you want me to change it?” I asked. She nodded, afraid I was offended.

It is the great challenge of perception: people rarely look in the same direction and see the same thing. We do not share experiences until we…share them, talk about them, compare notes, come to a common perceptual ground.

A younger me would have defended the painting as I saw it. This older version of me feels no need to defend what I see since I don’t expect others to see what I see. I want to learn what they see. I want to step into a common ground, a space of collaboration. That doesn’t mean that I necessarily must change the painting. It does, however, afford me the opportunity to make it better if I so choose, if my question, “What do you see?” actually opens my perspective.

It’s why I feel the need to shout into the winds of our current political and national circus. It is unimportant whether or not we see eye to eye. It is most important that we share notes, ask questions, discuss discrepancies…discern what is fact from what is fiction. We have to want to step into common ground.

When we walk she often stops and aims her camera at the ground. “What do you see?” I ask.

She snaps the photo and shows me the screen. “A heart,” she smiles. “Do you see it?”

“Now, I do.” I say. I would have stepped over the stone and never seen the heart. And aren’t I fortunate to walk through life with someone who is surrounded by hearts and takes the time to show me what I do not see?

In Dreams She Rides Wild Horses (finished, without the pizza thing)

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEARTS

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Context [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“The world and I reciprocate one another. The landscape as I directly experience it is hardly a determinate object; it is an ambiguous realm that responds to my emotions and calls forth feelings from me in turn.” ~ David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human World

I sometimes wonder if we are capable of presence, of being somewhere. With our faces aimed at screens, gaming or doomscrolling every few minutes, lost in Facebook or Instagram, awash in advertisements designed to makes us feel as if we are lacking, perpetually breaking news, worshiping at the biz-altar of efficiency and effectiveness. Do-more-faster. Is it any wonder that we, the citizens of the USA, lead the world in drug-use disorders?

I suspect that we are not trying to escape reality but are trying to find what, if anything, is real. Or meaningful.

“Humans are tuned for relationship. The eyes, the skin, the tongue, ears, and nostrils—all are gates where our body receives the nourishment of otherness.” ~ David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous

I had a revelation the other day about our current national mess. During my stint in software development we periodically discussed the context/content reality flip-flop. Essentially, our grandparents lived in a world in which their reality (context) was stable and consistent. They made sense of the news of the day (content) by sifting it through their mostly shared context.

We live in the opposite circumstance. Our context is fluid, volatile. With an average of 100 new emails coming in overnight, with a never-ending-rushing-social-media-stream, with tweets sending shock waves through the system, our context changes every day. Our content now defines our context. We are perpetually trying to arrive somewhere stable. We are constantly trying to find sense in the stream.

We do not sense-make together because we do not share an agreed-upon context.

It’s why we doomscroll. It’s why we have impenetrable information bubbles. It’s why we are impossibly divided. It’s why the phrase “alternative facts” wasn’t cause for hysterical laughter. It’s why there was nary-a-blip this week when, to avoid being held accountable for their participation in the nation’s demise, …Republicans just passed a measure saying that for the rest of this congressional session, “each day…shall not constitute a calendar day…” [NYTimes.com as quoted by Heather Cox Richardson, Letters From an American, March 12, 2025].

A day is no longer a day. No-shared-context. Reality avoidance. Content defines context. It’s upside-down. It’s insanity.

My revelation? An angry people with no actual shared context are easy marks for a content creator like Fox News. Anger becomes a shared context when people are fed a steady diet of outrageous fabrications meant to exploit their fear. Anger-driven victimhood is the identity-glue that binds maga. It’s a powerful drug. There can be no other explanation for a group so willingly swallowing obvious lies, so readily and eagerly participating in their own demise, so completely and deliberately unplugged from verifiable fact. An overdose of anger gives them a shared sense of belonging. A context.

Kerri and I walk in nature to regroup. We purposefully step out of the noise. We consciously practice being somewhere instead of racing, racing to get somewhere. We return to the trail again and again to reclaim – even for a few moments – a stable context. A known. A natural rhythm.

We might do better as a nation if we turned off our devices for awhile, looked up from our screens and stepped outside. We’d do better if we took a nice walk together in nature in a place (context) that calls forth something other than anger, a context that is easily shared, a context that is undeniably real.

read kerri’s blogpost about BE

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