I have often tried to think about Einstein’s Theories, Quantum Mechanics and Dark Matter. Not sure if I understand it all. But hopefully thinking about it might speed up my understanding of it. E=Mc2 Energy equals matter multiplied by the speed of light squared. Energy and matter are interchangeable. Energy is created by matter and light combining. Equally Matter is created by Energy and Light combining. This is how the world was constructed. After the big bang that is. Except for Dark Matter. Maybe. A lot of this is conjecture. More than half the world is made up of Dark Energy and Dark Matter. Neither of which is visible. Dark Matter does have gravity but does not appear to have mass. A central query of life is whether anything can travel faster than the speed of light. Is there anything in the world apart from electromagnetic energy? And can Dark Matter be attached to it? We all muse over Einstein’s theories and the big bang. The beginning of the world. Just what occurred at the big bang. I have long tried to understand quantum mechanics. Most of what makes up any object is space. There is space between each atom. Is anything in this space? Is it only electromagnetic forces that holds matter together? Question: When matter approaches the speed of light does the matter break down into its component parts? When mass approaches the speed of light does it resume the components of Energy and Light Question: Is it possible that dark matter can be energy that moves faster than the speed of light? If it is moving faster than the speed of light and we could somehow harness it could we travel faster than the speed of light. Dark Matter does exert a gravitational effect? It is said that without this gravitational effect the galaxies would pull apart. In the world of the infinitely small where gravity has no effect why doesn’t Dark Energy have an effect. Maybe it does have an effect and we don't yet understand it. Question: Does Dark Energy have an effect in Quantum Mechanics? Is this gravity influencing the behavior of small matter such as quarks etc.? Is it possible to quantify this? I will keep writing about this as thoughts come to mind.
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Odd Man Out.
What follows is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. In the early 50’s an itinerant family moved to Meadow Creek. Father Mother Daughter and Son. Where they came from or what their background was I don’t know. Father was what was called a seasonal worker. This meant he found part time work on local farms depending on the time of year. They moved into a house not far from the school that had been deserted since the war. It had no electricity or running water. They had no car. Neither the father nor the mother drove. The overwhelming impression their appearance gave was that the whole family were poor. They certainly looked it. Both parents had prominent teeth missing. The father was skinny and the mother was stout. She always wore socks instead of stockings. Their clothes were unfashionable and looked like hand me downs. They had that second hand look. The children’s clothes looked handmade if that. What they were made of was previously used or previously discarded. They were torn and tattered. Their shoes were always scuffed and falling apart. The girl was in grade 3 and the boy was in grade 2. The boy was white skinned with red blotches and he had large freckles all over his face. He had frizzy red hair. The girl was grey skinned and also very freckled but her freckles were black. She had grey frizzy hair. Neither child was muscular. The girl was shy and introverted. Silent. The boy was more open. He always wanted to be friendly but no one wanted to be friendly with him. Society at that time was structured in a strictly rigid form. Graziers were at the top of the ladder and seasonal labourers were at the bottom. Society was ruled by a strict class and caste system although no one admitted it. The children at my school followed this class hierarchy with great determination. The two children came to the school in the middle of the term and on their first few days had to stand out the front because there were not spare desks or chairs for them. When the furniture came the teacher gave definite instructions as to how each should carry and take care of their chairs. This was a sore point with him. Chairs and desks were scarce. He had a thing about furniture being broken. It was a punishable offence. It meant the strap for anyone who broke anything. These two children were never accepted and they were mercilessly treated by the rest of the school from the start. It was said that their parents were not married. It was also said that the father had a touch of the tar and both these rumours were often expressed by the older pupils as having great importance. Children obviously got these beliefs from their parents and elders. I didn’t really understand why these beliefs were so important but I did not question it. The statements concerning the two children were made with such authority. What was said seemed to be so all encompassing. It was not uncommon to see a group of girls half chasing the girl around and calling in unison tar baby tar baby because of her dark skin. The girl would be in tears but no one cared. This was fun. They knew they would never be stopped doing it because the girl was not liked and she was both unattractive and poor. The result was the girl spent a lot of time by herself crying and sobbing. Her body would heave with sobs and this only made the mob happier. She was an outsider and was not liked. She was not an attractive girl. She could not defend herself. She had no dignity. It was as if she deserved it. I cared but of course I said nothing. I did care. I felt sorry for her. My heart went out to this poor girl. I wanted to go and put my arm around her but I didn’t dare. I did not want to be seen as the odd man out. I did not want to be thought of as being sympathetic with this undesirable person. I did not want to be thought as being the same as her. I was frightened I would be treated the same way. No one would talk to me. I hated being teased. I always felt so humiliated when I was teased and was always struck dumb. I could never go against public opinion. So I stood silent. I was frightened. I did not know what to do. I had a great longing to be part of the mob. I wanted to be accepted. I felt I could do nothing. A few weeks after their arrival there was a reorganization at the school. Desks and chairs had to be moved around. Children had to pick up their chairs while the grade 6 boys moved the desks. All the young children were standing holding their chairs. One of the popular boys lifted his chair above his head and attempted to hold it like a circus performer would. He said look at me and tried to swivel it around. He quickly lost control of it. It fell to the floor with great noise. A leg was broken off. The whole class looked to see who it was. It was the son of a prominent farmer who was on the school committee so we all relaxed. He would not be punished. The teacher never punished some pupils and he was one of them. But for some reason the red haired boy spoke out – “look Mr S – he’s dropped his chair – are you going to give him the strap? Look at me. I’m holding my chair properly”. The room of students found this funny and laughed out loud but the teacher found it infuriating and he ran at the boy shaking his fist as if to hit him. The laugh was caught in everyone’s throat. What would happen? The teacher did not hit the boy but went up right into his face and screamed at him. Imbecile. Stupid. Idiot. Shut up. Get out of the room. The boy wilted visibly and stepped backwards. He started to cry silently. The rest of the children started laughing again. His sister came to his aid to comfort him. She put her arm around him. Some pupils even jeered at her. The teacher turned around still fuming and strode away. I did not laugh. I stayed silent. I knew a great injustice was occurring. I knew something terrible was happening but I was powerless to do anything. I could do nothing. I felt sorry for both of them. I wanted to go and stand with them. But of course I did not. I did not know what to do. I stayed in the background. I was one of the crowd. I did not want to be noticed. I did not want to be seen to be connected with their lower class. I did not want to be disliked. I did not want to be associated with these two undesirable children. I did not want to be thought of as being the same as them. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to be popular. I did not want to be thought of as being different. I did not want to be the odd man out. Has the world changed? Official Eminent Person: Odd man Out I once went on a government sponsored march. It was a symbolic gesture which ended with a ceremony to acknowledge the Kulin aboriginal people and their traditional ownership of the land. The walk started from outside the NGV and proceeded along St Kilda Road to an area past Government House to a spot in the Botanical gardens where there was to be a ceremony acknowledging the traditional ownership of the Kulin people. And speeches. It was held on a Sunday morning and St Kilda Road was closed to traffic. The weather was overcast and cool. The government sponsored the walk. I heard about the walk because I had had to go out of the office on Friday morning and during the drive I heard on the radio Melbourne’s shock jock Neil Mitchell denigrating the event and as usual pouring contempt on the Labour government’s intention. I thought this made it important enough to go to. I wanted to try and make a statement even if I knew that by going I would not make any difference. I had long been concerned at society’s attitude to aborigines. I knew I had always lived in a racist society and I always felt uneasy about it. For all the talk about what aborigines had been given by the government I knew they were never given two things – power and acceptance. I despaired over whether aborigines would ever be accepted into the mainstream of society and wondered if they would ever be given power – real power – which had an effect on the behavior, status and wealth of Caucasian Australians. I could not get anyone else from my family to accompany me. The event had received a fair amount of publicity and might give someone a reputation they might not want if it was known if they attended. I already had the reputation of a being a left wing ratbag in the extended family – and a mean one at that - so I had nothing to lose. I drove alone. I was lucky enough to find a free parking spot and walked to where the march assembled. I was not surprised by the number of people who turned out for the march. There was not an overly large crowd but there were a satisfactory number. I deliberately started in the middle of the marchers and determined I would push my way towards the front during the course of the march to get a feel of who were attending. I wanted to see if I recognized anyone. Maybe people I knew might be marching. Famous people maybe. I was not disappointed. There were surprises. There were actually some celebrity matrons marching. At least two. For part of the way they walked together. These women actually often appeared in the society pages. Was this a fashionable society event? Maybe it could become one. I looked around to see if there were any celebrity photographer’s accompanying them but unfortunately not. I would not get my photo in the paper by lurking in the background. Apart from Bracks and Brumby it seemed that all of the Cabinet were there. There were a number of things that struck me. They were all young and were all well-dressed. Suits and ties. Sunday best. They talked in small groups all the way along. Sometimes one or two would leave the group and join another group. The three of four groups were constantly changing. The talk never stopped. I noted there was not one joker among them. They were all serious people intent on the matter at hand. I did not attempt to get close enough to eaves drop on what they were talking about. Politics I assumed. Party problems. Cabinet matters maybe. The rest of the marchers left them to their discussions. There was one odd man out. An Eminent Person. He was even officially designated as Eminent. Or more precisely one eminent couple. A man and wife. Mr Malcolm Fraser and Mrs Tammy Fraser were amongst the marchers. They both looked as if this protest march was the most natural thing in the world for them to do on a Sunday morning. They were showing where their sympathies lay. Both were happy to talk to people as they walked. I walked close to them for a fair length of time. I was interested to see who were drawn to converse with them. They were not mobbed by fans but nor were they ignored and left to walk alone. Most people who approached them were middle aged or over middle aged. I would say that the majority would have been Liberal Voters. They looked conservative. Some were New Australians. Beneficiaries of multi culturalism who wished to express their appreciation. There were some aboriginals. A lot of shaking of hands. There were no problems or unpleasantness. It was all very civilized and Mrs Fraser was particularly charming. People obviously enjoyed talking to them both and the Frasers liked talking back. I was so close to them at one point Mr Fraser looked me in the eye inviting me to come up and speak to him but I declined. I could not bring myself to speak to him. I could not help pondering as to what his motives were in attending this march. Why was he doing all these odd things at this point in his life? He was in effect now acting as the conscience of the nation. What was he looking for? Was he looking for Atonement? Forgiveness? Absolution? I had not forgiven him for his actions in 1975 and how could I give him succor now? So I went home and wrote him a letter. Which in turn led to some humour. I wrote to him that while I congratulated him and his wife on participating in the march I could not bring myself to talk to him. I agreed that their attendance in the march gave it a status that it would not have had if they were not there but nevertheless I still had issues with him that were unresolved. I could not forgive him and take him to my heart as others did. I pointed out in my letter that I thoroughly disapproved of his actions in 1975. I felt that more than anything his actions were immoral. Highly immoral and he could never get away from this. I pointed out that Democracy is an arrangement that is agreed to by the participants and that he had betrayed that arrangement. It is a matter of honour more than anything and public figures must act honourably. He had definitely not acted honourably. It did not matter that he had a chance of seizing power and that anyone else would have done the same thing. In my mind this made it worse. I particularly pointed out the immorality of his actions in guaranteeing the Governor Generals pay and pension in 1975 values before he was appointed Prime Minister. And I felt his recent claim that he had always been against Australia’s participation in the Vietnam War was hard to swallow. And his claim that he always saw himself when he was Minister for The Army as being the champion of and the protector of Australian Soldiers against the dangers of excessive American Policy was extremely hard to comprehend. I also said however I thoroughly approved of some of his recent utterances and congratulated him on his stance on many issues. Views that were now thought to be controversial and going against public opinion. Even appearing to be opposite to what he expressed when Prime Minister. I finished up by asking him if indeed he was now seeking Atonement. Forgiveness? Absolution? I said I did not wish him to reply and did not give my address. A few weeks later at work I received a phone call. I was out in the factory checking on a production matter when a message came over the loudspeaker “phone call for Neville Gibb. Malcolm Fraser for Neville Gibb on the phone”. I picked up the nearest receiver and it was not Malcolm Fraser. But it was his secretary. How she tracked me down I do not know. This was before facebook. She had some questions. She said Mr Fraser had read my letter and he would like to reply to it. Could she have my address? After some discussion I said I preferred to decline a reply and she accepted this. I was polite about it. For the next few days I was often asked by bemused people if they had misunderstood the message on the loud speaker. Was it really Malcolm Fraser on the phone? How did I know him? What did he want? Of course I did nothing to disabuse them of whatever was in their mind and emphasized our close friendship. Malcolm and I were like this – close collaborators - buddies. We often talked on the phone. I particularly led my boss on with tales of being Malcolm’s close collaborator. Same school etc. Obviously the same politics. Same charities. Friends with his daughter. Talked to him all the time at the Football. Etc. I think he half believed me but being rusted on anti labour he did not know whether to be jealous or contemptuous. How could someone like me know Malcolm Fraser? The march ended with a quite formal and well organized smoking ceremony. I had never seen one before. A proper and somehow inspirational acknowledgement of Aboriginal Land was read out. Again I had never witnessed one. This was surprisingly serious stuff. Some short surprisingly relevant speeches were given. All by women. Change happens slowly. But maybe it can happen. Jenny and I recently attended a Van Gough exhibition at the NGV. We went in a trip organized by the Benalla Gallery and we traveled by bus leaving at 8AM and returning at 5PM. It was an enjoyable day. Because we already had tickets we did not have to queue for long when we got to the gallery. The bus journey from Benalla to Melbourne seemed to not take long either. Van Gough’s pictures are not his best but this is a small criticism. I would for once like seeing some of Vincent’s killer pictures but the exhibition does show how Vincent progressed. Most of the pictures are early but there is one of his very latest. As is normal with artists Vincent collected a lot of drawings etc from magazines, newspapers etc to give him inspiration and maybe they just caught his attention so he cut them out of newspapers etc and a good third of the exhibition was examples of what he had collected and maybe stacked in a corner for looking at later. But because he had collected them they were thought to be important so were kept by his estate. Some were interesting. Mostly not though. More importantly Vincent collected and was obviously influenced by Japanese wood prints and there was also a room of Japanese Prints. The Gallery owns the best Hokusai print of them all – The Great Wave and fishing boats in front of Mt Fuji - and this print was in the exhibition. The others came from all over the world and were in effect a world class exhibition of Japanese Prints. This exhibition was impressive on its own accord. These woodcuts – sometimes rolled off in great numbers for the masses are obviously of a high artistic standard and are well worth seeing. What can we discern from them? Do they give an indication of Japanese life at that time? I don’t know. Maybe. They do comply with the universal art standard – do you feel you understand the artist? The answer is definitely yes. This aspect of Japanese Art somehow made its way around the world and the world was intrigued. And still is. But this is surely because it is simply good art. You cannot help but being impressed. Vincent’s exhibition starts with his early drawings and progresses from there. No one can say Vincent suddenly appeared as a ready-made genius painter. He worked at it for a long time. He was extremely prolific. He did lots of drawings. He tried hard to get it right. Don’t let me mislead you – he did have talent – but he was hardworking as well. You cannot help but admire him. Some of his pencil drawings are exquisite and draw on your heartstrings. He did lots of drawings in pencil, pen, charcoal and ink and they are all good. Sometimes he is obviously copying to a certain extent other great artists or is giving his version of their paintings. Probably just to see if he could I assume. Or to work on his style. When he started using colour you can see how he was influenced by the Japanese woodcuts. In one or two he more or less recreates the previous Japanese woodcut or he transposes the subject of the Japanese print into a local scene. The exhibition does not have many of what I call Vincent’s killer paintings. Only one – maybe two. This does not lessen the value or enjoyment in any way however. Vincent experimented with many styles before he settled on his own distinctive way. He was of course well known in Art circles when he was alive. He was respected by other artists. He knew all the Impressionist painters and he tried to set up an Artists Colony in Arles. Unsuccessfully unfortunately. Some of his early works are extremely commercial. He tried to produce paintings that would be attractive. Some are obviously set up to be attractive to the viewer. eg The Shepherd and his sheep. As he progressed he was able to bring into his paintings the essence of the subject landscape without giving a complete reproduction of the image he was painting. His landscapes around Arles completely show the viewer just what the landscape looks like. Of course he could do portraits as well. And he would have abandoned or painted over any painting that did not come up to scratch. As we know he was extremely prolific. This exhibition emphasizes how Vincent liked the seasons. It also shows how he could experiment. Eg. The Green Vineyard. This is almost a recreation of a Japanese print done in impressionist style. In fact it is exactly this. He even has Japanese women parading through the vineyard with their parasols. The question is: why do we like Vincent’s paintings? Why do we think he is a genius? Why are his paintings so valued? The short answer is that they are valuable because they are so good. We recognize their goodness immediately. They are attractive. We understand them. We are drawn to them. Our heart goes out to his paintings. We agree immediately that this is the painting of a genius. I also think that good painters can organize paintings to fit on the page in a way that the eye finds attractive. This is their genius. It looks easy to the eye. It pleases our brains. There is a balance to the painting. Our eye travels round the painting in a measured way – slowly and happily – without stress. Vincent learned how to put paint daubs on a canvas that depicted images we understood and sympathized with. No matter what his emotional and mental problems were they did not interfere with his work. He kept on producing no matter what his circumstances. He was hard working and prolific. He had a fight with Gaugin and in a fit of jealousy and disappointment he cut off his ear. But what else did he do? - he went home and painted a self portrait. Nothing interfered with his work. He knew what he was doing. Good on him I say. When I went to France I went to Arles because even though I only had a limited knowledge of Vincent's life I knew he had lived in Arles. And I must say I was not disappointed. There are no paintings of Vincent's in the Arles Gallery. There are no blue plaques in the town. But when you move around the country you keep turning up in Vincent's paintings. Suddenly you look around and you are in the middle of a painting. You recognise it immediately and totally. Its both amazing and thrilling. We love what he did. Our appreciation of his pictures are our belated judgment of his work. How he would have handled our uber fandom is hard to say. CANBERRA
I have been to Canberra a number of times. The first time was in 1953. I went with my parents. And my mother’s sister and her daughter. Two cars. We were driving from Moyhu to Dalby in Qld. We must have made a detour from Gundagai. I distinctly remember stopping and looking at the Dog on The Tuckerbox. There were a lot of other people doing the same thing. It was a tourist attraction at the time. In Canberra we parked in front of Parliament House. It was gleaming white. A large building seemingly out in the middle of an empty paddock all on its own. There was recently cut bales of hay in the paddocks. No other buildings were visible. We did not go inside the building. Later on around 5.30PM we drove through Civic. The only buildings were the Melbourne and Sydney buildings. The workers had knocked off at 5.20 and were queuing up at three or four points in Northbourne Ave waiting for buses to take them home. The road was unpaved. Dusty. My mother and her sister (who was travelling with us in her own car with her daughter) both expressed critical comment at how easy a life public servants had. Their work finished at 5.20. How soft. In 1965 I went to Canberra by myself. I stayed in a cabin at a caravan park a short way out of town on the road towards Sydney. I must have arrived on a Wednesday or Thursday. The town was working. I would go into town at about 8.30 every day as if I was working. I would sit in the square with the public servants as they had morning tea or lunch. The weather was sunny. I listened to a Policeman on the radio advising people how to get home on Friday night. I tried to go to where there were people but there were not many about at night. On the weekend in Civic there was only one Coffee Bar open. This was the only place open in all of Civic. Not that Civic was very big at the time. This was called the Lemon Bitter. A rock group had recently played there. There were still notices on the walls and on the tables advertising this. They were called the Bitter Lemons. The playbill said The Bitter Lemons at the Lemon Bitter. It had a Photostat copy of 5 young men on it with the exciting news that they were shortly coming to the Lemon Bitter. I spent some time over the weekend in the Lemon Bitter but I didn’t see much that was exciting. The Coffee Bar was not overwhelmed by customers. I felt slightly ashamed at taking advantage by sitting in the place for all afternoon and only buying one coffee. There must have been some connection between the Bitter Lemons and the Lemon Bitter but I was too shy to ask the owner how the concert went and when they would next be playing. I drove from Melbourne via the Princes Highway taking the Sluggin Buggin road to Jindabyne. It’s a long road and I did most of it at night. I didn’t enjoy it. I tried to sleep in my car but could not as it was too small. A Mini. I had a vague idea that this was the site of the Snowy Mountain Scheme and in one small town I saw a group of men walking together along the street – maybe 50 – and I concluded that they had to be workers. On reflection I don't know who or what they were. The Snowy Mountain Scheme was wound up by this time. But they conformed to stereotype. When it got light after Jindabyne the road was flat and straight. I drove on to Canberra. At the time I was suffering from insomnia and had come away from Melbourne deliberately without any medication. This trip cured me. I have never suffered from it again. I went to all the tourist attractions. The Mint. The Turtle shaped Science building. Parliament House. I saw question time where Arthur Caldwell questioned Harold Holt. I went into the Senate. The Liberals were in the ascendancy. The Labor members had this defeated hang dog apologetic look about them. I did see Gough Whitlam for a few moments. He seemed to be the only Labor member who held his head high. During a speech to a mostly empty chamber a Liberal member accused Gough Whitlam of doing something and the Labor whip went and got Gough. Gough strode in for only a few seconds and shouted “I told the Truth” which set the Liberal speaker back on his feet and Gough left the chamber. Frank Crean was one who tried to make reasoned arguments but to any Labor point the Liberals would always shout – “what’s your Vietnam Policy”. Their comeback to any Labor person was “what’s your Vietnam Policy”. The Vietnam War was very popular at this time. The Labor Party alone were against it. To me this was depressing childish stuff. Especially as I already knew the Vietnam War was wrong. I was already convinced that the Liberal Country Party government and anyone who voted for them were immoral. I looked at the Embassy area. The American embassy looked like it was designed by George Washington. It did not have a fence around it at this time. It had a little hut out the front with a guard in it. The Japanese Embassy certainly looked Japanese. There were only limited embassies at this time compared to today. There was not as much vegetation as there is in 2017. It was easier to see new buildings. Most buildings were new. Northbourne Avenue was only about 1km long. It ended at the first intersection. The Mint was virtually out in the country. Canberra has been planned. Of that there is no doubt. At that time the Civic area was surrounded by enormous carparks. In time these carparks have been built on to the point where now it is difficult to find a car park. In each successive round of building the buildings have got bigger. And higher. Civic is now at a point where there cannot be any new buildings. Old buildings will have to be rebuilt. The Melbourne and Sydney Buildings remain intact. But Civic has moved towards the north with each successive new building project. I am an admirer of Canberra. I think it took people out of their misery and gave them something inspirational. It showed that the public service could be a good thing. Canberra is socialism with a human face. Socialism has always been a dirty word in Australia. Not enough has been made of Canberra. Or socialism. Canberra shows that planning is good and I don’t know why Australians see planning as something to be resisted. Compare the difference between Gundagai and Canberra. It is not just a matter of money. It is the way people think. It is an example of the pettiness and small mindedness of conservative people and how they hate to do anything different. You can tell by looking at them that people who live in Gundagai are the opposite of the free thinking people of Canberra. I would not like to live in Gundagai. I know instinctively how they vote. We went to Canberra to go to Derry McPhail’s funeral ceremony. It was well run and everyone who spoke expressed their devotion to him. He deserved it. I had emailed what I wanted to say to Christina and I half expected that she would disapprove and when James phoned me I wasn’t surprised. But I was determined to say something so I made sure I was on the list of speakers. I have to say that the list was very impressive. Except maybe for me. Everyone expressed their admiration and devotion towards Derry. Some were deeply emotional. But Derry did deserve all that was said. One person sang one of Derry’s favourite song. I admit to being the weakest and least impressive speaker. I was the odd person out and I’m sure no one understood what I was trying to say. But I had my say and I don’t regret it. I genuinely liked Derry and wanted to make some statement in public. You can see it on youtube. We stayed in ANU student accommodation. The furniture was pure PWD. I loved it. All wood. We discovered an historic building within the ANU area which was the First Administrators Home. I think this was code for the British Administrator before he was termed High Commissioner. There was a time when Australia had no foreign policy of its own. We didn’t do much touring. We went to the National Library and looked at the display of Cook’s log. Cook wrote a lot but always to the point. And not always interesting. Nothing about himself. Never panicked when in trouble. You can read the one time he gave a seaman so many lashes punishment. Very matter of fact. When did he write the log? Every night? You find the time they arrived at Australia thinking he might make some comment out of the ordinary but there is no great revelation. I wonder what he was like as a man. Would have seen right through me I suppose. Also on display were 50 fashion photographs which were not worth looking at. Athol Shmith has a reputation which he doesn't really deserve. All he did really was photograph his model wife. But maybe there were not many others who did this and that is why his work has endured. The Library normally has good displays and this was out of character. |
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