Meet Apollo

I remember when I first saw him and I know he remembers it too, perhaps better from how I tell it than from his own point of view, even.

I was with my friend Holly. We always dressed up in some fabulous outfits and we always stood out ridiculously because no one dressed up like we did. It was a Saturday and we held a ritual of drinking wine after work, sure to be the best dressed and oh-so-proud of it (she being a stylist and a vintage clothing hoarder). I wore heals that made me tower at over six foot- mostly a challenge to boys, maybe a desperate call to find someone like Him. Tall. Beautiful. And Beautiful and Tall is exactly what I saw when I walked into the bar that night.

He wore that plaid shirt everyone's seen him in a million times. Black hair, scruffy face, green eyes and the smile to totally knock me over. Perfect. God-like.

Meagan, meet Apollo.

"Holly!" A frantic whisper, barely taking my eyes off of him as he disappeared into the smoking room. I asked her if she'd seen that tall dark retardedly-handsome man, though I can't remember her answer and I don't think I was too concerned with the response. I told her I was going to take my drink and go smoke another cigarette, even though I'd just finished one. Who fucking cared, I couldn't wait to be near him.

I don't think I could have been so bold had I not had a couple drinks before we got there- just enough to give me the liquid courage to saunter up to him and I knew I looked good- long legs, hot black dress (whatever it was, I don't remember except it was black), thick black eye-makeup like I now know he loves.

I eyed you and did I think I asked for a light. I believe I did. Mostly I remember your smile as I told you that you were the hottest man I'd ever seen (still true), taking a drag I rambled the way I do when I get excited in that hyper way, "I'm just going to stand right here next to you if you don't mind and look at you while I smoke this here cigarette," Taking a breath and a drag at the same time- two birds with one stone, "I saw you from across the bar and I just had to come out here and talk to you, my panties are just bursting!" and a leak of giggles slipping out (nerves, I'm sure, and who says that?!).

I look back and wonder what is it I was actually thinking? Was I drunk? Was I that confident that a man like him a) would be single and b) would be interested in me and my model stats? Damn, my ego. Damn my ego swelling outfit!

But good Lord, that smile again! So delighted by my showering of adoration, he laughed and turned to the girl standing next to him and introduced her as his girlfriend. I hadn't even noticed her before then, not even an inkling of an idea that she existed at all. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was at least a foot shorter than me- us. Maybe it was the tattoos that so un-femininely covered her arms and chest (the staple of Syracuse girls). But she gave me a smile that could shatter most evil-eyes, bright red lipstick stretching across a sweet but knowing face. As if she was used to him hitting on girls in front of her, though with the bite of an actual threat this time.

I tried very hard to be nonchalant about it. I tried hitting on her a bit. Complementing her on her.. shoes or something. I think my Apollo watched me, still happy with my strong attempts and perhaps enjoying my not-so-well blanketed discomfort. I remember him saying, "It's okay." But by that point there's no other option but to leave.

I dismissed myself with a blush and a smile, him standing there, slouching to one side, his head cocked a little further- his whole body tilted on an angle, grinning at me, assessing me.

Most girls would call his unshaven face, long hair and cocky smile "scumbag". And while I can't really disagree, he was still the most beautiful man I'd ever seen in my life...

Freedom of Thought, Freedom of Expression

I've been giving my blog a lot of thought. Well, actually, I always give my blog a lot of thought. Today I realized I've maintained an online journal for eight years. Eight years. Long time, I think. And I look back to my first posts on my first journal and it's terribly embarrassing. In fact, I've been working on copying those entries into appleworks and DELETING THEM FOREVER. But, really, I'm not so embarrassed about my 16 year old self. The girl who ached over her lonely heart, who jumped to conclusions, who sought out curious information on occult topics, who said stupid immature things constantly. Just a couple of friends, totally naive. Not much has changed except the naive part.

But it's served it's purpose. I can go back to journals from when I was eight years old and find out what I was interested in. Back then I spelled terribly and wrote simple sentences like, "to day wus melody and me berthday. we ternd 9."

Again. Not much has changed. ;)

But I also recognize my desire to tell more of a story, rather than just purely expose my general feelings on life. But I fear judgments from those I care about. Perhaps someone gets their feelings hurt. Perhaps someone wont realize that there are multiple sides to a story, even your own.

I tend to look at a situation from multiple angles. A simple one being that of a love-hate relationship. You love someone for this reason, hate them for that reason. But can you really love and hate someone at the same time? I don't think so, but it is a way to express yourself. So, it's easy to say you can tell the story from the love side or the hate side, and yet neither would be completely true without the other.

Hence, I suppose, memoirs are based on truth.

Here on out I plan on sharing stories. They will be based on truth, shaped around my feelings- which often change reality. Names will be replaced. So don't believe anything you read here. Things change, people change, feelings change. I may drive you away or drive you toward. Here goes...

Movie Review: New Moon

1) I'm going to become an actor. If they can do it, I sure as fuck can.

2) You'd think entertainment budgets would be able to supply us with more. Particularly with this plot line. It was fucking terrible. I felt like the movie would never end...

3) Dakota Fanning, you stole it. Thankyou for saving me from certain death with your five minutes and two lines on the screen. (She'll turn SIXTEEN this February, can you believe it? And she looks so timeless as the evil Jane... I look forward to seeing her in the next Twilight movie, and hoping to see her as more evil characters in the future! We don't get to see many child actors maintain the screen, but she could play some serious rolls in her teens, and I hope she does.)

4) I don't believe Kristin Stewart has EVER had a kiss that's knocked her off her feet. You know the kind (for those who have read the books.. the kind that Bella and Edward are SUPPOSED to have), the breathless shivering mind numbing type. Instead they're groaning on screen so all us sudden 13 year olds can be squeamish. She almost got it with her depression and crying but once again, I doubt the girl has ever been truly heartbroken.


Overall, a disappointment. Not that I expected much.

Book Review: Eclipse

Maybe I should change the title from "Book Review" to "book Reflection". Seeing as all I have after this book is this: If I found someone I really loved and who really loved me and we thought we honestly were going to be together for the rest of our lives, I'd love to get married.

Now, I don't see myself as the marrying type. I see myself as the kinda woman who will drift around doing what I do and never settle anywhere or with anyone. Though not for lack of desire to do so, but because that's just how I believe it'll go. That and I don't have faith in people to be able to dedicate themselves to one person. I want to believe in soul mates and true love, but it's hard when I see so many broken families and divorce and cheating and.... you get the point.

But.. you never know.

Book Review: The Alchemist

If you want an easy read book that will inspire you to follow your dreams: this one is perfect. At first slow, and definately a fairly elementary read, it winds you with phrases like "Personal Legend", "Soul of the World" and "universal language" that by the end has you aching to do some inner searching to find your own path to your own treasure.

My treasure is calling me from California.

I, for one, believe that we all have a right path, one that will make us the happiest and most fufilled. I also believe that when you stray from this path, things start to go wrong until you find it again. I honestly believe that the Universe or God or whatever you wish to believe in, wants us to be satisfied, have love and be happy.

Book Review: New Moon

Honestly I have the same complaints I do about the first, though perhaps less so. It wasn't so bad this time, seeing as I didn't know what was going on because I haven't seen the movie first. Still slow and frustrating (particularly about her taking so long to figure out the warewolf part... I JUST watched the trailer for it and it's RIGHT in it... it take Bella HALF the book to finally figure it out...). Man up, Edward!! And what was all that about her heming and hawing about getting married? But she wants to be a vampire? yeah that makes no sense. Particularly when it's obvious that in these books, vampires take life-partners and get all suicidal when theirs die.

I think that's what kills me the most, though.

I want that kind of love that she feels and it makes me so depressed and anxious, so torn up and emotional. To think that there is that sort of love out there, that kind that is renching and heart splitting. Bed ridden heartache, mind numbing. How she explains holding herself together, physically - it just makes my heart ache.

My heart usually aches a lot, anyway.

While I'm sure most girls dream about it growing up, it's been an obsessive part of my thoughts for as long as I can remember. Wanting so badly that unconditional responsive love, from both sides. That one where you both KNOW that it's just meant to be, where your souls just meet and never want to part. It's the unquestionable driving force behind everything I do and the worst part is- I don't think I'll ever get it, and if I do, I believe it'll be fleeting. Or worse, one sided.

The terror I feel when I think of that sort of love is real, and has lead to many many tears for me.


eh, on to the next book.

I'm In Another Book!

Which you can pre-order here.

This contains pictures of the more risque nature - the ones I'm secretly terribly proud of but too shy to show off. They're the type your boyfriend might take. You know, Tits the center of attention, flash and running eye makeup. The butt-pop. I don't advertise these photos like I do the rest of them because I don't want GWC's thinking that I freely do this sort of work. First of all, Tony approached me in an extremely professional manner and immediately offered it as a paid shoot, no if ands or butts about it. Just my cup of tea. Plus I got there and he was cool as shit, talking about him and his wife's place upstate, showing me pictures of his re-decorated summer house. No pretenses, no expectations. Plus, he told me I reminded him greatly of Sasha Grey and, shit, if I was going to be compared to a porn star it better fuckin be her. I got naked in a park. Boys love that public nudity thing. It was right next to a free-way and I'm surprised I didn't cause an accident. Maybe NYC is just THAT desensitized. Even MY tits can't cause bumper lickins.

Apparently I'm all over the book. Even though there was never any food involved. There was an amazing sequence dress from Thriftwares.com which I wish I still had. Have you ever seen those disk sequence dresses? yeah it was one of those. Like quarter size. Shimmy-able, flapper-ish. Hot.

Anyway. I can see lake Michigan from the window here. It was sunny out, and pretty nice.. but the clouds rolled in. I like being able to see the beach from inside here. Pretty awesome if you ask me.

Tasks for today:
-Apply for a few jobs
-bring my Konica Auto-Reflex to the doctor (I'm fucking terrified they'll tell me they can't fix it and have been putting it off for over a year :( )
-Type a page on my typewriter
-Clean out my car and organize my room


Most likely I'll get caught back into New Moon sometime before and after I bring my camera to the shop.

Oh, did I mention I get a free copy of said book? Oh yeahhhhh
One day I'll be able to buy Sander's and Frank's.

Book Review: Twilight

In two days, I read this book Twilight. It's really fucking big and I pretty much spent all my time reading it. I'm a slow reader but I'm determined to read the whole series in record time. Which is a bit grueling, considering the story is terribly drawn out. One day at school, I swear, takes at least two chapters. I mean, by all means, stress to me the importance of Bella waiting for her Prince Charming to return from his week-long hissy fit that she smells so damn good, but does it really need to take up a third of the book?

I suppose I'm just irritated that good vampire books don't exist for adults without being romance or graphic novels or something. Is there such a thing as well written, well plotted fantasy books? Or is it all lost on adolescence? I remember reading on particularly good vampire book when I was younger, though I don't recall the name of it. It was not a series and it was not painfully drawn out.

And, for the record, I thought the movie fucking blew. Like really big time sucked. But I love vampires to no end and will read every vampire book I can get my hands on, no matter how grueling. Okay, I lied, I can't stomach forcing myself through Anne Rice and her gay boy fantasies and over descriptions (and, once again, DRAWN OUT).

I would also like to point out that by the end of Twilight, it's just like the movie- no meantion of some other warewolf boyfriend coming along. However, the cover of New Moon has a movie cover on it, with Miss Bella standing with some douchebag who is NOT Edward (who she apparently is MADLY in love with).

First of all, this is a terrible spoiler. Second of all, they go further to include a poster in the inside, with Bella being all slutty on Mr Warewolf and Edward looking all sad and pathetic.

This just makes me mad. The boy's been 17 for a hundred years and looses his human girlfriend to some harry moon beast and gets all pouty? Bitch'd be crying, not me, if I were him. piff!

Alright, off to read New Moon.

On last thing: I will read New Moon within the next couple days and then go watch the fucking movie. I will hate it and bitch about it for days after that, too. You know, while I read the NEXT book in the series. I bought that stupid Twilight movie and watched it like three times trying to convince myself it wasn't as bad as it was, but I'm telling you what - there's no saving that movie. Those kids can't act and the script was taken right from the book. I don't want to feel like I'm being read to in a movie, I was to experience it. They just did such a poor job on a movie that had so much more potential.

And the part that really boggles my mind: So many people love it!

I could understand kids liking it, but common. If you're out of High School, you should be able to tell the difference between a cute fantasy movie (How about The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe? Or The Golden Compass?) and something that should have been THROWN AWAY before it hit the theaters.

I guess it just comes down to the fact that everyone's obsessed with these beautiful eternal demons.

I miss when different was actually different.
Eventually we're going to be reading books on devout Catholics.

Michigan

I've sat down at a computer many times and pulled up my blog wanting to say something, and continuously draw a blank. Being in Michigan is the first step to an adventure I've been mentally planning for years. This desire to drive around the country and do some soul searching and photographic work is overwhelming and just a breath away. I thought at first I'd be able to find paid modeling work to make this dream a reality, yet I have a very hard time hunting down photographers who pay. Money talk makes me uncomfortable, for sure, so asking to have them hand over a certain amount for the lending of my tits weirds me out. But I so desperately want to travel around the country and really SEE it... photograph it myself... do some road meditating. Whatever. I'm sad and frustrated and feel like I'm suffocating, buried alive, drowning! I just wish things would neatly fall into place so that I knew I was going the right way. Fuck this winter! I don't want anything to do with it. I want to write on my typerwriter every day and take pictures constantly. Model for beautiful images and make money so I can actually do this.

fuck. I'm craving salad.

What a stupid entry. More tomorrow... at least I posted something.

Pot Roast, again

photo by Frank Petronio

I get really tired with my lack of people to rely on, befriend, trust and hang out with.


You'd think making awesome home made pot roast would be incentive to get people to come chill with me, but I suppose that my crazy behavior is more damaging than I realize.

I try hard to learn from Melody's behavior, try to imitate her... to be more like her. She is fun and hyper and crazy. She's never angry, short tempered or rude. Sometimes crass, she always has grace in it.

Fuck... One day I'll get it.

Don't be a crazy cunt, Meagan.

New York; tick-tock!

A breathed name
The world pinpointed
spark.

go..

Mysterious

A couple days ago, I was called "mysterious".
I've always wanted to be mysterious,
and I say to him, "Mysterious!? But I wear myself on my smeared all over my sleeve!"
He replies, "That's why you're mysterious.. I guess the more you know, the less you think you do."


alright. I'll take it.

The Good Twin Visits

Our entire life everyone we know has labled Melody the Good Twin and me the Evil Twin. We both embrace our titles with pride, although I think we both would agree that we are equally Good and Evil, it just so happens that I'm more crass. Honestly, I think Melody hates more people than I do, I'm just mean about it when it does happen. I'm sort (hot) tempered. And then we really took to our said roles and she went blonde and me black. The ditz and the goth.

She came to visit last weekend and we had a great time. I made pot roast which came out amaaazing. Thanks to Mr Graham for taking me to that amazing little restraunt around the corner from his house in Park Slope (where is it?) which gave me the idea for the extra special gravy with nutmeg in it. (I'm a pretty good cook (if I do say so myself..), specializing in what I like to call "gormet comfort food.")

We partied hard. Pictures to follow soon.

Life in general is looking up.

I've adapted the idea of "NOT MAKING PLANS" for anything. I don't know why I started, I've always been a spontanious person. Embracing myself.

Though I miss this Meagan, in the below picture, who was fairly nieve and innocent. I hung onto it as long as I can... but I am becoming a woman. A closed, dark mess. Oh well.

At least I can cook and fuck. Though I haven't tried doing both at the same time, though it's come close. I mean, lets be serious... what more could men really ask for in a woman? ;)

READ LIZ'S AMAZING POETRY!

Liz, my roommate and new awesomeness in my life, is a great writer. I read this poem she wrote and cried. Enjoy.

Here is one that I love, titled,

"Untitled, Twice"

My heart and soul remain in deep conflict now
half of me desperate for stability, for
anything to count on ever.
Knowing full well that nothing
will ever be the same again.

Do you:
give in
straighten up
consolidate your debt
very low interest!
easy monthly installments!
Do you:
trade in your rust box and
sign a lease for Something Shiny?
Pay Your Bills When They Arrive.
Brush Your Teeth With Bleach.
Or do you:
GET OUT NOW.
pack your shit up for your landlord and
throw yourself to the curb.
leave your dog at your boyfriend's with
that spare key he gave you on her collar.

TAKE OFF.
hit the road running
head south and
start a fire without matches.
Build that bungalow with a sod floor and
sleep in hammocks wrapped in
the heavy scent of magnolia.
Roast persimmons with light bulbs
and smear that juice,
that red orange of liberation will just slide down your throat
Like You've Always Dreamed Of, and

no man will ever swing his cock at you
again.
Willl never make you suck your yeast infection
from his foreskin.
Will Never Hurt You.

You will sleep naked,
with no fear of violation.
There is a woods out there where
you can start over.


written by mis Lizzy Boness

Goal

Please let my passion for photography not be misplaced,
Please let me be as great as Ellen Von Unwerth...

Roaring Jeeps

Jeeps are taking over my life. And appropriately. Anyone with a fucking jeep is cool, I swear to god.

But that's really besides the point (other than the fact that four wheeling is absolutely amazingly fucking fun). The real point is that:

Tonight there's a meteor shower. Amazing!

I could not be more excited.
I'm setting an alarm for 4:15 and I pity those who are in big cities and are missing out on such adventurous marvels.

And of course, I'm bringing my awesome Rolleiflex.

eek!

Hot Mess

I've been cleaning all day. I should say, "cleaning". What I've really been doing is thinking about cleaning and actually not doing a lot of it. But I terribly enjoy having days like this. I've eaten wings and watched The Secretary and Pans Labyrinth, both of which I've watched like a trillion times and both I love love love. Like top five love. Others would be Children of Men, V for Vendetta and The Night Porter.

They all have two things in common: Rebellion and Love. God, now there's me in a nutshell. But they all are something different, too. Embracing yourself, dreaming, freedom, goodness, evil, justice, power, BDSM. Or maybe they all include all of those things. I dunno, what do you think?

If you've never seen one or all of these movies, I highly recommend them. Pan's Labyrinth is in Spanish, The Night Porter is in French. If you don't like movies with subtitles, get the fuck outa here, loser.

Anyway. Kitten cuddling (we named him Bowie, because I thought it was a girl, but alas, those are balls..) and laundry and dishes and general picking up. Putting away clothes

I have the most intense (mostly vintage) wardrobe. I have like twenty nightgowns. Hundreds of dresses. I have this obsession with being as womanly as I can in some ways. Night gowns, making breakfast, cleaning. I did my roommates laundry for her, and while some people argue that there are people who just do things in order to be nice, having no desire to get something back, I think that's bullshit. Because if nothing else, you're like me, and want love and approval. Often that's the only way I get a lot of cleaning and shit done.. I hold in my head my non existent lover's acceptance and approval of everything I'm doing for said non existent lover. I wash dishes, sweep, mop, do laundry, put away clothes, clean.. in love with them, for this person. It's like practice for when I finally get to have someone to rely on and love me. Dammit, I'm such a romantic. An angry spitting spiteful bitchy romantic.

Otherwise I'm a lazy shit.

That besides the point, I have like a million rolls of film I'm dying to develop. I have no idea what's even on them. Nakedness, sex, beauty, drunk, men, women, bars. My life in photos.

Which reminds me.. I thinki I might be the only one who desperately hates people looking through my binders of negatives. That's my life, it's like a journal. There is all sorts of shit in there I don't want people to see. Mistakes, private things, etc. It causes me terrible anxiety when someone starts flipping through one of these massive binders. It's like get the fuck off my shit maaan. It's caught me off guard before and I'm like "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" no no no, you can't do that.

And I wonder why everyone in my college didn't like me. I came off as such a bitch, but really I was REALLY into photography, unlike all of them. I live it, I breathe it. Everything is a potential picture and I've been collecting cameras since I was a child, for Christ sake.

So many people just pick up a camera and figure they can MAKE it. But it'd be like me picking up a paint brush and trying to become a famous painter when all I can draw is stick figures. I mean, I get it, it's easy, you push a button and the digital shit does everything for you. You fuck around a bit in photoshop. Easy peasy... NOT. Where's that angle, depth of field, intense look in her eye, good hair and clothes and makeup?

I tell people I take pictures (cause I'm uncomfortable calling myself a photographer.. or I say "I do photography") and they want to compair notes. I tell people I'm a model and they're impressed. I'm not a fucking model, I'm a hot photographer.

end of story.




bah, embrace the modelographer.

The Road To Success

I can't stop watching the Travel Channel. I can't stop wanting to meet and photograph locals everywhere, anywhere! I keep telling myself to start here, in Syracuse.. fucking armpit of new york state. Kill me now, I need adventure! How am I going to get out of here, how will I survive? My saving grace is my new friend Liz who is just as fucking crazy as I am and I fucking love her. She drinks, fucks, cuddles, randomizes, knows what she wants and is funny as shit. I laugh and am comfortable and MYSELF around her and it's glorious. I am lost and chaotic! And she is okay with it. Nice!

I feel like if I could take her, Shakti and Sarah with me on a long road trip, it would be pretty awesome. They are all intense and crazy.

I could talk to everyone and anyone and be on top of the world. What? I am on top of the world. I am under a rock, stuck and squirming but I'm on top of the fucking world. The world is my oyster? I'm a shark, I'm a ghost, a gold fish! I'll try anything once and let you watch me exploit myself. I'll be louder and crazier than you which will make you look awesome. This whirlwind will love you unquestionably, will bring fire, fight the biggest asshole. I'll cause second hand embarrassment and flash you to find glee in your awkwardness and arrousal. I'll apologize for being too drunk and angry and then do it again. I'll molest you and sleep alone. I'll pop birth control and be celibate. I'll fuck you AND your boyfriend. Girlfriend. Whatever. I am nonjudgmental except for snobs and then I might spit in your face and loose the fight that ensues. I'll laugh at myself. I'll kiss you and ditch you. I'll sit naked at a bar in the middle of the night in the middle of the week, sober. I'll get smashed and put my clothes back on. I am an attention whore. I am an exibitionest. I say things I don't mean. I am a gypsy. I am a photographer. I am honesty, a lover, contradicting, hypocritical, gay. I am fucked. I am your orgasm. I hate you. I don't care. I care. I am comfortable.

I'll make you breakfast in heals and panties, then chain smoke in front of your family.

Them chains, they're 'bout to drag me down..

So I got arrested.


Are you surprised?
(didn't think so)


I seem to have a run with shitty landlords. And then an even bigger sausage-head fat-ass short little Napoleon brunt who probably got kicked out of highschool football and decided to be the biggest asshole in his fraternity.

I mean, yeah, I'm talking about the cop the landlord brought on Saturday morning. The first of the month. I'm such an idiot for thinking casually. That last day means the line between 19 hours of locked up four wall freezing no-rights torture. Miranda rights are apparently optional..

"People should not be afraid of their governments, Governments should be afraid of their People."

Fuck, man. I'm starting to really believe that people are innately evil, whereas I've always believed the opposite. This whole thought of, "nice guys finish last" is terribly true, I'm realizing. HOWEVER that doesn't give you right to be a dick about it, letting it make you evil, too. Which, I suppose, goes against what I just said about innately evil.

It's a confusing thought that I've struggled with,
that linked to the idea of Nature vs Nurture
(which, I suppose, is the same).

I really think all of this (the hate against a group (any group)) is some American Dream mindset gone completely sour. Everyone's better than everyone else. Many people (most?) judge you upon meeting you. The worst of them are the chivalrous-less brainless power-by-force types that squash others on their scramble to be bigger and better than YOU. I keep saying it, but what happened to manners and a sense of community?



Don't ask me what happened, just listen to the grape vine.
I know you're all waiting for some juicy gossip.

I"M PART OF A REALLY AMAZING BOOK, MMKAY?!

So I've been sitting here smoking cigarettes and sipping on the same Stella for about two hours while catching up on my internet life and wondering why the fuck I'm still awake after busting my ass moving... when I decide to click the link on Sanders' Model Mayhem page to the url where you can buy his newly published book.

In the email he sent me he says "it's not cheep", so I'm driven to wonder how much it is... Well, I was expecting $100+ but it's *only* $70 and I'm sofuckingready to drop it as soon as I have it because it is, well, astounding. Every single picture does exactly what the title says it does: tell a whole sort of story in the simplest ways... naked. Each photo is a beautiful capture of pure personality. I was forced to look through page after page, from beginning to end, to see what was next, to see what Sanders got out of all these girls.

Insanity, I tell you!

How does one person shoot so many people and get them so in their own skin over and over??

It's terribly inspiring and I fucking need it.


Double Exposures: Essays in Portriature by Sanders McNew



And I'm absolutely terrified that I don't belong in this collection, yet there I am. The above photo you can find littering one of the pages of this killer book.


eeeeek!