Tag Archive: Cool

Oct 10

Cool Weed Strains images

Some cool weed strains images:

Incredible
weed strains
Image by JosephAdams

Sour Diesel
weed strains
Image by JosephAdams
So skunky and tasty.

Aug 13

Cool Weed Strains images

Some cool weed strains images:

it’s almost that time again (25.365)
weed strains
Image by girlinredshoes
This year I am going to work hard. I am going to make my soil rich, healthy, and grow huge plants in it. I am going to weed and water and strain in the sun. I will not just put it off. I will have a garden.

Jun 11

Cool Best Marijuana Strains images

Some cool best marijuana strains images:

Super Frosty Sour Diesel
best marijuana strains
Image by JosephAdams
Some of the best bud I’ve had. These nugs are pretty

Feb 06

Cool Weed Strains images

Some cool weed strains images:

Crystal Forest
weed strains
Image by themadpothead
Strain : Unknown

Crowning Glory
weed strains
Image by themadpothead
Strain : Unknown

Jan 23

Cool Cannabis Strains images

Some cool cannabis strains images:

All Good festival
cannabis strains
Image by JosephAdams
HDR

Best 4 days of my life! All Good was the shit =D

They dont make them like that any more
cannabis strains
Image by Project 404
If you have a spare 10 minutes get yourself a cup a tea and read about the life and adventures of our George. You will be glad you did.

.. and remember, life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

Lord George Jellicoe 1918 – 2007

The 2nd Earl Jellicoe, who died on Thursday aged 88, was Lord Privy Seal and Leader of the House of Lords when his political career was brought to an untimely end in 1973 by the revelation that he had been using the services of prostitutes.

Lord Jellicoe’s fall from grace was inextricably linked in the public’s mind with the simultaneous sex scandal involving his fellow minister Antony Lambton.

In fact, Jellicoe’s indiscretions had no direct connection with Lambton’s altogether more spectacular misdemeanours, and his resignation from the Cabinet at the same time was entirely coincidental.
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In April 1973 Lambton, then Air Minister, was photographed by a newspaper smoking cannabis while in bed with two prostitutes; the photographer had bored a hole in a cupboard and substituted a microphone for the nose of a large teddy bear in the room.

By chance, Scotland Yard was at the time investigating Soho’s vice rings and had already found out about Lambton’s diversions when they became aware of the newspaper’s, as yet unpublished, photographs. Then, just as the Cabinet was considering the security implications of these, police discovered that Jellicoe too had used the services of call girls.

A report to the prime minister, Edward Heath, said: "There is nothing in [Jellicoe’s] conduct to suggest that the risk of indiscretions on these occasions was other than negligible." Nevertheless, the Profumo affair was still fresh in the political memory, and Jellicoe resigned.

By consensus, Jellicoe was one of the nicest men in public life and blessed with a light touch that made even his opponents sorry to see him go. He himself deeply regretted his failure to set an appropriate example. Happily, his talents continued thereafter to be put to honourable use.

George Patrick John Rushworth Jellicoe was born on April 4 1918. His father, the Admiral and 1st Earl, commanded the Grand Fleet at Jutland in 1916; Winston Churchill said of his responsibilities that he was "the only individual in either camp who could have lost the war in an hour".

George’s mother was the daughter of Sir Charles Cayzer, founder of the Clan Line shipping firm. The boy was her sixth child, but the only son, and King George V offered to be godfather to his namesake. With the equally young Earls Haig and Kitchener, Jellicoe later carried King George VI’s train at his Coronation in 1937.

George was educated at Winchester and Trinity College, Cambridge, where he was taught by Steven Runciman. Jellicoe’s socially inclined mother would telephone the great historian to enquire whether her son was mixing with the right sort of student.

Runciman would assure her that George knew only the keenest scholars in the college, knowing full well that this was not the answer Lady Jellicoe wanted to hear. Jellicoe had a fine intellect and duly took a First in History. He also showed a capacity for dash by winning a cup on the Cresta Run.

He had succeeded to the earldom in 1935, when his father died after catching a chill at the Cenotaph. On leaving Cambridge he planned to enter the Diplomatic Service, but war broke out before he could so, and, rather than join the Navy, where he felt that too much account might be taken of his name, in 1939 he was commissioned into the Coldstream Guards.

Jellicoe was to have a highly distinguished war, rising to lieutenant-colonel at 26 and winning the DSO, MC, Croix de Guerre, Légion d’honneur and Greek War Cross. He was also to be mentioned in dispatches three times.

He was initially seconded to the newly formed Commandos and then to the group commanded by Robert Laycock, "Layforce", where he became friendly with Evelyn Waugh; on leave, the pair were improbably involved in a brawl at a Soho dance club.

When Layforce disbanded, Jellicoe gravitated to the SAS, based in the Middle East, and eventually commanded its water-borne raiding section, the Special Boat Squadron, as it then was.

ellicoe won his DSO in June 1942 for his part in a raid on Heraklion airfield, Crete, from which the Germans were mounting attacks on convoys.

The SBS troops were landed by rubber boats from the submarine Triton and, having cut the perimeter wire and deceived the sentries who challenged them, they planted time-bombs on 21 aircraft and a munitions dump.

They then left undetected before the bombs went off. After a fight with German patrols, Jellicoe managed to evacuate most of his force from Crete, together with 20 refugees wanted by the enemy.

His MC, unusually, came after his DSO, being awarded for his actions on Rhodes in December 1943. Although the Italians had signed an armistice with the Allies three months earlier, the Germans were determined to hang on to as much Italian-held territory as possible, including the strategically important island of Rhodes.

Jellicoe was therefore assigned to parachute in and persuade its governor, Admiral Campioni, to hand Rhodes over to the Allies rather than to the German garrison. Jellicoe carried with him a letter from General Maitland Wilson with Allied promises of help.

Unfortunately, as Jellicoe parachuted from his aircraft, a stiff breeze separated him from his signaller and his interpreter, who broke a leg on landing and was discovered by an Italian patrol. Jellicoe landed in an area containing Germans and, thinking he might be captured by them, began to eat the general’s letter.

This, however, was on thick paper, was neither succulent nor digestible, took an hour to consume and left him with a raging thirst.

Jellicoe’s party was taken to Campioni (the interpreter gallantly performing his duties from a stretcher), but the governor decided that three men would be unable to protect him against the island’s 10,000 German troops, especially as Jellicoe now had no proof that reinforcements would follow.

But though Jellicoe could not secure Rhodes, he was able to arrange for four other islands to be occupied by British soldiers.

When the Germans began to retreat from southern Greece in September 1944 the SBS, commanded by Jellicoe, was able to cut off large numbers of the enemy, who surrendered under the impression that they were surrounded, a misconception due solely to the SBS’s mobility.

The Germans were still evacuating Athens when Jellicoe, riding a bicycle, arrived with one other companion to liberate the city. The pair, soon followed by 55 more members of the SBS, were greeted by hundreds of thousands of ecstatic Greeks, who showered them with rose petals and million-drachma notes.

Jellicoe was highly respected in the SBS and SAS, partly because he led from the front and partly because he established firm control over some very individual soldiers. In 1996, in the wake of the concern caused by a number of memoirs about the regiment, Jellicoe was seen as the right choice to lead it back into the shadows and so was elected president of the SAS Association.

After the war Jellicoe briefly ran a fish-and-chips business with David Stirling, founder of the SAS, before belatedly joining the Foreign Service in 1947. He served as First Secretary in Washington and Brussels, and in 1956 went to Iraq as Deputy Secretary-General to the Baghdad Pact.

He resigned from the service in 1958 after it became known that he wished to divorce his wife, Patricia (née O’Kane), whom he had married in 1944. When challenged by a reporter about this, he remarked with memorable cool: "Half London must know I want to marry Mrs [Philippa] Bridge." This he did when his marriage was eventually dissolved in 1966.

In the meantime he had turned to politics. Jellicoe had declared himself a Labour peer in 1954, but by 1958 he was a resolute, if liberal-minded, Conservative. He had a ready intelligence, but masked it with schoolboyish levity and a disarming frankness about his own weaknesses.

Promotion was rapid. In 1961 he was appointed a Lord-in-Waiting, and within months had become Joint Parliamentary Secretary at the Ministry of Housing and Local Government. He took a particular interest in modern architecture, regarding much of it as "squat and humdrum". Later in the 1960s he helped prevent the demolition of the Foreign Office building in King Charles Street.

In 1963 he became the last holder of the proud office of First Lord of the Admiralty, and to the perhaps inappropriately jolly strains of HMS Pinafore presided on Horse Guards Parade when the Admiralty flag was lowered for the last time and the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty ceased to exist.

Jellicoe emerged from the reorganisation of the Service departments in the more prosaic post of Minister of Defence for the Royal Navy.

Following Edward Heath’s election victory in 1970, Jellicoe joined the Cabinet as Lord Privy Seal and Leader of the Lords. He ably conducted the government’s business and in 1972 was given the task of getting the country back to work after the disruption caused by the miners’ strike.

After his resignation in 1973 Jellicoe devoted himself largely to business, although in 1983 he conducted for the government a review of the prevention of terrorism legislation.

He became chairman of Tate & Lyle and of Davy Corporation, and a director of Warburg’s and of Sotheby’s. In 1995 he helped found Hakluyt, a secret commercial intelligence company based in Mayfair. For eight years (1982-90) he was chairman of the Medical Research Council.

An ardent Europhile, he was also chairman of the British Overseas Trade Board from 1983 to 1986. He was Chancellor of Southampton University from 1984 to 1995 and President of the Royal Geographical Society from 1993 to 1997.

He was appointed KBE in 1986 and created a life peer in 1999. In 1990 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society.

Lord Jellicoe had two sons and two daughters from his first marriage; a son and two daughters from his second; and a son by Sara Harrity. He is succeeded by his eldest son, Viscount Brocas, who was born in 1950.

Jan 11

Cool Best Marijuana images

Check out these best marijuana images:

Best flyer ever
best marijuana
Image by Beraldo Leal
Best flyer ever
USP / São Paulo
"Festa da Legalização
FFLCH – Prédio do Meio – Espaço Verde 23/Set 23:00h
Bandas: Dupla Caipira Reggae, Nelson Trio
No Som: DJ Livreiro (Música)
Cerveja, Cachaça e Seda
A pior droga é a hipocrisia
legalizacao.wordpress.com
Tinta Tóxica, use as bordas"

best 30 minute wait ever
best marijuana
Image by Shreyans Bhansali
At the Toronto Global Marijuana March.
Queen’s Park North.
6 May 2006.

Dec 16

Cool Strains Of Weed images

Some cool strains of weed images:

hair piece
strains of weed
Image by mamichan
The anonymous artwork is Victorian-era woven hair. Apparently the Victorians often made these as memorials. It’s human hair, braided and woven with beads and ribbons. It hangs in my home, right in front of the entryway.

Destiny
Ralph Waldo Emerson

That you are fair or wise is vain,
Or strong, or rich, or generous;
You must add the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There’s a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea.
Toil could never compass it;
Art its height could never hit;
It came never out of wit;
But a music music-born
Well may Jove and Juno scorn.
Thy beauty, if it lack the fire
Which drives me mad with sweet desire,
What boots it? What the soldier’s mail,
Unless he conquer and prevail?
What all the goods thy pride which lift,
If thou pine for another’s gift?
Alas! that one is born in blight,
Victim of perpetual slight:
When thou lookest on his face,
Thy heart saith, ‘Brother, go thy ways!
None shall ask thee what thou doest,
Or care a rush for what thou knowest,
Or listen when thou repliest,
Or remember where thou liest,
Or how thy supper is sodden;’
And another is born
To make the sun forgotten.
Surely he carries a talisman
Under his tongue;
Broad his shoulders are and strong;
And his eye is scornful,
Threatening and young.
I hold it of little matter
Whether your jewel be of pure water,
A rose diamond or a white,
But whether it dazzle me with light.
I care not how you are dressed,
In coarsest weeds or in the best;
Nor whether your name is base or brave:
Nor for the fashion of your behavior;
But whether you charm me,
Bid my bread feed and my fire warm me
And dress up Nature in your favor.
One thing is forever good;
That one thing is Success,–
Dear to the Eumenides,
And to all the heavenly brood.
Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,
Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.

tiny flora
strains of weed
Image by antefixus21
English names : Giant sensitive plant, Giant false sensitive plant, Creeping sensitive plant
Scientist name : Mimosa diplotricha C. Wright.
Synonyms : Mimosa invisa Mart.
Family : Fabaceae / Mimosoides . H? ??u / h? ph? Trinh n?

Searched from :

**** FAO.ORG.
www.fao.org/forestry/13377-1-0.pdf

Scientific name: Mimosa diplotricha C.Wright
Synonym: Mimosa invisa
Common name: Giant sensitive plant, creeping
sensitive plant, nila grass.
Local name: Anathottawadi, padaincha (Kerala,
India), banla saet (Cambodia),
duri semalu (Malaysia), makahiyang lalaki
(Philippines), maiyaraap thao (Thailand),
Cogadrogadro (Fiji).
Taxonomic position:
Division: Magnoliophyta
Class: Magnoliopsida, Order: Fabales
Distribution: South and South-East Asia, the Pacific Islands, northern Australia, South and Central America, the Hawaiian Islands, parts of Africa, Nigeria and France. In
India, it currently occurs throughout Kerala state and in certain parts of the northeast,
especially the state of Assam. Its occurrence in other states is unknown and needs to be ascertained. M. diplotricha has not attained weed status in the Americas, Western Asia, East Africa and Europe.

Habit: M. diplotricha is a fast-growing, erect shrub and a scrambling climber, which can form dense thickets in a short span of time. It is an annual, although behaves as a perennial. Leaves are bright green, feathery, alternate, each leaf with about 20 pairs of small leaflets, bipinnate, sessile, opposite, lanceolate, acute, 6 – 12 mm long and 1.5 mm wide, sensitive to disturbance. The stem is four-angled, woody at the decumbent base, with re-curved thorns (3 – 6 mm long), up to 3 m in height. The inflorescence is a
clustered fluffy ball, about 12 mm across, pale pink, occurs on short stalks (1 cm long) in leaf joints; the corolla is gamopetalous; there are twice as many stamens as petals. The flowering period is from August to February, but can vary from region to region; it flowers throughout the year in some tropical countries. The pods are clustered, 10 – 35 mm long and 6 mm wide, linear, flat, clothed with small prickles, splitting transversely into one-seeded sections at the groves. The seeds are flat, ovate, spiny, 2 – 2.5 mm long and 0.6 – 1.4 mm thick, glossy and light brown. Seed production is in the range of 8,000 – 12,000 per m2. The weight of 1,000 seeds is around 6 gm. Seed setting is from September to February.
Roots are profusely branched and with root nodules.

**** ISG.ORG.
www.issg.org/database/species/ecology.asp?si=997&fr=1...

Taxonomic name: Mimosa diplotricha C. Wright ex Sauvalle
Synonyms: Mimosa invisa
Common names: co gadrogadro (Fiji), giant false sensitive plant, giant sensitive plant (English), grande sensitive (French), la’au fefe palagi (Samoa), la’au fefe tele (Samoa), limemeihr laud (Pohnpei), mechiuaiuu (Palau), nila grass (English), pikika‘a papa‘a (Cook Islands), sensitive gèante (French), singbiguin sasa (Saipan), vao fefe palagi (American Samoa and Samoa), wa ngandrongandro levu (Fiji), wa ngandrongandro ni wa ngalelevu (Fiji)
Organism type: vine, climber, shrub
Mimosa diplotricha (also referred to in the literature as Mimosa invisa) is a serious weed around the Pacific Rim, where it is the subject of several eradication programmes. Early detection and control is recommended to prevent large infestations from establishing.
Description
Mimosa diplotricha is a shrubby or sprawling annual vine which may also behave as a perennial. Its stems are bunching, often scrambling over other plants. Additionally, they are distinguished by four-angles, each of which consisting a line of sharp, hooked prickles. Leaves are bright green, feathery and fern-like and are arranged in an alternating pattern, with each leaf divided into five to seven pairs of segments. Each segment carries about twenty pairs of very small leaflets which close up when disturbed or injured and at night (DPIF, 2007).
Habitat description
Mimosa diplotricha grows best in tropical regions: high moisture and in highly fertile soils. It is known to thrive under full sunlight conditions. M. diplotricha is naturalised in high rainfall areas of coastal north Queensland, Australia (DPIF, 2007).
General impacts
Mimosa diplotricha is a major weed of cultivated areas and has the ability to climb over other plants (Schultz 2000). In the Kaziranga National Park in northeast India, the weed forms a thorny mat over the natural vegetation, preventing animals from accessing and utilising natural vegetation (N. Gureja, pers. comm. 2003). In Australia the weed chokes out cane, other crops and grassland, causing crop and pasture loss (DPIF, 2007).
Notes
Mimosa diplotricha is still often referred to as Mimosa invisa in the literature.
Geographical range
Native Range: Mimosa diplotricha is native to Brazil (DPIF, 2007).
Known introduced range: American Samoa, Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, Cook Islands, Federated States of Micronesia, Fiji, French Polynesia, Guam, New Caledonia, Niue, Palau, Papua New Guinea, Samoa, Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, Australia, Taiwan, Cambodia, Vietnam, Malaysia, Indonesia, Philippines, Christmas Island (Australia), La Réunion (France) and Mauritius.

Physical: Hand control is difficult due to spines. Plants can be slashed before seeding occurs. Slashing in pastures and other non-crop situations on a regular basis to prevent seeding provides effective control (DPIF, 2007).

Chemical: Any herbicide that is applied should be done so before seeding occurs. The weed is not susceptible to soil fumigants and short-term residual herbicides, (although it may be temporarily controlled with atrazine, diuron and hexazinone at standard to high rates). It is susceptible to translocated herbicides including sodium arsenite, 2,4-D plus atrazine, fluroxypyr and probably glyphosate at standard rates. In non-grazed infested areas 4.5 mL Starane 200 per litre of water can be used (DPIF, 2007). More details of herbicide application may be found at DPIF, 2007.

Biological: An introduced sap feeding bug, the psyllid Heteropsylla spinulosa has been released as a biocontrol agent for M. diplotricha in north Queensland, Austalia, in non-crop areas. Releases at Palikir, Pohnpei have also proven effective. (DPIF, 2007, Waterhouse 1994, in PIER 2008). In Australia it is recommended that pastures and non-crop infestations are assessed for insect abundance between November-April. (The effectiveness of insect control can be predicted by abundant insects prior to flowering commencing in early April). If insects are present in sufficient numbers, the growing tips and leaves are curled and stunted, resulting in no or minimal flower production. Slashing or herbicides should be applied if there are not sufficient numbers of insects prior to April for effective control. In pastures grazing animals tend to control this protein rich legume and prevent it dominating. Plants stunted by Heteropsylla attack are less spiny and are readily grazed by stock. An isolated strain of the stem-spot disease (Corynespora cassiicola) (indigenous to Australia) also appears specific to giant sensitive plant. One study noted that the citheroniid moth (Psigida walker) caused a significant extent of defoliation and the subsequent prevention of seeding of M. diplotricha in Brazil (Vitellia et al., 2001). However, it was shown that the citheroniid moth lacked the target specificity required as it attacked several native bipinnate Acacia species, thus was deemed unsuitable for release (Vitellia et al., 2001).

Reproduction
Mimosa diplotricha produces thousands of seeds (N. Gureja pers. comm. 2003). Seeds have been known to lie dormant for up to 50 years (DPIF, 2007).

**** WIKI
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mimosa_diplotricha

**** WEEDS ORG.AU.
www.weeds.org.au/cgi-bin/weedident.cgi?tpl=plant.tpl&...

Crossing The Border
strains of weed
Image by Fergal of Claddagh
… between Leitrim and Donegal that is!

THE STORY OF TUAN MAC CARROLL
Finian, the Abbott of Moville, went southwards and eastwards in great haste. News had come to him in Donegal that there were yet people in his own province who believed in gods that he did not approve of, and the gods that we do not approve of are treated scurvily, even by saintly men.

He was told of a powerful gentleman who observed neither Saint’s day nor Sunday.
“A powerful person!" said Finian.
“All that," was the reply.
“We shall try this person’s power," said Finian.
“He is reputed to be a wise and hardy man," said his informant.
“We shall test his wisdom and his hardihood."
“He is," that gossip whispered—"he is a magician."
“I will magician him," cried Finian angrily. "Where does that man live?"

He was informed, and he proceeded to that direction without delay. In no great time he came to the stronghold of the gentleman who followed ancient ways, and he demanded admittance in order that he might preach and prove the new God, and exorcise and terrify and banish even the memory of the old one; for to a god grown old Time is as ruthless as to a beggar man grown old. But the Ulster gentleman refused Finian admittance. He barricaded his house, he shuttered his windows, and in a gloom of indignation and protest he continued the practices of ten thousand years, and would not hearken to Finian calling at the window or to Time knocking at his door. But of those adversaries it was the first he redoubted.

Finian loomed on him as a portent and a terror; but he had no fear of Time. Indeed he was the foster-brother of Time, and so disdainful of the bitter god that he did not even disdain him; he leaped over the scythe, he dodged under it, and the sole occasions on which Time laughs is when he chances on Tuan, the son of Carroll, the son of Muredac Red-neck.

Now Finian could not abide that any person should resist both the Gospel and himself, and he proceeded to force the stronghold by peaceful but powerful methods. He fasted on the gentleman, and he did so to such purpose that he was admitted to the house; for to an hospitable heart the idea that a stranger may expire on your doorstep from sheer famine cannot be tolerated. The gentleman, however, did not give in without a struggle: he thought that when Finian had grown sufficiently hungry he would lift the siege and take himself off to some place where he might get food. But he did not know Finian. The great abbot sat down on a spot just beyond the door, and composed himself to all that might follow from his action. He bent his gaze on the ground between his feet, and entered into a meditation from which he would Only be released by admission or death.

The first day passed quietly.

Often the gentleman would send a servitor to spy if that deserter of the gods was still before his door, and each time the servant replied that he was still there.
“He will be gone in the morning," said the hopeful master.
On the morrow the state of siege continued, and through that day the servants were sent many times to observe through spy-holes.
“Go," he would say, "and find out if the worshipper of new gods has taken himself away."
But the servants returned each time with the same information.
“The new druid is still there," they said.

All through that day no one could leave the stronghold. And the enforced seclusion wrought on the minds of the servants, while the cessation of all work banded them together in small groups that whispered and discussed and disputed. Then these groups would disperse to peep through the spy-hole at the patient, immobile figure seated before the door, wrapped in a meditation that was timeless and unconcerned. They took fright at the spectacle, and once or twice a woman screamed hysterically, and was bundled away with a companion’s hand clapped on her mouth, so that the ear of their master should not be affronted.
“He has his own troubles," they said. "It is a combat of the gods that is taking place."

So much for the women; but the men also were uneasy. They prowled up and down, tramping from the spy-hole to the kitchen, and from the kitchen to the turreted roof. And from the roof they would look down on the motionless figure below, and speculate on many things, including the staunchness of man, the qualities of their master, and even the possibility that the new gods might be as powerful as the old. From these peepings and discussions they would return languid and discouraged.
“If," said one irritable guard, "if we buzzed a spear at the persistent stranger, or if one slung at him with a jagged pebble!"
“What!" his master demanded wrathfully, "is a spear to be thrown at an unarmed stranger? And from this house!" And he soundly cuffed that indelicate servant.
“Be at peace all of you," he said, "for hunger has a whip, and he will drive the stranger away in the night."

The household retired to wretched beds; but for the master of the house there was no sleep. He marched his halls all night, going often to the spy-hole to see if that shadow was still sitting in the shade, and pacing thence, tormented, preoccupied, refusing even the nose of his favourite dog as it pressed lovingly into his closed palm.

On the morrow he gave in.

The great door was swung wide, and two of his servants carried Finian into the house, for the saint could no longer walk or stand upright by reason of the hunger and exposure to which he had submitted. But his frame was tough as the unconquerable spirit that dwelt within it, and in no long time he was ready for whatever might come of dispute or anathema.

Being quite re-established he undertook the conversion of the master of the house, and the siege he laid against that notable intelligence was long spoken of among those who are interested in such things.

He had beaten the disease of Mugain; he had beaten his own pupil the great Colm Cille; he beat Tuan also, and just as the latter’s door had opened to the persistent stranger, so his heart opened, and Finian marched there to do the will of God, and his own will.

One day they were talking together about the majesty of God and His love, for although Tuan had now received much instruction on this subject he yet needed more, and he laid as close a siege on Finian as Finian had before that laid on him. But man works outwardly and inwardly. After rest he has energy, after energy he needs repose; so, when we have given instruction for a time, we need instruction, and must receive it or the spirit faints and wisdom herself grows bitter.

Therefore Finian said: "Tell me now about yourself, dear heart."
But Tuan was avid of information about the True God. "No, no," he said, "the past has nothing more of interest for me, and I do not wish anything to come between my soul and its instruction; continue to teach me, dear friend and saintly father."
“I will do that," Finian replied, "but I must first meditate deeply on you, and must know you well. Tell me your past, my beloved, for a man is his past, and is to be known by it."
But Tuan pleaded: "Let the past be content with itself, for man needs forgetfulness as well as memory."
“My son," said Finian, "all that has ever been done has been done for the glory of God, and to confess our good and evil deeds is part of instruction; for the soul must recall its acts and abide by them, or renounce them by confession and penitence. Tell me your genealogy first, and by what descent you occupy these lands and stronghold, and then I will examine your acts and your conscience."
Tuan replied obediently: "I am known as Tuan, son of Carroll, son of Muredac Red-neck, and these are the hereditary lands of my father."
The saint nodded.
“I am not as well acquainted with Ulster genealogies as I should be, yet I know something of them. I am by blood a Leinsterman," he continued.
“Mine is a long pedigree," Tuan murmured.
Finian received that information with respect and interest.
“I also," he said, "have an honourable record."
His host continued: "I am indeed Tuan, the son of Starn, the son of Sera, who was brother to Partholon."
“But," said Finian in bewilderment, "there is an error here, for you have recited two different genealogies."
“Different genealogies, indeed," replied Tuan thoughtfully, "but they are my genealogies."
“I do not understand this," Finian declared roundly.
“I am now known as Tuan mac Carroll," the other replied, "but in the days of old I was known as Tuan mac Starn, mac Sera."
“The brother of Partholon," the saint gasped.
“That is my pedigree," Tuan said.
“But," Finian objected in bewilderment, "Partholon came to Ireland not long after the Flood."
“I came with him," said Tuan mildly.

The saint pushed his chair back hastily, and sat staring at his host, and as he stared the blood grew chill in his veins, and his hair crept along his scalp and stood on end. But Finian was not one who remained long in bewilderment. He thought on the might of God and he became that might, and was tranquil. He was one who loved God and Ireland, and to the person who could instruct him in these great themes he gave all the interest of his mind and the sympathy of his heart.
“It is a wonder you tell me, my beloved," he said. "And now you must tell me more."
“What must I tell?" asked Tuan resignedly.
“Tell me of the beginning of time in Ireland, and of the bearing of Partholon, the son of Noah’s son."
“I have almost forgotten him," said Tuan. "A greatly bearded, greatly shouldered man he was. A man of sweet deeds and sweet ways."
“Continue, my love," said Finian.
“He came to Ireland in a ship. Twenty-four men and twenty-four women came with him. But before that time no man had come to Ireland, and in the western parts of the world no human being lived or moved. As we drew on Ireland from the sea the country seemed like an unending forest. Far as the eye could reach, and in whatever direction, there were trees; and from these there came the unceasing singing of birds. Over all that land the sun shone warm and beautiful, so that to our sea-weary eyes, our wind-tormented ears, it seemed as if we were driving on Paradise.
“We landed and we heard the rumble of water going gloomily through the darkness of the forest. Following the water we came to a glade where the sun shone and where the earth was warmed, and there Partholon rested with his twenty-four couples, and made a city and a livelihood.
“There were fish in the rivers of Eire’, there were animals in her coverts. Wild and shy and monstrous creatures ranged in her plains and forests. Creatures that one could see through and walk through. Long we lived in ease, and we saw new animals grow,—the bear, the wolf, the badger, the deer, and the boar.
“Partholon’s people increased until from twenty-four couples there came five thousand people, who lived in amity and contentment although they had no wits."
“They had no wits!" Finian commented.
“They had no need of wits," Tuan said.
“I have heard that the first-born were mindless," said Finian. "Continue your story, my beloved."
“Then, sudden as a rising wind, between one night and a morning, there came a sickness that bloated the stomach and purpled the skin, and on the seventh day all of the race of Partholon were dead, save one man only." "There always escapes one man," said Finian thoughtfully.
“And I am that man," his companion affirmed.

Tuan shaded his brow with his hand, and he remembered backwards through incredible ages to the beginning of the world and the first days of Eire’. And Finian, with his blood again running chill and his scalp crawling uneasily, stared backwards with him.
“Tell on, my love," Finian murmured
“I was alone," said Tuan. "I was so alone that my own shadow frightened me. I was so alone that the sound of a bird in flight, or the creaking of a dew-drenched bough, whipped me to cover as a rabbit is scared to his burrow.
“The creatures of the forest scented me and knew I was alone. They stole with silken pad behind my back and snarled when I faced them; the long, grey wolves with hanging tongues and staring eyes chased me to my cleft rock; there was no creature so weak but it might hunt me, there was no creature so timid but it might outface me. And so I lived for two tens of years and two years, until I knew all that a beast surmises and had forgotten all that a man had known.
“I could pad as gently as any; I could run as tirelessly. I could be invisible and patient as a wild cat crouching among leaves; I could smell danger in my sleep and leap at it with wakeful claws; I could bark and growl and clash with my teeth and tear with them."
“Tell on, my beloved," said Finian, "you shall rest in God, dear heart."
“At the end of that time," said Tuan, "Nemed the son of Agnoman came to Ireland with a fleet of thirty-four barques, and in each barque there were thirty couples of people."
“I have heard it," said Finian.
“My heart leaped for joy when I saw the great fleet rounding the land, and I followed them along scarped cliffs, leaping from rock to rock like a wild goat, while the ships tacked and swung seeking a harbour. There I stooped to drink at a pool, and I saw myself in the chill water.
“I saw that I was hairy and tufty and bristled as a savage boar; that I was lean as a stripped bush; that I was greyer than a badger; withered and wrinkled like an empty sack; naked as a fish; wretched as a starving crow in winter; and on my fingers and toes there were great curving claws, so that I looked like nothing that was known, like nothing that was animal or divine. And I sat by the pool weeping my loneliness and wildness and my stern old age; and I could do no more than cry and lament between the earth and the sky, while the beasts that tracked me listened from behind the trees, or crouched among bushes to stare at me from their drowsy covert.
“A storm arose, and when I looked again from my tall cliff I saw that great fleet rolling as in a giant’s hand. At times they were pitched against the sky and staggered aloft, spinning gustily there like wind-blown leaves. Then they were hurled from these dizzy tops to the flat, moaning gulf, to the glassy, inky horror that swirled and whirled between ten waves. At times a wave leaped howling under a ship, and with a buffet dashed it into air, and chased it upwards with thunder stroke on stroke, and followed again, close as a chasing wolf, trying with hammering on hammering to beat in the wide-wombed bottom and suck out the frightened lives through one black gape. A wave fell on a ship and sunk it down with a thrust, stern as though a whole sky had tumbled at it, and the barque did not cease to go down until it crashed and sank in the sand at the bottom of the sea.
“The night came, and with it a thousand darknesses fell from the screeching sky. Not a round-eyed creature of the night might pierce an inch of that multiplied gloom. Not a creature dared creep or stand. For a great wind strode the world lashing its league-long whips in cracks of thunder, and singing to itself, now in a world-wide yell, now in an ear-dizzying hum and buzz; or with a long snarl and whine it hovered over the world searching for life to destroy.
“And at times, from the moaning and yelping blackness of the sea, there came a sound—thin-drawn as from millions of miles away, distinct as though uttered in the ear like a whisper of confidence—and I knew that a drowning man was calling on his God as he thrashed and was battered into silence, and that a blue-lipped woman was calling on her man as her hair whipped round her brows and she whirled about like a top.
“Around me the trees were dragged from earth with dying groans; they leaped into the air and flew like birds. Great waves whizzed from the sea: spinning across the cliffs and hurtling to the earth in monstrous clots of foam; the very rocks came trundling and sidling and grinding among the trees; and in that rage, and in that horror of blackness I fell asleep, or I was beaten into slumber."
“THERE I dreamed, and I saw myself changing into a stag in dream, and I felt in dream the beating of a new heart within me, and in dream I arched my neck and braced my powerful limbs.
“I awoke from the dream, and I was that which I had dreamed.
“I stood a while stamping upon a rock, with my bristling head swung high, breathing through wide nostrils all the savour of the world. For I had come marvellously from decrepitude to strength. I had writhed from the bonds of age and was young again. I smelled the turf and knew for the first time how sweet that smelled. And like lightning my moving nose sniffed all things to my heart and separated them into knowledge.
“Long I stood there, ringing my iron hoof on stone, and learning all things through my nose. Each breeze that came from the right hand or the left brought me a tale. A wind carried me the tang of wolf, and against that smell I stared and stamped. And on a wind there came the scent of my own kind, and at that I belled. Oh, loud and clear and sweet was the voice of the great stag. With what ease my lovely note went lilting. With what joy I heard the answering call. With what delight I bounded, bounded, bounded; light as a bird’s plume, powerful as a storm, untiring as the sea.
“Here now was ease in ten-yard springings, with a swinging head, with the rise and fall of a swallow, with the curve and flow and urge of an otter of the sea. What a tingle dwelt about my heart! What a thrill spun to the lofty points of my antlers! How the world was new! How the sun was new! How the wind caressed me!
“With unswerving forehead and steady eye I met all that came. The old, lone wolf leaped sideways, snarling, and slunk away. The lumbering bear swung his head of hesitations and thought again; he trotted his small red eye away with him to a near-by brake. The stags of my race fled from my rocky forehead, or were pushed back and back until their legs broke under them and I trampled them to death. I was the beloved, the well known, the leader of the herds of Ireland.
“And at times I came back from my boundings about Eire’, for the strings of my heart were drawn to Ulster; and, standing away, my wide nose took the air, while I knew with joy, with terror, that men were blown on the wind. A proud head hung to the turf then, and the tears of memory rolled from a large, bright eye.
“At times I drew near, delicately, standing among thick leaves or crouched in long grown grasses, and I stared and mourned as I looked on men. For Nemed and four couples had been saved from that fierce storm, and I saw them increase and multiply until four thousand couples lived and laughed and were riotous in the sun, for the people of Nemed had small minds but great activity. They were savage fighters and hunters.
“But one time I came, drawn by that intolerable anguish of memory, and all of these people were gone: the place that knew them was silent: in the land where they had moved there was nothing of them but their bones that glinted in the sun.
“Old age came on me there. Among these bones weariness crept into my limbs. My head grew heavy, my eyes dim, my knees jerked and trembled, and there the wolves dared chase me.
“I went again to the cave that had been my home when I was an old man.
“One day I stole from the cave to snatch a mouthful of grass, for I was closely besieged by wolves. They made their rush, and I barely escaped from them. They sat beyond the cave staring at me.
“I knew their tongue. I knew all that they said to each other, and all that they said to me. But there was yet a thud left in my forehead, a deadly trample in my hoof. They did not dare come into the cave.
“’To-morrow,’ they said, ‘we will tear out your throat, and gnaw on your living haunch’."
“Then my soul rose to the height of Doom, and I intended all that might happen to me, and agreed to it.
“’To-morrow,’ I said, ‘I will go out among ye, and I will die,’ and at that the wolves howled joyfully, hungrily, impatiently.
“I slept, and I saw myself changing into a boar in dream, and I felt in dream the beating of a new heart within me, and in dream I stretched my powerful neck and braced my eager limbs. I awoke from my dream, and I was that which I had dreamed.
“The night wore away, the darkness lifted, the day came; and from without the cave the wolves called to me: "’Come out, O Skinny Stag. Come out and die.’
“And I, with joyful heart, thrust a black bristle through the hole of the cave, and when they saw that wriggling snout, those curving tusks, that red fierce eye, the wolves fled yelping, tumbling over each other, frantic with terror; and I behind them, a wild cat for leaping, a giant for strength, a devil for ferocity; a madness and gladness of lusty, unsparing life; a killer, a champion, a boar who could not be defied.
“I took the lordship of the boars of Ireland.
“Wherever I looked among my tribes I saw love and obedience: whenever I appeared among the strangers they fled away. And the wolves feared me then, and the great, grim bear went bounding on heavy paws. I charged him at the head of my troop and rolled him over and over; but it is not easy to kill the bear, so deeply is his life packed under that stinking pelt. He picked himself up and ran, and was knocked down, and ran again blindly, butting into trees and stones. Not a claw did the big bear flash, not a tooth did he show, as he ran whimpering like a baby, or as he stood with my nose rammed against his mouth, snarling up into his nostrils.
“I challenged all that moved. All creatures but one. For men had again come to Ireland. Semion, the son of Stariath, with his people, from whom the men of Domnann and the Fir Bolg and the Galiuin are descended. These I did not chase, and when they chased me I fled.
“Often I would go, drawn by my memoried heart, to look at them as they moved among their fields; and I spoke to my mind in bitterness: ‘When the people of Partholon were gathered in counsel my voice was heard; it was sweet to all who heard it, and the words I spoke were wise. The eyes of women brightened and softened when they looked at me. They loved to hear him when he sang who now wanders in the forest with a tusky herd.’"
“OLD age again overtook me. Weariness stole into my limbs, and anguish dozed into my mind. I went to my Ulster cave and dreamed my dream, and I changed into a hawk.
“I left the ground. The sweet air was my kingdom, and my bright eye stared on a hundred miles. I soared, I swooped; I hung, motionless as a living stone, over the abyss; I lived in joy and slept in peace, and had my fill of the sweetness of life.
“During that time Beothach, the son of Iarbonel the Prophet, came to Ireland with his people, and there was a great battle between his men and the children of Semion. Long I hung over that combat, seeing every spear that hurtled, every stone that whizzed from a sling, every sword that flashed up and down, and the endless glittering of the shields. And at the end I saw that the victory was with Iarbonel. And from his people the Tuatha Dé Danann came, although their origin is forgotten, and learned people, because of their excellent wisdom and intelligence, say that they came from heaven.
“These are the people of Faery. All these are the gods.
“For long, long years I was a hawk. I knew every hill and stream; every field and glen of Ireland. I knew the shape of cliffs and coasts, and how all places looked under the sun or moon. And I was still a hawk when the sons of Mil drove the Tuatha Dé Danann under the ground, and held Ireland against arms or wizardry; and this was the coming of men and the beginning of genealogies.
“Then I grew old, and in my Ulster cave close to the sea I dreamed my dream, and in it I became a salmon. The green tides of ocean rose over me and my dream, so that I drowned in the sea and did not die, for I awoke in deep waters, and I was that which I dreamed. I had been a man, a stag, a boar, a bird, and now I was a fish. In all my changes I had joy and fullness of life. But in the water joy lay deeper, life pulsed deeper. For on land or air there is always something excessive and hindering; as arms that swing at the sides of a man, and which the mind must remember. The stag has legs to be tucked away for sleep, and untucked for movement; and the bird has wings that must be folded and pecked and cared for. But the fish has but one piece from his nose to his tail. He is complete, single and unencumbered. He turns in one turn, and goes up and down and round in one sole movement.
“How I flew through the soft element: how I joyed in the country where there is no harshness: in the element which upholds and gives way; which caresses and lets go, and will not let you fall. For man may stumble in a furrow; the stag tumble from a cliff; the hawk, wing-weary and beaten, with darkness around him and the storm behind, may dash his brains against a tree. But the home of the salmon is his delight, and the sea guards all her creatures."
“I became the king of the salmon, and, with my multitudes, I ranged on the tides of the world. Green and purple distances were under me: green and gold the sunlit regions above. In these latitudes I moved through a world of amber, myself amber and gold; in those others, in a sparkle of lucent blue, I curved, lit like a living jewel: and in these again, through dusks of ebony all mazed with silver, I shot and shone, the wonder of the sea.
“I saw the monsters of the uttermost ocean go heaving by; and the long lithe brutes that are toothed to their tails: and below, where gloom dipped down on gloom, vast, livid tangles that coiled and uncoiled, and lapsed down steeps and hells of the sea where even the salmon could not go.
“I knew the sea. I knew the secret caves where ocean roars to ocean; the floods that are icy cold, from which the nose of a salmon leaps back as at a sting; and the warm streams in which we rocked and dozed and were carried forward without motion. I swam on the outermost rim of the great world, where nothing was but the sea and the sky and the salmon; where even the wind was silent, and the water was clear as clean grey rock.
“And then, far away in the sea, I remembered Ulster, and there came on me an instant, uncontrollable anguish to be there. I turned, and through days and nights I swam tirelessly, jubilantly; with terror wakening in me, too, and a whisper through my being that I must reach Ireland or die.
“I fought my way to Ulster from the sea.
“Ah, how that end of the journey was hard! A sickness was racking in every one of my bones, a languor and weariness creeping through my every fibre and muscle. The waves held me back and held me back; the soft waters seemed to have grown hard; and it was as though I were urging through a rock as I strained towards Ulster from the sea.
“So tired I was! I could have loosened my frame and been swept away; I could have slept and been drifted and wafted away; swinging on grey-green billows that had turned from the land and were heaving and mounting and surging to the far blue water.
“Only the unconquerable heart of the salmon could brave that end of toil. The sound of the rivers of Ireland racing down to the sea came to me in the last numb effort: the love of Ireland bore me up: the gods of the rivers trod to me in the white-curled breakers, so that I left the sea at long, long last; and I lay in sweet water in the curve of a crannied rock, exhausted, three parts dead, triumphant."
“Delight and strength came to me again, and now I explored all the inland ways, the great lakes of Ireland, and her swift brown rivers.
“What a joy to lie under an inch of water basking in the sun, or beneath a shady ledge to watch the small creatures that speed like lightning on the rippling top. I saw the dragon-flies flash and dart and turn, with a poise, with a speed that no other winged thing knows: I saw the hawk hover and stare and swoop: he fell like a falling stone, but he could not catch the king of the salmon: I saw the cold-eyed cat stretching along a bough level with the water, eager to hook and lift the creatures of the river. And I saw men.
“They saw me also. They came to know me and look for me. They lay in wait at the waterfalls up which I leaped like a silver flash. They held out nets for me; they hid traps under leaves; they made cords of the colour of water, of the colour of weeds—but this salmon had a nose that knew how a weed felt and how a string—they drifted meat on a sightless string, but I knew of the hook; they thrust spears at me, and threw lances which they drew back again with a cord. Many a wound I got from men, many a sorrowful scar.
“Every beast pursued me in the waters and along the banks; the barking, black-skinned otter came after me in lust and gust and swirl; the wild cat fished for me; the hawk and the steep-winged, spear-beaked birds dived down on me, and men crept on me with nets the width of a river, so that I got no rest. My life became a ceaseless scurry and wound and escape, a burden and anguish of watchfulness—and then I was caught."
“THE fisherman of Carroll, the King of Ulster, took me in his net. Ah, that was a happy man when he saw me! He shouted for joy when he saw the great salmon in his net.
“I was still in the water as he hauled delicately. I was still in the water as he pulled me to the bank. My nose touched air and spun from it as from fire, and I dived with all my might against the bottom of the net, holding yet to the water, loving it, mad with terror that I must quit that loveliness. But the net held and I came up.
“’Be quiet, King of the River,’ said the fisherman, ‘give in to Doom,’ said he.
“I was in air, and it was as though I were in fire. The air pressed on me like a fiery mountain. It beat on my scales and scorched them. It rushed down my throat and scalded me. It weighed on me and squeezed me, so that my eyes felt as though they must burst from my head, my head as though it would leap from my body, and my body as though it would swell and expand and fly in a thousand pieces.
“The light blinded me, the heat tormented me, the dry air made me shrivel and gasp; and, as he lay on the grass, the great salmon whirled his desperate nose once more to the river, and leaped, leaped, leaped, even under the mountain of air. He could leap upwards, but not forwards, and yet he leaped, for in each rise he could see the twinkling waves, the rippling and curling waters.
“’Be at ease, O King,’ said the fisherman. ‘Be at rest, my beloved. Let go the stream. Let the oozy marge be forgotten, and the sandy bed where the shades dance all in green and gloom, and the brown flood sings along.’
“And as he carried me to the palace he sang a song of the river, and a song of Doom, and a song in praise of the King of the Waters.
“When the king’s wife saw me she desired me. I was put over a fire and roasted, and she ate me. And when time passed she gave birth to me, and I was her son and the son of Carroll the king. I remember warmth and darkness and movement and unseen sounds. All that happened I remember, from the time I was on the gridiron until the time I was born. I forget nothing of these things."
“And now," said Finian, "you will be born again, for I shall baptize you into the family of the Living God." —— So far the story of Tuan, the son of Carroll.

No man knows if he died in those distant ages when Finian was Abbot of Moville, or if he still keeps his fort in Ulster, watching all things, and remembering them for the glory of God and the honour of Ireland.

Nov 23

Cool Best Marijuana images

Some cool best marijuana images:

Give Me Weed
best marijuana
Image by Ian Sane
Technically speaking this isn’t one of my better shots. Since the man holding the sign is homeless he probably doesn’t own the best in hair products, thus, his extremely long bangs were creating a massive shadow over his eyes. I did what I could to lighten the area but I could only do so much without making it look worse. Plus, the sun was at its highest peak and that’s usually a big no-no when shooting but as a street photographer you have to take the moments as they present themselves, even if it was the middle of the day.

I circled around the area trying to find the best angle and I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation between the young man holding the sign and the police officer. He was actually taunting her with comments like: “you probably know the best places to buy pot, don’t you? Can you tell me where so I can get some?” Even I joked with her a little asking: “So, are you here to make sure he doesn’t get his pot?” She wasn’t amused.

He seemed quite fearless of any potential consequence from his actions. I can see why, though. What’s the worst that can happen? Get shelter and a free meal from being arrested?

i’m comin to get you!
best marijuana
Image by Morgan200
best buster ever!

Nov 10

Cool Strains Of Weed images

Check out these strains of weed images:

Tonnta (8)
strains of weed
Image by Fergal of Claddagh
Or from that Sea of Time.
Walt Whitman

1
OR, from that Sea of Time,
Spray, blown by the wind—a double winrow-drift of weeds and shells;
(O little shells, so curious-convolute! so limpid-cold and voiceless!
Yet will you not, to the tympans of temples held,
Murmurs and echoes still bring up—Eternity’s music, faint and far,
Wafted inland, sent from Atlantica’s rim—strains for the Soul of the Prairies,
Whisper’d reverberations—chords for the ear of the West, joyously sounding
Your tidings old, yet ever new and untranslatable;)
Infinitessimals out of my life, and many a life,
(For not my life and years alone I give—all, all I give;)
These thoughts and Songs—waifs from the deep—here, cast high and dry,
Wash’d on America’s shores.

2
Currents of starting a Continent new,
Overtures sent to the solid out of the liquid,
Fusion of ocean and land—tender and pensive waves,
(Not safe and peaceful only—waves rous’d and ominous too.
Out of the depths, the storm’s abysms—Who knows whence? Death’s waves,
Raging over the vast, with many a broken spar and tatter’d sail.)

Sabharchín (Primrose) (2)
strains of weed
Image by Fergal of Claddagh
Spring
GM Hopkins SJ

Nothing is so beautiful as spring–
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.–Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

a kind of burning
strains of weed
Image by counting chest bullets
it is perhaps because
one way or the other
we keep this distance
closeness will tug as apart
in many directions
in absolute din
how we love the same
trivial pursuits and
insignificant gewgaws
spoken or inert
claw at the same straws
pore over the same jigsaws
trying to make heads or tails
you take the edges
i take the center
keeping fancy guard
loving beyond what is there
you sling at the stars
i bedeck the weeds
straining in song or
profanities towards some
fabled meeting apart
from what dreams read
and suns dismantle
we have been all the hapless
lovers in this wayward world
in almost all kinds of ways
except we never really meet
but for this kind of burning.

A Kind of Burning
By Ophelia Alcantara Dimalanta

Sep 15

Cool Weed Strains images

A few nice weed strains images I found:

WeeD (87)
weed strains
Image by themadpothead
Strain : Unknown

WeeD (94)
weed strains
Image by themadpothead
Strain : Unknown

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