A review, for inclusiveness, here - The Rigorous Honesty of the 12 Steps.

As I consider this article's context, I'm fraught with a significant backdrop of an allegorical account of life's experiences, at my [forget <_<, rather] foray. One of my teen years' best friends had grown distant from me, over the years, and his attitudes in communicating sorrow over this loss are inelegant and cruel. I'd come to see him as this new person, made up of cruelty, rather than that I could see him as a friend. It's "all in my head," as the old saying goes. 

On one hand, I don't like doing old things. A timeless thing, on the other hand, is a different story and distinction. People, lately, simply forget what's really being spoken about, and people have been fumbling about, failing at simply acknowledging the present moment, in life. Little obsessions over the small details of former failures is an unfortunate circumstance, to be sure, although we all have moments like that, in life - hopefully only formerly so, though. In therapy, we release these sorts of frustrations and anxieties through speaking candidly with a trusted individual, who is bound to professional ethics not to reveal the details of the conversations that transpire between they, themselves, and the client. Even so, various types of people will simply fail to trust the therapist, having been a victim of abused trust in life which had never been nurtured back to health. I'm by no means very well traveled in sociable acquisitions of a vast number of strangers that I've befriended, so I couldn't quite say, at what point, in life, people's trust in others had been violated. For me, it was quite early on. I was physically abused, by my father, for things that I had about myself, that I didn't quite understand, or I didn't have the thought about myself, in life, such as to avoid the consequence of being abused. On one hand, who ever does know the appropriate course of actions to take, such as to avert an abusive and hurtful consequence for ourselves? For me, it's a significantly adult thing; I'm 39 now, and it was well in to my mid-30's, or so, as to when I had "Scientology cleared" my mind of all shortcomings and admissions necessary, in life, for having become a spiritually competent individual in life, who could answer for things that would have otherwise separated me from others, earlier on, in life, and which had prevented me from being accepted, or included, in people's lives and common affections, absent from barriers to achieving that manner of relationship. 

 

The At-Home Parfumerie - How to mix like a semi-pro.

 After procuring a shelf-rack, or so, of fragrance ingredients of your choice and specialty, it’s time to employ “interval-mixing” in to the creative and manufacturing process.

The iPigeon.institute slight return shelf rack of perfumer’s ingredients, essential oils, and aroma molecules.

Making a simple “natural” smelling fragrance is not difficult - just purchase expensive and high-quality ingredients. But, in order to attain the scent profile of a higher-end cologne for men, for example, it requires some ingenuity in the logistics of “what’s going on | in” the fragrance. 

My mixing palette | my working process. I tried out what I would call “interval mixing,” which capitalizes on the notions of the deeper underlying chemistry behind the individual ingredients.

On one hand, the fragrance ought never quite completely fall out, from the bottom, itself, in to a poor-smelling thing. If you’d done this, don’t dump it - it’s largely against the law, internationally, and it’s poor morals. Instead, just save the fragmented artifact of manufacture, as a token partial that could be returned to, that might slightly fulfill some future need, even it it’s just drops of the stuff.

On my most current excursion and creation, however, I managed to deftly control the flow of creating a fragrance, with a collection number of ingredients totaling about 100, or so, give or take, without having created a poor-smelling product, which had been how many of my attempts to create a distinctly masculine-smelling fragrance product had turned out. I’d been getting some tips, through nightly searches about the facets and characteristics of ingredients, their expected percentage fill, of the entirety of a composition (fragrance or parfum base - which, in and of itself, take up perhaps 15-30% of the bottle, and the rest is water and alcohol (40-50%) and perhaps the rest of the fill is made up of quick notes, nuances, clean-ups, and touch-ups with essential oils, terpenes, crystals, musks, colors, etc.).

I wanted to do a men’s fragrance that was light-feeling, syrupy sweet, yet rich in savory background, such as that it would entice the olfactory sense’s relationship with the visceral and primal urges of hunger, upon encountering it. Easily gourmand, yet imagining a rich and eloquent debouter of enterprise and establishment to follow - picture a starving population, for example; yet many people refuse to eat, when offered food, or when found asking for charity. What could spark and inspire their neglected self-care better than a timely happenstance passersby encounter, on the street? What better disposition could there be, alongside the context being well-fed, in the American way? (or French, in nature, as I sometimes refer to). 

The secret to my creative process, in this instance, was to come up with a decent enough floral base - I chose Narcissus, in this instance, with 3-4 or so full and generous squirts from the dropper, although just 1, to begin with, in a pool of perfumer’s alcohol, in the bottle. 

Then I started to work my way around the fragrance’s underlying inspiration, which would be a light, crisp, and refreshing citrus assertion, for which I used some terpene ingredients, such as Limonene D. There was kumquat oil, as well. After this stage, I went back to tradition and rounded off the composition, as it was, with Lavandin Grosso. Then I grabbed my powders and crystals, to musky up the scent, and ground it, with concentrated force. I employed Ambroxan to ground out this first stage. 

The next phase I went in to was to add the primary natural characteristics that would shape the quality facets and natural appeal factor of the fragrance, using primarily essential oils, at this stage. I used Ginger CO2 (don’t ever get a ginger that’s not at least a CO2 extraction - my lesson learned), myrrh oil, tonka bean absolute (lots), jasmine tea perfume extract, citron oil, ylang ylang, cedarwood (atlas), and teak (just a little). Here, in this stage, I found that I wasn’t ruining the fragrance, by this point, so I decided to test out employing my crystals, which smell good, in and of themselves, but I’d read up on their common usage recommendations in a fragrance composition, and it’s typically at the 1%, or 0.1% or less. I have Exaltone, by Firmenich, and Ambrocenide, by Symrise, which I used, in this stage. 

Then, my inner animal 🦔 perhaps, started to perk up, and I thought about the ingredients, and their place in fragrance-making, which is largely based on descriptions of the properties, chemical name, and organoleptic properties of the material. I thought about ketones, which I’d read, are sometimes characterizable as metabolite products of the body. (Wikipedia). Oh, yeah. And just prior, I’d put some stuff in to the mix, like anisaldehyde and oud base, one of which had been touted as “the smell of the bathroom, toilet included” sort of thing. I figured, “well, these things have some basis in how they are created, as by-products of microbial, fungal, or plant life (even animals, in the past mostly), 

but, continuing forward, though, given that the ingredients had an appeal, on top of that I was creating this composition, as my main aspiration, and meanwhile, the fragrance base hadn’t turned bad on me, just yet, I figured that it was time for me to try and encapsulate the essence as it was, in this stage, so I added some musk ketone powder, for the sake of the fact that it (ketones) affect biological processes; I imagined that the oud base, or the dimethyl anthranilate, or pyralone (it was all of these, perhaps, in the end, to be honest; a modest amount of each of them) - these components, and the bacterial sorts of processes of interaction, reaction, or metabolism, of the energy products available, based on the richness of the ingredients, in and of themselves, much different, and more natural-smelling, since I was employing essential oils, mostly, at this stage, (some farnesol, also), and I’d formerly tried to employ these ingredients, of the [toilette] - means to an end (like, eau de toilette), and the mixture would end up getting worse and worse, the more I added to it, from here. 

Now, I didn’t actually add orange flower absolute, but I did do an ad-hoc Schiffs base, although I added the hydroxycitronellol in an equal amount to the iso butyl quinoline (pyralone), because I wanted to emphasize the citrusy character of the composition, and because the source and main composition was so rich in material, to begin with. All in all, at this phase, I threw in a small (mini) scoop spoon’s worth of musk ketone, in to the mix, because I figured that the ketone element, added in to the composition, would detract any ongoing (and eventual) free-radical occurrences from proliferating, and, in turn, I end up with a garbage composition. The musk ketones would keep the developing energetic processes distracted, and meanwhile, I have the buffer of these expensive crystals as the basis of what the mixture [could] eventually smell like, if needed; although it still hadn’t turned bad on me, which is important. 

Then I threw in some Iso E Super, after gently gyroscope-rotating the mixture around, and making sure that the crystals became well-incorporated in to the existing mix - 

Oh yeah! I forgot, at first, I started out with some very primary facet components of many to any type of fragrance composition - rose petals, jasmine sambac absolute, neroli oil, from Morocco, (at some point, in the composition; perhaps later on), and santalol, in modest amounts, each of them, yet somewhat only at the time being, of how small my beginnings were, in creating this mixture, and these ingredients, for having been expensive. (They still are expensive, for that matter, yet they’re quite essential in a fragrance composition, for how the smell’s purpose and character become modulated in to a new olfactory experience, at the command of the hand of the perfumer.

Some small vials of expensive essential oils and rich absolutes.

Having taken on this new, and progressively (intervals-bounded) methodology in manufacturing a fragrance composition, which I’d found somewhat difficult to do, for men’s sorts of fragrances, in the past, I now felt more at ease, in applying more ingredients, such as gurjun balsam, rhodinol, lauryl acetate C-12, para cresyl isobutyrate, nectaryl (to peach sweeten things up), beeswax absolute (for even more, and long-lasting sweetness), as well as two scoops of ethyl vanillin (with the small flat scoop).

Every invested gourmand would understand, as well, the fascinating combination and compelling novel effect (which I called “mooshy-moo”) that black pepper oil has upon a richly-established vanilla, as the “latest thing.” It’s a quite comforting and warming sensory experience. 

I didn’t want to leave any trails unmapped, so to speak. In intervals, I had planned to do the dump of crystals, such as Nerolin bromelia, as last-stand additions to the mix, yet I ended up tossing some in, a bit before I finished, since the perfumer’s alcohol works fast, yet I gyroscope-rotate the mixture, at this stage, to speed the musk ketone reactions up.

Then I thought, 

Hey, I have some celery ketone, as well! How about that, for the gourmand floral fragrant citrus (petitgrain got it’s own intervallic development ketone-assisted cycle in on it).

That’s about all, for now. 

Except for the onion skeet skeet - just 4 drops, (not of pure onion oil - significantly diluted, a few drops to 2 or so fl. oz.) - for the acrylates (thanks, Calvin Klein, for that tip off [context]).

Oh, yeah, there was Cetalox, as well. Benzyl Benzoate, and I topped off the composition, once I was fairly satisfied with it, with benzyl alcohol, to have a solvent base to incorporate the insoluble oils and water (also added at the end) together in to a miscible solution. I put some Yellow (Lake) and Basic Fuschia (2 drops), for color. There was trans-2 decanol, a tiny bit of humulene, and several drops of cinnamon bark oil. I put a drop of Geosmin into it, as well.

A mid-week's N.A. 9th Step Meeting - Making amends to others (in the age of the Internet).

 As I'm tasked with the prospect of otherwise getting off of a misdemeanor drug possession charge, for smoking a cigarette, as it began, out in Hermosa Beach, I have to somehow make time and set aside a place for a series of N.A. meetings. Here, in this meeting, I'm focusing on the 9th Step.

I'm confronted with the notion of that I had done wrong to someone, while I was on the job, and installing software, back in the day. I had a rich amount of socialization and opportunities abound, during that time, and although my offenses were just several, in general (aside from overt drug use, being late commonly, that sort of thing), there were some offenses that I had not made amends for, which are brought up for my consideration, here and there. I think that this is the last one. 

I had made a crude joke, as a stalking victim, myself, asking the guy if he usually has this much traffic going about outside his place. It was a total pokemon joke, and I was abusing privileged information. Aside from that, the emotional maturity of it mirrored my preteen years, when I had bullied a guy about his racial heritage, while I had partially similar heritage, myself. It was a completely indulgent and thoughtless thing, where I caught myself susceptible to suggestibility. Being suggestible is most commonly a route in to becoming someone, embodying a persona, if you would, whom we would not choose to, at some point. "For seeking, I find; eventually, as it goes." I've found seeking to be a finder's proposition, but a person pays the price of being a curious pigeon. 

That being said, I enjoy treating the seekers with what they search for, if they happen to be humble and present in God's good graces, such that the birds around town are, for food's sake. 

In this day and age, we have the opportunity to do proper and equitable amends unto others, through means such as Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, or perhaps some other means, such as a Google search. Just try it, and it'll free you, and the one you had harmed: message them, and make amends. I'd done it for all others I'd offended most surely, except for this one guy, I had done this one slight towards, for novel amusement, as a hapless schizophrenic, and I believe I was homeless, as well. 

My apologies. It was a thoughtless and mentally ill thing of me to do. I've had the problem of doing impulsively thoughtless things to others, here and there, as a childhood problem. I'm not quite sure why I felt compelled to say such a thing, when I was fraught with some sort of similar situation, on my own part. 

The iPigeon.institute logo, and some 2020-2021 Pandemic Era Masks, as artifacts of the iPigeon.institute slight home exhibition of art and cultural effects. 

 

The Santa Monica Morning Pigeon-Feeders - an ad hoc N.A. Meeting.

 As some people would know, I was taken in for a quick processing and cite out for drug possession in Hermosa Beach, a few months back, or so. They don’t allow smoking cigarettes in public there, and I was spotted by a police officer while I was having a smoke break, by The Strand. As a result, I had to go to court. They ordered N.A. meetings for me. 

The Santa Monica Morning Pigeons Feeding meeting is sparsely attended, but it’s a reliably good sober group that reminds us of commitments, which is part of the progress in attainment that sobriety aspires to, for the fellowship and individuals attending 12-Step meetings. 

The iPigeon Cryptocurrency Search Engine.

 This custom search engine, made using Google’s Programmable Search Engine, aspires to cover some of the topics pertaining to Bitcoin, Ethereum, and Cryptocurrency Mining, in greater focus and relevance than a standard Google search.

Nicotiana ex « e-cigarettes | vaporizers | inhalers » Artisanship in Formulating e-Cig Juice.

Despite coming off on of fwopp bwopp recently, or lately, on my Twitter feed, 

Being a 'Normie' Guy Amongst the Age of Hormonally-Enhanced Male Subsets.

 Of on Dick Big Now, 

I, personally, could maintain that I'm not quite up to, or for it, given that my underlying psychological sexual affinities draw much closer to extended foreplay and orgasm denial.

Not that I'd been having much opportunities in heterosexual dating arise, any time recently, but I'm banking on that people live longer, in general, over time; I'll improve in my life's circumstances, over time, and I'm [unbeknownst, previously] just a particular someone who's time has come to a generational halt: the ones who enforce these types of upstart cells are jackin' juice, trying to keep up with law enforcement surveillance detail, and sometimes, or for correcting physical abnormalities inherited from birth, or from youth, in their nurturing environment's circumstances. 

I'd casually experimented with Testosterone supplementation, on one occasion, in life, as a dumpster digger treasure-hunting bum, digging through a dumpster. I found a 1/3rd (or so) syringe labeled as testosterone in a dumpster, and I happened to be in the Fairfax district of Mid-City Los Angeles; nice neighborhood, so I figured, "why not?" I took it as that the testosterone was for external and topical use. When I got home, I rubbed some of the creamy substance on to my shoulders and chest, since that was the area in which I would have liked a bit of growth and improvement on. Over the next day, or so, I had developed a somewhat buzzing, electric feel, around the area, and the muscles that I'd applied the cream to had a dull ache about them, as if I'd worked out, which I hadn't, much, besides that I was out collecting recyclables. 

These days, I'm a bit bulky hefty, in my upper body, and I'm significantly muscular in my legs. I go on long walks around town, several times a week. 

Cheap trick shit, of a hooker, or « something like that », a Dick Big Now would commonly have of it. As for myself, I feel that I would be troubled significantly more so, if my penis was getting in the way of my life, in common scenarios, come to pass, as they do, all the time. For that matter, I'm circumcised. I don't have to worry about things in regards to my privates that my parents hadn't taken care of, already, and also based on what's known about health. 

"The human race is in peril because of people who use drugs religiously."

 - unknown male observer, 4:55 p.m., May 20, 2021.

At some point in time, I feel like many of my life's circumstances and problems do, in fact, arise from out of other people in life who take issue with me. The latest was just yesterday, where, the day prior to yesterday, I had serviced a client I'd met through craigslist, and he bore some resemblance to some other guy I'd known, previously. I don't really gossip about people; I try to keep it Christian, but the circumstance was that there was a debate over who was the most handsome tweaker Nazi of downtown L.A., or "something like that," whereas I'd garnered some support for myself, in the run for achievement of that end, in life, "supposedly," based on that women's remote personas were being portrayed as such. 

So, I get pwned sometimes. It's most typically portrayed to me, in my mind, as *some guy." At times, the man is shielded of his identity towards me, yet only for an ephemeral extent of time. Inevitably, the man is ousted of his veil of secrecy, and intimations of that a law enforcement officer, or some sort of surveillance agent, had been figuratively embodying the interlocutor, imitating his affect and formant through means of technology, whereas the person whom I am familiarized with had been, in turn, himself pwned by surveillance, and a drama in which he is presented with me, imminently myself, somewhere else in the world, by most means of imaging (typically). For as much as the portrayal of me is worth, of for « thoughts | imagination | beliefs » sake, the man finds the novelty of me timely, and an adjunct to ascending the ladder of sociable capital and narcissistic supply. 

Inevitably, when the ruses of transpired suggestibility become played back at me, I'm so commonly simply prepared for the relentless siege upon my freedom and autonomy, being that I am (and "we" are, for all intents and purposes) the same age as these people (I'm currently 39 years old), and I'd obviously grown up, as a child, expecting that I'd be living a family life, dating, settled down, working, more or less: standard stuff in life; I feign existential circumstance as though I'm now babysitting my school days' peers, as an adjunct mental health professional (although I'm unpaid for that task, and I hadn't gone through formal education for it; only personal pursuits in study of psychology and abnormal and antisocial personality disorders, of which subject had been of considerable aspirations, for me, in learning, given that I suffer from bipolar disorder, myself. The difference is, is that I'd had private medical insurance afforded me, through my parents, during my upbringing, and I'd been more situably appropriate for standing in on abnormal psychological stubs of egotistical and grandiose psychology traumas of my former peers, whereas I'd had a streak of wild financial and romantic successes, quite commonly, in my former early adult years. People became sick of it (guys, for the most part). These were guys that knew me as a different person. Don't people leave high school and establish their furtherance in successes in life, for moving forth in education or employment, via some route of expected progression throughout adulthood? 

It's trite, by all means, yet I sometimes emerge as the « graces-bestowed » charismatic self-aggrandizing and condescending narcissist.

Shit as it is, compared to intimacy and affections, we're only as much as handicapped could suppose of the situation, of that the belief of « sight unseen, winner take all », although, upon offering things a second thought, or a few seconds of stepping back, and establishing composure, it's apparent that remote-sensing-initiated encounters levy us handicaps, at best; we're not afforded our imminent concurrency of our physical environment, for one; forgetfulness, listlessness, and glitches in thought processes and memory are common shortfalls in such a developmental environment, where drugs are undoubtedly most commonly involved, and humility is a character trait and virtue that had perhaps not been imbued upon the unfortunate children inside of them, abused of that many of us had been, of some sort, and that it had gone without acknowledgment, or corrections, throughout and up to this point in our early middle professional semi-adult lives. 

Other people are treated differently, by these guys. The entire premise of American values, at their most fundamental, is fraught with abuses and dissidence, through these young men, as if virtue itself was disposable, and extending in to quantum mechanics and communications intelligence industry and productivity means we're somehow on our minds, whatsoever, as children that we had been, as we knew each other, whereas people still find my childhood self relevant, somehow, and I'm left with only supposing that misfortunes had befallen them, as hapless abuse victims of their early developmental and nurturing environment's had been all that they realize and care for; our fathers being faulty, for as much as they could have been afforded in life, whereas now, excuses of merit and attainment are null concomitants in life, and expectations, in intellectual actualisations and capable selves, that we could, and ought be, are falling short of ourselves, whereas the tape roll may or may not have some active attention and oversight | followup, if you will, by some distanced third party objectivity mind about the matter. 

In a more effective, impactful, and well-developed economy and society, intelligence would be expended liberally, as though we could play with the notion, while gaining in merits, for that developments, upon efforts, were the pleasurable pursuit and receipts of our blockchain ledger of harmonic tariffs expenditure that come to pass. At some point, artificial intelligence and machine learning superiority takes precedence over human-naked capable self, where quickness in perceptions to success ratios are commonly measures of intellectual merit, of just one form of merit, in intelligence quotient (IQ), and where cloud compute ephemeralities of remote sensing persona and presence, peering in, upon us, is the inevitable consequence of which we are afforded the liberal freedom of will, as it were, and given of that we are allowed our freedom of will, by our nation's constitutional foundry and formative statements. Surely, as some sort of anti-nationalist coup were to establish itself, we blurry the lines of distinction of identity, place and time, which had been regarded as self-indulgence partitioning of needs-based fulfillments pursuit, and "privacy leisure," such that I commonly end up finding myself commonly still pleasuring myself, watching pornography, whereas I'd had "good enough" relationships and attainments in life, to accept furtherance in needs fulfillment, such that I don't find, as a remote sensing abuse novelty, for men whom I'd used to know, in teenage and childhood years. 

Surveillance causes entropy.

It takes energy (heat, in essence, of some various sorts and forms). Sure, we take drugs; we "need" drugs, for that energy (our neurotransmitters and parasympathetic nervous system) are being actively monitored and interventions are brought forth, of our concurrent selves, given life. The monitoring, in and of itself, requires that energy is lost, in the process of observing and analyzing these slight and subtle broadcast and radar energetic signs, of ourselves. Many of us have personality shortcomings, of our upbringing, such that we find ourselves lacking in attaining the suitable and acceptable selves that we'd like, and remote sensing monitoring is supposed to be for the sake of improvement, not for abuses of others.

People appreciate their own sickness 

in the same manner that a smoker has affections for their own smoke-flavored phlegm, during a bout with pneumonia.

Sure, a guy might have a bigger dick than me, and I simply don't care for it. Who could blame me? I'm fine with my own submissive fantasies; I work these things out, over time, and I learn what truly pleases a woman: being self-sufficient, self-reliant, and non-problematic, whether it be in bed or not, and how much of bedtime relations ought be a focus within the scope of a long-term relationship, anyways? 

I'd shrugged guys off, recently, of a mounting psychic attack regime of on dick big, going on months, now, that it's been relentless like that. Is the threat of my conservative Christian nature aspirations in life seriously that much of a threat to men, of such a large swath of them? There are other men who are employed, for example, looking in on my topic issue remote sensing contextually, and I must say that the standard|-ly| employed demographic fares much better in resilience and self-esteem. 

Let's face it, stalker guys. We're not quite allowed the full freedom and agency support of the authorities, themselves. I don't know what's going on, of on dick big, but I'd suppose that it's something as simple as Freud's plighted child and infant stage dilemmas, whereas I don't know a whole lot about masturbation and sexuality of a time before I became cognizant and linearly-minded, of the world. That happened around age 5. One of my first memorable characteristic knowledge contexts was that I knew how to pleasure myself. I became a classical pianist, and my hands were imbued with extra focus, for example, given the extents of my knowledge base and repertoire of activities I might have, and did - engage in. Musical knowledge is one of the 8 or 9 intelligences, after all, and people otherwise appreciate musicians, and their lives and livelihoods.

It's like, they can't stand the fact that I'm me, and I receive pleasure from up and out of myself, sometimes. It's a sad thing, to be sure; if I wasn't me, and I had to be myself, as well, of some notion, but people are supposed to have something fair enough and decent about themselves, in any case. I worked hard in learning, growing up. As hard as I was capable of; yet people had been doing this "talking at me" thing since my childhood, I'm sure. All of this sort of knowledge base will inevitably become formalized in the future, and acting out in one's "private" time would surely reap additional consequences, once the statistics in communications intelligence become analyzed for cost and casualties incurred, compared to benefits of « other cells » of people who were allowed to operate differently. Keep in mind - affecting me, as a personalized favorite target has very scrum little effect on society in general, whereas common society moved forth, regardless, and despite that abused like this are playing out. Sure, it's a "easy" target to exploit - imagining that "talking at someone" is as good as "actually" speaking with someone, but you guys are mentally and emotionally unwell and immature. I say that there's some dick big and Freud's Penis Envy, or some other genitalia-sordid context underlying the thing. My penis is just standard normal, by any measure of evaluation. It's just standard, but was sexuality simply this much the issue at all times, every day, though? Women are going to learn standard and appropriately proper "stuff," sooner or later, and weirdos will be sorted out and fall short in effecting well and nurturing relationships, for courting abuses and psychosis, inevitably of that these guys smoke or shoot their drugs, whereas I offset the potential for risk and danger by limiting myself to snorting, and I honestly just don't, and can't - [quite] get that high. I don't get as high as these guys, anymore, and I feel that they are getting that high, smoking and shooting their drugs, or whatever, and sexually abusing me, as a false idol, whereas I become the representative of the sexually-abused person, in judgment over them, for the fact that sexuality had been repressed and reprimanded of me, whereas I grew up comfortably, in pleasuring myself, and these guys are trying to boycott and abuse even that, of myself.