Dear Friends, Once again, I find myself travelling and once again I have that wonderful sense of being on the move with plenty of time to think and create, time to simply watch the world. I particularly enjoy traveling by train and flying because one can indulge in the art of observation and contemplation while still satisfying the souls need to be on the move in some way. I am travelling once more to beautiful Copenhagen where I shall be meeting the mysterious lady calling herself Fru Hyggeligt, which really has no direct translation one to one in English but literally translated means "Mrs Cozy". Anyone who met her would realise just how far off the mark that translation is as she is one of the empowered and takes great delight in bringing a sense of balance to what you may call, the quintessence. In practical terms, to deal with her means that you are in for some change and you never know which side you will be on each time. Her goal is the balance of greater forces than most of us will never be more than momentarily aware of, so she is a mystery. You may call her a wizard I suppose although she prefers the term, witch. In any case, once you begin to deal with her, you will never know the outcome and even if it is in your favour, it will never be in the way you expect. I like her. I have met her a few times on the periphery of things but never in any kind of business sense so I have merely been an observer of the way she works and the forces that seem to ebb and flow around her and her spheres of influence. Magical, mysterious, alluring and frightening all at once! So the question you are no doubt asking is why am I flying to see her? I saw a program once about a man who had made so many mistakes that he saw only one way out of his predicament, he sold his house in England and flew to Las Vegas and then after downing the most expensive whiskey money could buy, gambled his entire worldly wealth on the spin of a wheel. The man won and the gamble paid off. Well, I am in a similar situation although the stakes are less to do with finances and much more to do with the intangible. Lets say its a debt to someone long dead and there is no way I can pay it unless I get some heavyweight help. The stakes? The stakes are the highest anyone can gamble with, the stake is my very own life's worth. She will know how to measure such things being who she is, and also what that may be worth. In any case, I am on my way and resolved and shall meet her later today and I am hoping that she likes my company as much as I enjoy hers and that it counts for something in the big scheme of things. I shall write again when time and circumstances allow. I hope you are all well back home and please send my love to the others. I remain as always, your friend, L Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016
I remember when I was young going to a masked ball. It was captivating, magical and completely new to me. I remember how free I was and how brave… all because I covered my face. I danced and drank and took risks I would never had done without my face hidden. As I said, I was young and inexperienced and had little time to prepare. Some of my friends parents helped them make a mask for the event and they enjoyed the creative moments leading to the party as much as the ball itself whereas my parents were caught up in their own lives and I had to work it out for myself. I knew little of the history or the etiquette and I, like most others, had to choose a standard mask from the local joke shop. There were not many to choose from and the quality was pretty poor so I chose a simple black ‘Zorro’ style mask. Looking back now, I believe I chose that mask because it did not commit me to being a happy or a sad clown, death, or the devil, a plague doctor, scaramouch or anything in particular. It was a blank.
I give thanks for that now. Like everyone else, I had no idea that the ball would be the start of a struggle that would last for decades and for some, an eternity.
The night itself, was magical though and even though I now know the horrors that followed it, the memories of that night stay with me still and it remains one of the greatest nights in my life. The rest of my life, after that night, changed at midnight when the mysterious cloaked man took the stage. We thought it was part of the show of course, and the haunting music slowed and quieted as did we all when he stood on stage overlooking us all. He wore a dark cloak that covered his head and flowed like liquid indigo to his feet, his mask, was death. I remember now like it was yesterday, a more powerful presence I have never since met. At the time, we were all captivated! I was young then and did not know anything really and we were all caught up in the ball you see. When he spoke, his deep voice reached us all and added to the mystery of the dark melody that continued to play between dances.
“If you would like the magic of this evening to last forever, you have merely to keep your masks on for a single night. Until the sun rises my friends, until the sun rises.”
There were cheers, giggles, laughter and applause. One or two voices demanded more details, no doubt law students we all thought, but he gave no further word and then left the stage with perfect choreography and then, as if nothing had happened, the next dance began. We whirled away with each other again, celebrating with our youthful energy, our bodies and our spirits and danced into the night.
I remember walking home with friends in costume and then bidding each goodnight as we reached our digs and then, just before falling asleep, my hand went to remove my mask and I remembered the strange promise at midnight… or was it a challenge? My hand dropped to my side and my last thoughts as I fell asleep after the greatest night of my life was: “What the hell.”
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016
Two men were standing over a draining glass vat, both had invested over twenty years of their lives in what was at the bottom of the vat and both were tired, overworked and probably underpaid. Both were divorced as a result of their commitment to the work and both were relieved that their long journey was finally over, it would be a success or it would not. They could give no more.
The vat drained with a slurping sound and the sponge like ball lay glistening on the wet bed of the gro-bac. To Dr White, it looked like a small, slightly oddly shaped towel rolled into a tight ball. The seven unattached leads hung out of it and looked a bit forlorn. He felt perhaps that at this glorious moment, he should have had a grander thought. To his colleague, Dr Yogananda, it looked like the most beautiful thing in the world.
‘We did it! Artificial intelligence!’
Dr Yogananda lifted the AI brain on its bed and reverently carried it in his trembling hands from the lab to the cybersuite where the robotic body was waiting to be connected. Dr White just sat down with his head in his hands and sighed the longest sigh of his life, exhaling twenty years of stress.
The cyber suite was a rush of technicians and activity.
‘Ok.. here it comes, prepare the cranial cradle.’
‘Body functions green.’
‘Gurney power de-couple ready.’
‘Simmons, are you going to the ceremony this evening?’
‘No, I have to get back, my eldest is in the school play, you know what it’s like. I can’t miss it, the other parents would make Louise’s life a nightmare. They are already talking…’
’Simmons, focus. Get the attachments free.’
’All attachments are free.’
‘This is it, the dawn of new age of enlightenment!’
‘No pressure then.’ chuckled Simmons to Nancy. Nancy, in charge of the power de-couple, ignored him and watched Dr Yogananda walk toward the cradle and the robotic body. He carried the drained vat bed and the AI brain carefully in front of him and then stopped in his tracks. The excitement of the moment, the pressure of carrying this intelligence, 20 years of long working days, lack of sleep, pressure from above, a diet of coffee and fast food and stresses on his personal life all came together in that moment to stop Dr Yogananda’s heart. No matter how reverential the doctor and now matter how special the moment, his life choices caught up with him at precisely that moment. He let go of the drained vat bed and clutched at his heart and staggering on the spot. The drained vat bed crashed to the floor and the AI brain rolled off the bed to the floor with a wet “plop”, the Dr staggered forward a few more steps and kicked the AI brain across the floor before he crashed into the motivator parts cabinet.
Simmons, being the most cynical, was the least shocked and reacted the most quickly. He rushed forward and scooped the AI brain off the floor.
‘Grab a sterile wipe quickly!’
The others began to rush around, calling for medical help or looking for sterile wipes. A few technicians just stood and watched in shock. Nancy found the wipes and handed one to Simmons who deftly wiped the few spots of dirt and lint that he could see off the brain and quick as he could, eschewed all the prep and training and plonked the brain into the cranial cradle and proceeded to hook up the plugs to the connectors.
‘3 second rule.’ muttered Simmons as he completed the final plug connection and closed the cranial lid. There was a scream from the front of the cyber suite and then a shout.
‘Dr Yogananda’s dead!’
Nancy looked at Simmons, ‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’
‘What choice do we have? Two decades of work, trillions in investment and don’t forget mankind’s final hope and its what Yoda would have wanted.’ He looked around, the medics had arrived and had started to take control of the situation, they were in charge now. Simmons looked at Dr Yogananda’s face, he looked stressed even in death, he thought. Suddenly there was a grip on his arm, strong and unrelenting. The AI project had spent trillions on every aspect of the first AI robot, from its brain to its body and of course to its psychological profile which included its name. The name was important, it should be for the benefit of all mankind and be infused with meaning and purpose. It had taken over a decade to finally decide on a name that could represent every human being on Earth and in the end, it was a religeous name that won the day, they chose the name Adam. Psychologically, it was a name that carried weight and purpose and narrowly beat the name Phan Ku, only because the Eastern psychologists did not set so much store in the name as they did in stressing the importance that the AI should be invested with a connection to the Earth and all things, rather than to mankind. Trillions in investment and two decades of political wrangling, psychological strategy and research. Simmons looked at the AI that had sat up on the gurney and was holding his arm firmly. The AI spoke directly at Simmons.
‘Who am I?’
To which Simmons, shocked and flustered for the first time in twenty years, replied ‘Yoda.’
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016
Image courtesy of https://pixabay.com
No matter how advanced the civilisation, everything eventually died!
Scutnik and Sons had been in the funeral business for millenia and business was good! At the worst of times, it was steady and dependable, at the best of times they were run off their feet. Kleon had inherited the business from his dad who, after living to the ripe old age of 422 had shuffled off this mortal coil by accidentally colliding with a meteor. It was quite a spectacular and “old school” way to go and made the news all across the galaxy, not least because of the irony of the deceased’s profession. Old Wesley Scutnik had still received a traditional burial rite in the manner of old Earth and Kleon had taken care of things with aplomb, launching a grave marker at the co-ordinates of his fathers death. These grave markers required special permission as they could be quite a hazard to passing traffic unless they were fully registered, but Kleon being Kleon and his business being what it was, had all the necessary leverage and licences to do exactly that. Every time a ship passed within a light year of the marker, the marker would flash his dad’s grave marker tag line: “Here lies Wesley Skutnik, father, son, undertaker. He will be missed, except by Asteroid DV776.” It was also excellent for business.
Wesley Skutnik, had all the implants and engineering required to keep him chugging along for centuries. He had been a fan of regrow and would often spend a week in the regrow bed to rejuvenate his aging and ravaged body. It was not just the body that needed rejuvenating, it was also the spirit and for that, he would often get his memory temporarily wiped and dropped into one of the hubs controlled adventure worlds. Afterwards, he would remember everything including the recent thrill of the unknown and the danger although it did come with the returning knowledge that it was actually completely safe and controlled. Wesley Skutnik lived and died in the 890th cycle of the reign of King Clegg the Almighty, wielder of the 4 sceptres of truth and conqueror of Praxus Minor. It was an age of enlightenment so there was no such thing as suing for negligence, this concept had disappeared after renewable sustainable quantic power was discovered and no one wanted for anything. People still made mistakes, Humans, Gamman’s, Regulan’s and all the other races were still fallible but it was considerably difficult to screw up with the intelligences that shared the universe with the physicals. Adventure worlds were, apart from the occasional bruised joint or bent antennae, completely safe and coming back from a mem wipe adventure on one of these would be a great high but it was also tinged with the knowledge that it had been in fact, quite safe. Wesley, intimate with death for so many cycles, had wanted to get closer to it, the real fear, the ultimate, definite end. Death! He was getting jaded with it all and yet, there was something fearful about death even after all these years. He wanted to feel alive, not just be alive and so in his 422nd year of life, he decided to do something dangerous for real. He snuck out the back door of his house without leaving a note and sabotaged his own navigation system with a bar of iron and then shot off on an unscheduled flight to Arcturus 7. Arcturus 7 was one of the homes of the Intelligences and rumour had it, that if you actually got there, you were not the same if you ever got back. Amazingly, he managed to make it about 4 light years out of the local system when he accidentally got caught in the path of the meteor. Boom! No more Wesley.
Kleon knew all this because every move his father had made had been recorded of course, including his fathers ship’s live stream and his fathers last moments. Kleon knew that Wesley Skutnik had not even known what had happened. Again, ironic really. Kleon knew his dad was going through some kind of middle age crisis and figured out the why of it pretty quickly. He was pleased with the funeral and thought his dad would have been proud with the send off although he was quite surprised at the lack of beings that had attended. He figured it must be because everyone Wesley knew was dead already. Wesley had no spouses and no lovers, a couple of friends that he played games with and a couple of old friends from when they had been educated together but that was it apart from his only son. When he buried his dad, they still used that old word, Kleon took stock of his own friends and loved ones, it would be the same for him and weirdly that did not sadden him but it did make him think about things even more. Kleon was made of different stuff from his old man, he never really wanted to be in the business but had no bloody idea what else it was he wanted to do and as time passed and he became more competent, he found that he was doing more of the leg work while his old man was off on some escapade. After his father had passed away he spent a lot of time thinking about things and realised that there a few things that he wanted to do that he had never done and would get on with doing them before the meteor with his name on it came calling. He wrote the list on some vib ribbon as follows:
1. Run the Vrekrr Race – crossed out… that was corny, it was everybody elses dream not his.
1. Find out what true love was…
2. Be the funeral director for King Clegg the Almighty…hahahah
3. Find out if the Intelligences also died..…. to find out what they really were.
That first one was surprisingly difficult to write, the second one came quickly and the third, well the third seemed to spring from nowhere. How the hell was he going to find that out? He looked at the list again. Whatever true love was, he had not found it after 200 years of life doing what he normally did so he figured that had to do something abnormal. Ok that made sense but not much he could do about that right now. Moving on to number 2 for the moment, he had to wait for the King to die and even then there was no guarantee that he would be chosen to perform the funeral rites for the King of the Universe. He pondered a moment and scribbled that one out too. He would actually enjoy the pomp and ceremony but he did not really want to do funerals anymore and the idea was just to ease the tension that had come from writing number one anyway. He may come back to it, if he was ever offered the job. Number 3. He leaned back on his chair. If everything died, which it seemed to, then what about the all powerful, invisible, omnipotent intelligences? He sat there thinking about that for a long time, just staring at the ribbon. He realised that he really wanted to know the answer.
“That, Kleon, is an excellent question!” Said the voice that echoed around him. Kleon threw the ribbon up in shock and his legs at the same time. The momentum pushed him back and then, after teetering on the knife-edge of gravity for a long moment, he fell backward over his chair with a crash. He slowly peered up over the edge of the chair and looked about him. For a moment, there was nothing but the empty room and then, shimmering into substance in front of him, a vague figure of light appeared. The voice returned. “Shall we find out together Kleon?” Kleon nodded on automatically a couple of times and then his eyes rolled backward into their sockets and he fell backward again, this time with more finality.
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016
Majid followed the two strangers as they entered the souk for the first time. Majid was filled with a potent mixture of curiosity and fear as they walked under the arch that was the original entrance to the old market and wondered how these two warriors would fare. The souk was a world within a world and followed no laws of men nor of the storytellers of the prowls, it was a world of magic ruled by the creatures of the Myst, the Djinn! The real city of Marrakech beyond the world of men, was divided into prowl watches based around the old gates that ringed the inner city. Outside the walls, there was no law, it was a dangerous wilderness, a patchwork of kingdoms and warring fiefs run by the strongest and cruelest of creatures with the exception of the prowl of the Last Home at Majorelle which followed the old ways. The souk had always been different, one only had to step a paw under the subtle arches that de-marked the threshold of the souk and one could feel the air change. It was dangerous yes, even for prowl warriors who were tolerated as long as they did not interfere with the ways of the Djinn and sometimes even they had to pay the price.
Majid watched the pair of human warriors walk boldly into the souk and admired their demeanor and bearing. Already they had avoided trouble from two human gangs that preyed on tourists simply by being confident and aware however this would not work in the souk, in fact it may even attract trouble. Overconfidence could easily be mistaken for a lack of proper respect and that would be intolerable to the Djinn. Majid decided to follow them in, it had been a couple of years since he had last set foot in this place and he could sense his own fear at the prospect and so, as he was taught, he knew that he must confront this feeling as it would diminish him to allow it to direct his life and it was an opportunity to grow by walking into it.
The souk was a city within a city and followed no story law apart from the laws of magic, the laws of the Djinn, the laws of balance and compensation. They were capricious and chaotic, good and bad in equal measure and alien to all but the wisest of prowl old ones. Anything and everything was possible in the souk, after all, it was a place of pure magic. Majid had seen traders who had lived there for years suddenly leave the souk, abandoning their stalls and homes forever never to be seen again, he had seen tourists enter and leave within minutes changed forever, he had seen Djinn attach themselves to travellers and leave the souk, bound for foreign worlds. He had seen the sick cured and the healthy changed forever. There was only one law here and it was known as ‘The Price’. The Price was the way the prowl warriors described it. To walk into the souk, would cost you. Whether that was immediately obvious or not was irrelevant and no matter what one was prepared to pay, the price was determined by the Djinn and not the being who entered. Majid’s prowl brother, Yousef was a living example of the dreadful and beautiful exchange, the laws of balance and compensation. Yousef was a legend. Yousef often visited the souk and was given free movement by the Djinn. Yousef’s price was the last year of his life which he would spend serving the Djinn Sultan, Abdalmalik. He would serve his last year before death. Yousef, was more than happy with this arrangement. It had given Yousuf many gifts, among which was bravery to the point of foolishness, Yousef knew that he would be summoned to serve exactly a year before his last day and with every morning with no summons, Yousef knew that it would be at least a year until his death and for today and a year at least, he would be immortal!
Majid had watched in wonder as Yousef threw himself into conflicts which would be certain doom to Majid and survive victorious. He had faced down Ali of the Dog Wanderers and survived! Majid had witnessed the fight, it was simply incredible! He had walked the lawless lands as far as the valley of Ourika and returned. Yousef’s name was becoming known throughout the land and all knew that he could not be killed, this only served to make Yousef even more powerful and Bab Taghzout prowl was all the safer for it. Majid was glad Yousef had a good heart although he was far from humble. In any case, Yousef himself seemed to be more alive than when he first stepped foot in the souk and was enjoying his life covered in glory more than he ever did before, for which Majid was grateful, Yousef had been a timid prowl member before The Price. However, Majid would not exchange places with Yousef for all the fish in Jemaa El Fnaa . He did not want to know how long he had to live and enjoyed the feelings of fear and excitement that seemed to live in mutual harmony within him. He had been taught by the wise ones of the prowl that it was this potent mixture that would allow him to grow in skill and keep the feeling of life and warriorship alive within him and the strange power of the story alive too. He wondered if Yousef had grown at all since the moment he knew of the price the Djinn had extracted from him with all fear removed?
Majid, shrugged off the these thoughts as he approached the archway after the two strangers. It was the great story that counted above all else, it must continue, it must grow, page by page and somehow Majid knew that these two strangers would be part of it if he survived for the telling. Majid knew the story was alive and well, he could feel it beating in his heart and he thanked it for its power as he put first one paw, then another across the threshold of the souk and entered the realm of Djinn magic.
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016
A dreamer on the other side of the planet dreamed a dream.
He saw a hill top with vast views over a lush and abundant land
and on the hill were swordsmen and women.
They practiced and grew in skill and confidence and then enjoyed the vast view themselves.
The dreamer was with them and felt alive like never before,
feeling the sinews tense and strengthen gripping the blades,
feeling the rising heat and the sweat on the brow,
feeling the connection of the dance of the warriors,
feeling the love of the view before them all.
For a single night, he was a member of their mighty company
and the experience lived with the dreamer forever.
When the dreamer woke, the dreamer was different
and the experience lived with the dreamer forever.
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016
The leathery old man squinted and then jabbed a finger into Luke’s chest.
“A good way to start is to find some role models. Anyone you admire! Who did you admire as a kid? Broadly speaking it probably wasn’t the weasley backstabbing characters like the evil vizier from Aladdin was it? Probably not some politician trying to win power and popularity. It wasn’t golum from Lord of the Rings and probably not the high school girl cliques or jocks that give such a hard time to the new kid. If you think back, it was probably more like the hero trying to win the love of his life or the explorer finding out what was beyond the black hole. Tarzan or Yuri Gagarin or Luke Skywalker or Emelia Earhart. It was probably Batman, General Maximus, Indiana Jones, Daly Thomson, or Crazy Horse.” The ancient looking man paused, “Choose someone you connected to from your childhood real or imagined. It’s why the greatest characters survive the test of time and why most heroes and heroines are people we can relate to. One of my heroes was Ensign Ewart of the Scots Greys, ever heard of him?”
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016
Majid watched the two travellers as they arrived and walked through his prowl. Warriors, no doubt about it. He recognised warriors when he saw them, human or not, and decided to trail them. He had seen many come and go and even some stay in the bab taghzout prowl and for the most part they were the usual assortment of tourists, visitors and travellers but occasionally there would be one or two that would be different. It was instinct that told him these two were different, trained instinct but it was his spirit that whispered that they were warriors. As he had been taught long ago, it was the essence of the beings that counted not outside appearences and on the outside, they looked like any other visitors but all was not as it seemed. There was something about the way that they walked, the way that they casually observed the world around them, they were alert but confident in what must be a strange world to them.
He slunk through the shadows and up through the rooftops. His fur was black so he used the dark places as much as possible as he leapt and crept across the alleys, walls and gardens to the riad that they had entered. It was a good choice, this particular riad was a sanctuary in Marrakech for outsiders and the people there were trustworthy. The riad had been in his prowl guard’s watch since the first stories and Majid liked to spend time here when he was not on duty.
“The lamp is here somewhere my friend, I know it.”
“I’m thinking the souk.”
“It’s a millon to one chance so that has to be a good sign! Shall we get going?”
“Yes, but keep your eyes open, I have a feeling that we are being watched.”
“Yes, but it’s not a bad feeling.”
Majid smiled. He would follow these two, he felt there would be more to add to the great story before the end of this coming day.
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016
They had travelled to Earth for a witnessing and were very excited about the event. This witnessing event was proposed by Anaoeer the Crafter who had been studying Earth and found that the next Full Moon from their perspective was a once in a lifetime event. It would happen only once every 70 Earth years and so for most of the sentients who could appreciate this, it would only happen once in their lives. A beautiful moment as rare as birth and death!
It was this rarity that made it so special and it was these special moments that also saved the Oeen. You see the Oeen had evolved to such an extent that death, in the way that physical matter deteriorates and dies, was no longer a part of an Oeen’s existence and they could, if they so wished, live forever. They had not been able to prove that yet although some of the old ones had joked that they would indeed be the first to hold that record. So far in the evolutionary journey of the Oeen, there had been some of them that had so far existed for well over the lifetime of a sun, and it was these that were known as the old ones. They had slowed their thoughts down to such an extent that they were almost indistinguishable from the space-time around them, ultra slow thought waves that were so vast each one rolled out across entire galaxies before the next wave began. These were the deep thinkers, the harmony keepers, the time travellers and the dimensional explorers who could live entire lifetimes in what seemed like seconds in a neighbouring dimension and find that tens of thousands of years had passed in this one, their home. These Old Ones had also discovered the great moving energy. It was a pervasive energy that connected everything, even across dimensions and even across the great barrier that they had discovered that ran perpendicular to every dimension they had visited. This energy was everywhere, it was the very stuff of living and for want of a better description, they called it the great moving energy although some of the old ones of more questionable sanity called it the Yay. The Oeen could not die but without this energy, they would not be alive either and to the Oeen, this was the greatest danger and greatest fear. With an eternal life, came the risk of an eternal non-life. The old ones were special, the Yay never left them and they, it appeared, never left it. The Yay or Great Moving Energy was the greatest discovery that the Oeen had made in their long and beautiful evolution.
It also seemed that this energy could abandon its hosts and that it was a give and take relationship that required input from the Oeen and indeed all sentinent beings in the multitudinous dimensions. A happy marriage needed work and the Oeen had been working at it very hard indeed once they had transcended their physical selves. Without the physical that had a built-in impulse, a built-in sense of life vitality and finality that empowered the love of life and the great moving energy, they had to find it for themselves. They had to love life without the fear of death to motivate them, in other words, they had to work very hard at it! This was the reason that the Old Ones were so special, they had no need to attend witnessings or reminding ceremonies, the Old Ones and the great moving energy were as one.
To the average Oeen that had not made the decision to cease being or who had not evolved into an Old One, their love of existence was refreshed by experiencing the beauty of the universal dimensions all around them and this was done in informal witnessing and reminding ceremonies. These witnessing events were great parties that would honour the host and energise the guests and would last for as long as the moment existed, often it was the creative leap by an Oeen to see something from a different perspective that would lead to an almost infinate series of unique and singular events and each one was an opportunity to feed the great moving energy. Anaoeer the Crafter was inviting his guests to witness an event from the perspective of a sentient who would live a mere 70 Earth years!
The witnessing was a small one but beautiful nonetheless, Earth’s longest day that fell on June 20th 2016 or Monday 15 RamaDHaan 1437 A.H or Nanakshahi Harh 6, 548 and the many other names that the local sentients had given it, also co-incided with a full moon.
As the Oeen connected and experienced the event from their chosen sentients, they cried as they saw Earth’s beautiful moon gliding through the blue and purple clouds of the night sky, ringed with a gentle halo. It reminded them of the great stellar nurseries in the deep universe, a new born sun gently caressed as it travelled slowly through an indigo nebula.
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016