Can I Give A Pine Tree Bark To My Rabbit

Confessions of a thug

All men can not sing
And not everyone is given an apple to fall
how, toward the feet of others.
This is the biggest bully ever confession
What can confide.
should I wear my disheveled head,
oil lamp over my shoulder. I like to lighten the darkness

The bare autumn of your souls;
It pleases me that I fly against
The stones of injury, belching
hail storm.
Only the strongest hold in your hands
The wavy hair of my bubble.
is beneficial then to remember the raucous
alder and erbeggiante pond,
And I live somewhere
Father and mother, not caring at all
of my poems, and they are expensive
As the field and the flesh, and the rain in spring is fine
the soft green corn.
For every cry you I would be thrown with pitchforks
in Scanno.
Poor, poor, my countrymen!
Sure you're not beautiful now,
And fear God, and the bowels of the swamps.
stationmasters least

your child in Russia is among the greatest poets!
not froze my heart to you for him, barefoot in puddles
autumn?
Now he is turning in a top hat and carrying
patent leather shoes.
But he lives in the primitive impression of the Monell
countryside. Each cow
portrayed
Above the banner of butchery
Bows from afar.
and meeting place in the drivers
Remember the smell of manure on the fields,
First, as a bridal train,
to hold the horses' tails.
I love the country. I love my country!
Despite the sadness of his rusty willow.
I am pleasing to the pigs grunted soiled,
And in the silence of the night the voice of Argentina toads. Tender memories of childhood ill

dream the fog and damp of the evening of April.
How to warm up to the stake of dawn curled maple
hath been ours.
Ah, salendone branches
how many eggs I've stolen from nests for crows!
is always the same, with the green top?
is an important time as the bark?
And you, beloved, faithful dog
pied! Squeaky
and blind You got that year, and dragging
go to the court the tail hanging, snuff
Col oblivious of doors and stable. How grateful
returns that mischief: When the loaf of bread
pilfered
To my mom, biting alternately disgusted
Without any one of the other.
have remained the same, with all my heart.
eyes face flower
Similar to cornflowers between rye.
Mats golden verses of unrolling,
I will talk to you dearly.
Good night! good night to you all! The dawn has already
sickle tinnitus
Among the grass in the twilight.
tonight I want to piss with rain
From my window over the moon!
Blue light, blue light as well! In both blue
also does not hurt to die.
And I do not care to look like a cynical
With the lantern attached to the butt!
My old, good and exhausted Pegasus
I need your own soft trot? I
, strict teacher, I have come to celebrate
mice and sing.
The August of my head which wine is poured
hair in a storm.
I want to be sailing towards the yellow
country where we go to sea.

Sergei Yesenin

Sergei Eisenin

Confessions of a rogue

I
disheveled like walking with his head on his shoulders like a light
so I like to lighten your
autumn without feathers.

I like that I hail the
the thick stone-throwing face of injury, the
grab her just to feel alive
the shell of my hair.

And in my mind back to that pond
reeds and moss
submerged and my parents not know they have a son who composes verses

but they love me as the fields,
the skin and the rain Season
rare that people will offend me
scampi from the tips of fork.

poor peasant parents
sure you are grown old, even
fear the Lord of heaven and marshes
parents who will never understand

today
your son became the first among the poets of the country and now

with polished shoes and he walks with the cylinder head.

But he survives the frenzy of an old rogue

country and any sign of butchery
cow bows his companion.

And when he meets a cabbie
he remembers his native ashlar
and would like the tail of the horse will stand as
bridal train.

I love the country though afflicted
log rusty
I would like the dirty pig snout and toads
sighing shade

am sick and childhood memories and fresh
twilight of April .
It seems that the maple curved
to warm up and then sleep.

from nest tree
to steal the eggs climbed to the top
but her hair is always new and hard
his zest as before.

And you my dear friend
old dog made you blind and feeble old age
and turn tail down in the courtyard
unaware of the doors of the barns.

I have my dear brat
theft when stealing home in a little '
of bread and ate like two brothers
a crumb, a man and the dog

I have not changed,
hearts and thoughts are the same on the carpet
magnificent verses
want to tell you something that touches you.

Good night, the crescent moon
became quiet and the air gets dark I want to shout from the window

against the disk of the moon.

The night is so clear here
perhaps even dying does not hurt
what if my spirit is perverse
my back and a hanging lantern.

O pegaso decrepit and good-natured
your gallop is now without purpose
and came as a master
lonely and do not sing and I do not celebrate the mice.

From my head like a ripe grape wine
dropped the crazy crown
want to be a yellow haze
swells to a country without a name.

Angelo Branduardi

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On Saturday the Village

The maiden from the countryside into the sunset, with its beam of
'grass, and is holding

a bunch of roses and violets,
waves, as wont, she is going ornate
tomorrow, a day of celebration, the chest and horsehair.
sits with neighboring
up the stairs to the old woman, Pilar,
meeting where you lose the day;
and its news is good time to
when she decorated for the feast,
and still healthy and lean
sun danced on the evening of intra those who once had
age most beautiful companions.
already darkening the air,
the serene blue back, and they return the shadows
off 'packages and' roofs,
the whitening of the recent moon.
Or the phone call
sign of the party who comes
and that sound you say
that the heart is comforted.
The children shouting
on the open space in the crowd,
jumping here and there,
make a happy noise;
and meanwhile he returns to his frugal meal,
whistling, the digger ,
him and thinks of his rest.


Then when around each other face is off,
and all else is silent,
hear the hammer hit, you hear the saw
of carpenters, which closed in the wake
the candle shop,
and impatient, and s'adopra
to provide even deed to the brightening dawn.


This is the most welcome of seven days,
full of hope and joy:
Diman sadness and boredom
recheran the hours, and the labor used in each
His thoughts will return.


playful lad,
Cotesta age flourished
is like a day full of joy,
clear day, peaceful,
that precedes the celebration of your life.
Rejoice, my child, was sweet, happy
season is that tub. Other
not want to say, 'But your party
ch'anco latest to come do not be serious.

Giacomo Leopardi

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A warm breath

L ' Dawn of the granaries, filter side of the mountain
Plan lights, strip and gives rise to heaven and who goes down
vivid the river and the bridge
Oh ... it is time for us to go away

A breath of fresh air
close my eyes and feel that the season already
my s'innova
A warm breath going
A dream that is hot

dreams that sometimes s '
break off in the morning dawn, go out there oh pa' ...
but how many dogs bite your
our way .. oh but you know dreams never sleep

A breath of fresh air
close my eyes and I can feel that the season I found

A warm breath, freedom
Oh oh oh oh ... freedom

Under a sky of fresh air
I open my eyes and I feel I already feel peace in the dawn

A breath of hot, warm A dream
freedom, freedom
Oh oh oh oh ... freedom

Sugar & Guccini

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APPEARANCE

The moon is despondent. Serafini weeping
The bow up in a dream from dying violets
dragged in the calm of fluffy flowers, the petals in sobs
Bianchi blue pallor.
- It was the holy day of our first kiss.
Fantasy, whose martyrdom has always are,
intoxicated wise the scent of sadness
That leaves without regret and without bitterness
The harvest of a dream that has taken to heart.
So I wandered, the eye of the old stones harvested by
When, with the sun shining on her hair,
And in the evening, you appeared to me smiling, And I saw the fairy
hooded light that once on my
sleep happy child
already passed, leaving, by his beautiful hands,
Snow white flowers fragrant stars.

Stephane Mallarme

Appearance

The moon was sad. Seraphim crying
Dreaming, bow in hand, in the quiet flowers
misty, drew from dying viols
White sobs slipped on the blue corollas.
- was the blessed day of your first kiss. My reverie
magnet torture me drunk
cleverly scent of sadness
That even without regret and disappointment leaves
cueillaison The Dream of a heart that was picked. So I wandered
, eyes riveted on the pavement with old
When the sun in your hair, on the street
And in the evening, you appeared to me, laughing
And I thought I saw the fairy hat clarity
Who once on my beautiful sleep of a spoiled child
past, leaving his hands still ajar
Snow white bouquets of fragrant stars.

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cattivo Il Sogno

Se guardo questo pettine sottile
di tartaruga e d'oro, che affigura -
opera di egregia cesellatura -
a sprig of mistletoe in style novo,

Risognanze a terrible dream. From the large jewel
blazes
your hair cuts, blazing in the dark mass.
And while I do not see the youthful face.

only see that the notch produces
always-blond hair and brown
I see a sky made of their plots:

a sky without wind and without electricity!
And then a sea ... and then I fall into a vortex
all bands of copper-colored.

Guido Gozzano

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Marxism and the environment

Massimo Scalia reading the article published on March 13th '11, entitled "Consumption and waste of resources, the limits of Marxist thought" on Liberation came to my mind some important considerations for not going in epistemological confusion naive. First, the concept of nature and man can not be identified with Marx's vision of human nature and contemporary. The vision of human nature is culturally dependent and general systems theory of Von Bertalannfy. This vision has now passed into common sense through science but it is a vision not fully comprehensive and neutral and is not able to explain certain considerations that Marx was on his conscience. When we talk about ecology, economics, politics, human being today we speak in terms of systems. Ecology is a system that contains within it the political, economic and human beings. But this is a vision in which each institution is in a relationship dependent / independent and in which there are no features "inside" the will. This is a mechanistic view of nature. Marx put man at the center because it was a conscious subject, this implies that his alienation is alienation from its natural origin and as such is the alienation of nature. For this reason Hebert Marcuse in Eros and Civilization in 1955 had tried to introduce classes in psychoanalytic of Marxist thought. He had noticed a speech much more problematic: if a worker becomes alienated loses contact with the satisfaction of basic needs and then remain "eternally dissatisfied and seeks induced needs. Trying induced needs a worker becomes alienated and at the same time a perfect consumer thereby increasing the production of waste and unnecessary things. The very nature of being human is the litmus test of environmental issues. Marx instead uses a mechanistic and deterministic view in the analysis of power relations and the economy. Also, when Marx wrote Capital there was not yet established an environmental problem. What he found in his mechanistic analysis system of economic production was the problem of scarcity of resources for a given class and then the fact of the destructive power of production in a capitalist system. And 'the historical context that has not made sure that Marx went to develop the findings ecological environment. But he had already given a warning about human nature that she is the protagonist in his will, with its dialectic of environmental destruction. To read this article of Bonanni 14/03/2011 "In Europe, parameters to measure the pressure on the environment" I could not agree on the fact that measures such as GDP, growth rate, welfare of countries (defined as welfare and not well-being * ) Can not really say anything on the environment because they say nothing human alienation.

The European vision on the environment is a vision in which subjectivity is totally excluded, and we can be satisfied by an analysis of society and environmental issues that do not take human subjectivity in analysis. I agree with Scalia that the origin of Marx's vision of man and nature is belonging to the myth of Prometheus and the Judeo-Christian thought, but I would also say that scientific knowledge is anything but neutral on the question of the subject which is resolved with the usual Cartesian artifice which is also a myth.





* Welfare is being seen as physical facilities (hospitals, reception centers ect ...) that support the person. Well-being is actually the index of psychological well-being of a country is measured by other parameters (eg increase of suicides, stress ect ...)

Francis New Year (coordinator GC Trento)

Vocabularyanswers.blogspo T.com

not imitate her friends

not imitate her friends, it is unnecessary.
Not worse, no more rough than the others. On the footprint
butts with lipstick
raise only repugnance.

Get pretty in the mouth a sprig of lilac
, bitter dew
because the loved one spring day
labbbra you take on the taste bitter.

Stepan Scipacev

Pot Leaf Acrylic Nail Design

March 1821

focused on the dry side.
sometimes look at the crossed Ticino, all absorbed in
novo destiny.
in certain heart of the ancient virtues.
have sworn that this wave will not be of
longer flows between two banks of foreign
not be of place where Sorgane
barriers between Italy and Italy, no more!
L 'have sworn to that other strong swear by fraternal
rispondean districts.
sharpening their swords in the shadow
raised or that sparkle in the sun. Already
the right have formed the right;
already the holy words are uttered:
or companions on his deathbed.
or siblings wont free up

With that face challenged "and resigned, with that look
landed and uncertain. Stassi
with a beggar who suffered
for wages in foreign soil, was to star in his homeland
Lombardo:
another's desire was law for him
his fate, a secret of others:
its part. serve and keep silent

or foreign, in their heritage back
Italy, and its soil again:
or foreign, torn curtains
from a land that his mother 'is not there.
not you see that everything shakes,
Cenisio from the cliff of Scylla?
not feel that treacherous
falters under the weight barbarians' footer? Cara
Italy!

How many times on 'Alpe spiasti
the appearance of a friend banner!
how many times do you intend to look
'deserts in the double mar!
here at last blossomed from your breast, around
close to 'Your Saints colors,
strong armed de' own pain,
your children have sprung up to fight him.

Today, or strong, faces the fury of lightning
minds secret:
for Italy battle, you win!
his fate on brands you are.
O risen for you will see the banquet
de 'people seated, or more
servant, most vile, most derided
under the rod will stay horrid. Oh

day of our redemption!
oh sorry for him always
that acts, from the lips of others,
as a foreign man, to hear!
that 'narrating his children one day will say
sigh: I was not there: that the holy
Vittrice
saluted the flag that day will not

Alessandro Manzoni

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as tranquil river

explode in fiery cascade

when the soul is filled with everything

energetic and overflowing rivulet in

is usually called life

anonymous twentieth century

fragments found

Have You Masterbated In A Public Shower

lights free

It 's a white sun that softens
women on the monuments of bronze. Would you like to disappear

homes, where drag slowly awaken
wagons
iron bars into the country - because

PEI were children
raging water, the dawn will break down and
images of poplars. We

to follow the dance of an old organ

riding on the wind the road ... At the heart

barefoot
and ragged weights
joy.

January 27, 1938
Antonia WELLS

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Force

Mario B., wrestler

Bestiality divine friend Mario,
when weary muscles well and acts
Gird and prizes, panting, shaking and sometimes the torso
Atletico opponent!

Well you know the art of force. In various
way the exhaust it is under threat and bend and break down, you jerks in the muscles contract

something bloodthirsty desire.

Gràvagli above, cruelly beautiful, he does
shoulder blades touch the sand and pour
"won" him cry!

ridiculous misery of a brain
already stretched when the thumbs down
"Kill - Grid - KILL, KILL!"

Guido Gozzano

Mammals Respiration Lizards

Landscape

The trees of the garden

stand slight air of evening

as if they were painted

over a fine silk;

the bell 'gray bird swings

on the branch of a peach flower

is careful not to disturb the silence

even one with a cry alone;

everything is in sleep,

and the moon specchianell'acqua Lake

is as slender boat

in the middle of a meadow lit up in gold.

Tristan Klingsor

Schéhérazade, 1903

Texting The Scorpio Man

Hands no longer shake

give themselves up to me and beg

the way home, the shelter

to spend the hours that remain

before it arrives in the evening and is serene.

I wonder

and I can not find answers to trivial

who I am and what I do,

where I go and with what.

A shadow appears on the threshold, stretching,

covers and washes out the colors,

gloss over in sad clippings,

increasingly skinny ...

anonymous twentieth century

fragments found

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The Labyrinth is a structure, usually of large size, built in such a way that is difficult for those who enter find the exit.

Formerly mostly univiario (or unicursale), which consists of a single circuitous path that led inexorably to its center, the labyrinth is now synonymous with multiviario path (or multicursale). In common parlance, it became synonymous with brain teaser. Alternatively, an intricate path of roads, can be defined as a labyrinth (a term clearly born of the mythical figure of Daedalus, the legendary builder of the labyrinth for King Minos of Crete, the best known of those of antiquity).

Labyrinth derives from the greek name Labyrinthos (λαβύρινθος), used in mythology to indicate the maze of Knossos . The word originates from the pre-Greek language of the Pelasgians , and probably comes from the Lydian "labrys" , the two-bladed ax, symbol of royal power in Crete . The word "labyrinth" would then "building labrys ax" (with the suffix-into meaning "place," modeled after the greek "Corinth ") which is the palace of King Minos at Knossos , intricate plant from the point of giving birth to the legend. In support of the hypothesis, were found inside the building several representations ax ax (from Wikipedia).

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imbed

imbed in Your story

As a stunned eros
If you have touched with bare feet

A little 'grass land

Against glaciers bomber

I do not know the naive sin
What you will have prevented
his victory in the high rice
Tell me if the content is in little
Thunder and rubies for my beam
to see where the air rises
With realms missing a fire
blood and die wheel crocus.
my chariot of the previous evening.

Stephane Mallarme

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turning emotions alternate

calm vigils to sleep very agitated

in a flow of moods extern

playful dryness under masked

I have not found what I'm looking

pilgrim still unsteady strides

in the wide world where I go astray

horizon now more vague that I do not see ...

anonymous twentieth century

fragments Variety

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The sonnets back

I.
worn on the steps, like a poor beggar
I sit, umilicorde:
House or because rails with ropes of wisteria
the door of the shelter?

The enclosure of the shoots I pricked
the soul as a gesture of rebuke
how long since the rover
opens doors on the rooms of those deaf!

Deaf and cold and dark ... An odor is the humble house
sad centenary
of quince, mold, the country ...

from the benches grates six hundred
cement crumbles when renewing air
opens the windows.

II. The scent of wisteria

dispel the odor of mold and quince. Under the bright light
beating the living room!
And my dream

revise its principles in the fruits of alabaster on the cabinets -
martyrdom once the child delicious -
in fake flowers in the broken mirror, in the guise of
dagherottipi.

O house between the rural and the noble, graceful wisteria
crowned, through the fields or
hermitage sweet!

was good in you, that of immune artifice, serenely

my father's father lived the life of an ancient sage!

III.
O Grandpa! And you do not forgive me
leisure spaces of syllables sublime
thou hast loved the science of fertilizers
api screw implants! Yet

find the source of these dreams in your
early warnings, when
, happy harvest Opima,
you take pleasure of your books be honest: the

your Manzoni ... Meadows ... Metastasio ...
The long evenings! And those shaky
your fingers on the books I read! And the tedium,

sleep ... the Lake .. Transferrin ... and Parrasio ... And I fell in
perhaps the first germ of this
evil that has no remedy.

IV.
Grandfather, silver gray hairs of your
shines in the light paths:
distance between figs, plums and pears between
hands with a basket of first fruits:

"The rains of September already conducive
gonfian figs on the branch whites and blacks, plums
claudie ... Who
work and hope Jesus gives all pleasures. "

Twenty years later, today, in the living room with the scent of mint
relive
quince and all that was.

me in the mirror still broken mirror, I see the fake fruit
alabaster ...
But you are dead and there is no Jesus

V.
O you who invoke, if not the 'I
one virtue of appearance, so much absence

back after one of the fruits of the orchard sunny.

you come from the orchard of oblivion,
from beyond the boundaries of knowledge,
to me that I live without beliefs, without
the imaginative tale of a God ..

But do not come back! You're like
who is not never been, you who go missing
in all the great Mother Nature.

Alas! The tears cried in the street
the relentlessness of the Universe
laughs a laugh that scares me.

VI.
"Blessed are Mortu here domino moriuntur "
(Cartouche solar clock)

adventure if who lived
pilgrimage, yet so v'agogna,
or old rooms, fragrant quince, wisteria
or roof from lengthy, if he ventured


died in you! And you, Jesus, lies
sweet, would make the soul who dreams
crucified for your good hands!

This is the lost votes in the pupil, or Jesus
Christ! A double centenary
m'accolga under the admonition of Gold.

Back in the late autumn purple:

rosary shall not die pressing against her mouth, in the Lord?

Guido Gozzano

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E 'Magic as the magic that has tried to learn to turn lead into gold, we are left with him a marvelous work of frescoes and paintings.

very young in expressing themselves in painting and is, unfortunately, all died prematurely.

Pellegrino has always been wandering for years and places but he always brought with her kind treatment and filled with elegant color tones as discrete and not at all intrusive.
Even during the period of hallucination search of the magical and the chain has not forgotten the painting.

Rocca San Vitale in Fontanellato (between Bicester and Parma) is worth visiting to discover at its most human, that which has not continued to not understand the inscrutable will of the gods but he is a man in the depths.

Francesco Mazzola,

known as Parmigianino,

born January 11, 1503 in Parma, where, from the Pontremolese, had established his family of artists.

starts very young to paint in the workshop of his uncles Michael and Pier Ilario Mazzola (painters like Philip's father, who died in 1505).

To escape the war that raged on the outskirts of Parma, Francesco with his family and uncles moved to Viadana in 1521 where he painted for the church in the country the Mystical Marriage of Saint Catherine of Alexandria and the Baptism of Christ.

returned to Parma in 1522 comes in contact with the Correggio frescoes when three chapels in San Giovanni Evangelista, and the teacher will decorate the cupola.

In 1523 and is working successfully in the portraits, the portraits he made up a large gallery of characters, such as the famous Charles V, or its famous "Self Portrait in the mirror", which portrays' 'looks very nice and rather angel than a man,''was commissioned to fresco the "stove" in the fortress of Sanvitale Fontanellato with stories of Diana and Actaeon.

The artists of the artistic journey he always wore in Rome, arrived there in 1524 and Parmigianino, in that crowded by great artists, was dazzled by the art of Michelangelo and Raphael, but it was inserted quickly into the fabric to achieve artistic results of personal expression, based on the oval, oblong, tied to a certain enigmatic tone resulting from the cold and changing color.

Parmigianino As stated in the capital, in 1527 came the famous Bag Rome, where the eternal city was conquered and sacked by hard and English mercenaries, who also created considerable damage to the artistic heritage and put in danger the lives of the artists themselves. The sack of Rome

cost the country twelve thousand deaths, rapes and abuse, and most of the goldsmith's craft of the churches. Escaped

Urbe sacked and moved to Bologna, the artist dedicated to an intense production of altarpieces and paintings of private destination where thinly sensual interpretation of results leads to the Renaissance style modules now fully mannered.

In 1531, Parmigianino received the prestigious commission to paint the church of the Franciscan Batten, but after a start full of enthusiasm, the painter begins to neglect the painting to devote himself to studies with growing passion for alchemy, chasing the dream of transforming mercury into gold.

In those years created a self-portrait painting with the face marked and looked tired but looking ncora inspired, Vasari describes him as a "man almost savage."

The result of this lack of artistic concentration that Parmigianino is no longer able to find inspiration for the frescoes of which is in charge for eight years and was imprisoned for default.

Parmigianino escaped from prison and moved to Casal Maggiore, where, and the desire to paint, the artist creates works of supreme perfection and aristocratic as the Madonna of the long neck, preserved in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Cupid's bow and Antea works, works that are characterized by ' formal abstraction and the complexity of iconographic buildings, attacked a severe fever, died Aug. 24, 1540 and wishes to be buried in the church of friars 'de' Servi, called the Fountain, "naked with a cross on his chest at the top of arcipresso" Casalmaggiore along the Po

(from Settemuse)

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The video is pretty cool ...

The Last Picture Show

Listen, do you remember when it was

ship the Phoenician Take via

me, with all the desire to sing

men, the world, and make poetry ...

with blue eyes I greet you,

with the blue one I have you regretted,

and the tree was shaking and I saw the earth,

the Greeks, the fires and the endless war

I saw them one by one

while opening the hand

and showed me the fate

as if to say "We choose,

there is a God who is stronger "

and the black shadow that passed

repeated no laughing ...

Listen, I started to sing

great men behind large shields,

and saw small men ammazzarre,

small, clumsy, desperate and naked ...

there well knew an old bard

blinded you to remain in the dream,

with the blue eye but I saw and I see

with blue eyes and I turn to you remember ...

But you told me about

and my ideas as lizards

retired head

into the wall, when it's late

because it's cold because it is dark:

and a thousand lonely

and holes to hide ...

And I saw the lamps in a love

and he did lay on the bed

friend with two swords in my heart,

and kissed crying face and chest ...

and I came back to see you go,

and while I share greetings and quickly

between all the words you can say

ask me "me from a cigarette?"

I of Muratti, sorry, I do not

the sidewalk to Turin, yes I know;

but it is one thing to make you feel a bit 'of the company,

wait for another train to go,

Why I will help thee to go do not know,

yes, this is left to those who never happens,

but I've never seen my stuff,

I have my own stories, and you a history of your

But you told me about

and my ideas as lizards

retired head

into the wall, when it's late

because it is cold, because it is dark ...

And yet loneliness

and holes to hide ...

And you are not alone when another left you,

if someone has just never came

but I lose the pieces down the stairs,

and who passes on, he can not get me wrong.

But do not tell me now, let it be

or that the fight must continue,

because if this story was a song

with my order, do not you would go away.

Roberto Vecchioni

the text is perfectly suited to today

although rather dated
(late 70s I think),

a literature professor who spoke
to us kids back then

using words no longer in use, forget
to tell a love ...

the alliterative "r" in compound sentences, educate ...

then I began to love
and I never stopped ...

I was lucky I had good teachers

me have opened the soul

and entered all ...