tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35463677956076566852020-10-31T04:43:43.270-04:00the purest of treatsarthur rimbaud joe brainard lautreamont john ashbery evelyn waugh dennis cooper jonathan ames donald barthelme leon trotsky baudelaire felix feneon henry green byron dashiell hammett frank o'hara raymond roussel david foster wallace charles willeford franz kafka james schuyler kenneth koch james tate arun kolatkar ron koertge max jacob ron padgettUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger801125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-63562890123096113762012-12-16T00:01:00.000-05:002012-12-16T00:01:00.332-05:00The Reality of the Symbol<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3xZ0k8vSv2A/UK3D_rXowaI/AAAAAAAADjY/aUwChmRHk3E/s1600/4444444444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="480" width="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3xZ0k8vSv2A/UK3D_rXowaI/AAAAAAAADjY/aUwChmRHk3E/s800/4444444444.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://denniscooper-theweaklings.blogspot.com/2010/04/alan-presents-fin-de-cinema.html">FIN DE CINEMA</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-55482037452546060892012-12-15T00:01:00.000-05:002012-12-15T00:01:00.775-05:00the sense of an ending<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>I have always wanted to write a book that ended with the word “mayonnaise.”<br /><br />Richard Brautigan <br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-11788873454034886122012-12-14T00:01:00.000-05:002012-12-14T00:01:01.964-05:00The Reality of the Symbol<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lDZZVNSmF3s/UK3DoaU8mII/AAAAAAAADjM/q0P7dRvyLtc/s1600/3333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="480" width="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lDZZVNSmF3s/UK3DoaU8mII/AAAAAAAADjM/q0P7dRvyLtc/s800/3333.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://denniscooper-theweaklings.blogspot.com/2010/04/alan-presents-fin-de-cinema.html">FIN DE CINEMA</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-1836685123839919522012-12-09T00:01:00.000-05:002012-12-09T00:01:00.290-05:00the sense of an ending<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>There must be supra-literary forces, cultural pressures, which tend to make us seek narrative coherence, just as we expect a conundrum to have an answer, and a joke a point. Our whole practice of reading is founded on such expectations, and of course the existence of such genres as the pointless joke and the deviant conundrum depends upon the prior existence of the normal sort. Just so do detective novels depend upon the coherence of elements in an occult plot that declares itself only as the book ends. There are detective novels, of which Robbe-Grillet’s <i>The Erasers</i> is the supreme example, which disobey this convention; but, far from disregarding it, they depend upon it for their effect.<br /><br />Frank Kermode<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-86349850655957543542012-11-22T00:01:00.000-05:002012-11-22T13:29:05.310-05:00the tyranny of the human face<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4IN-l4L4-NI/UK0O70u1jrI/AAAAAAAADiM/3Td0J_Z0gz4/s1600/the%2Btyranny%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bhuman%2Bface.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="670" width="500" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4IN-l4L4-NI/UK0O70u1jrI/AAAAAAAADiM/3Td0J_Z0gz4/s800/the%2Btyranny%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bhuman%2Bface.png" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://vintague.tumblr.com/post/29595445780">vintague</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-43279628726516247512012-11-21T00:01:00.000-05:002012-11-22T01:10:36.010-05:00the sense of an ending<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>Q: Is the novel dead?<br />A: Oh yes. Very much so.<br />Q: What replaces it?<br />A: I should think that it is replaced by what existed before it was invented.<br />Q: The same thing?<br />A: The same sort of thing.<br />Q: Is the bicycle dead?<br /><br />Donald Barthelme, “The Explanation”<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-63777045825808099382012-11-10T00:01:00.000-05:002012-11-10T01:24:10.615-05:00allegory, death<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e_YVrgC-umA/UJ3ya0v7gyI/AAAAAAAADec/WtOdszcqtL4/s1600/anja%2Bhitzenberger%2Bdonut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="550" width="714" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e_YVrgC-umA/UJ3ya0v7gyI/AAAAAAAADec/WtOdszcqtL4/s800/anja%2Bhitzenberger%2Bdonut.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://fansinaflashbulb.wordpress.com/2010/06/04/dipped-variously-by-feminine-hands-and-eaten-its-national-doughnut-day/">Anja Hitzenberger</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-57787880104132156922012-11-05T00:01:00.000-05:002012-11-05T02:08:39.191-05:00The Art of Hermeneutics<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>On 9th November 1966 Tara Browne and Paul McCartney went riding mopeds while stoned on cannabis, as a result of which the latter crashed, cutting his upper lip (an injury he hid by growing a mustache). Luridly reported–some versions claimed he’d been decapitated–this episode sparked a rumor that McCartney had died. (The contention was that he had been replaced by an actor, though who was supposed to be doing the singing and songwriting during the Beatles’ last four years was never explained). Partly because of the group’s fondness for “random,” clues supporting this theory were discovered in abundance. For example, John Lennon was thought, in the fade-out of “Strawberry Fields Forever,” to mutter “I buried Paul,” whereas (apropos of nothing) he really says “Cranberry sauce.” His similarly meaningless mumble at the end of “I’m So Tired” was interpreted as “Paul is dead, man, miss him, miss him,” while the line “Bury my body” in the fade-out of “I Am the Walrus” was inevitable grist to the rumor mill, despite having been written by Shakespeare. A dozen other song references were recruited to the myth while further “clues“ were discovered on the Beatles’ LP covers, with <i>Sgt. Pepper</i> supplying a particularly rich fund of coincidences. There, McCartney (the only one holding a black instrument) wears a badge on his sleeve bearing the letters O.P.D., supposedly an abbreviation of “officially pronounced dead” (in fact it stands for Ontario Police Department); he is likewise the only one facing away from the camera on some shots, while the cover shows an ominous hand above his head and the Beatles apparently clustered round a grave. The singer’s black carnation in the “Your Mother Should Know” sequence of <i>Magical Mystery Tour</i> kept up a mad momentum brought to a climax by his barefoot appearance on the cover of <i>Abbey Road</i> and the adjacent number-plate 28 IF, supposedly signifying that he would have been 28 had he lived. (Actually he would have been–in fact, was–27 at the time.)<br /><br />Ian McDonald, <i>Revolution in the Head</i><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-17284071718160596502012-11-02T00:01:00.000-04:002012-11-02T01:37:43.673-04:00Death by Water<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lkQQsn5ss6c/UJNbqi19VeI/AAAAAAAADb8/ISNCyGc2-N0/s1600/drowning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="685" width="656" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lkQQsn5ss6c/UJNbqi19VeI/AAAAAAAADb8/ISNCyGc2-N0/s800/drowning.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://denniscooper-theweaklings.blogspot.com/2012/06/154-drown.html">154 drown</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-11105011650306031782012-10-26T00:01:00.000-04:002013-04-30T15:36:52.521-04:00The Art of Hermeneutics<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>The Kabbalists believed, as many Christians now do, in the divinity of the story of Genesis, in its deliberate writing by an infinite intelligence. The consequences of such an assumption are many. The careless dispatch of an ordinary text—for example, journalism’s ephemeral statements–allows for a considerable amount of chance. It communicates–postulates–a fact: it reports that yesterday’s always unusual assault took place on such-and-such a street, at such-and-such a corner, at such-and-such an hour of the morning; a formula which represents no one, which limits itself to indicating such-and-such a place about which news was supplied. In such indications, the length and sound of the paragraphs are necessarily accidental. The contrary occurs in poetry, whose usual law is the subjection of meaning to euphonic needs (or superstitions). What is accidental in them is not the sound, but the meaning. It is thus in the early Tennyson, in Verlaine, in Swinburne’s later works: dedicated only to the expression of general states by means of the rich adventures of their prosody. Let us consider a third writer: the intellectual. In his handling of prose (Valéry, De Quincey) or of verse, he has certainly not eliminated chance, but he has denied it as much as possible, and restricted its incalculable compliance. He remotely approximates the Lord, for Whom the vague concept of chance holds no meaning. The Lord, the perfected God of the theologians, Who sees all at once (<i>uno intelligendi actu</i>), not only all the events of this replete world but also those that would take place if even the most evanescent–or impossible–of them should change.<br /><br />Let us imagine now this astral intelligence, dedicated to manifesting itself not in dynasties or annihilations or birds, but in written words. Let us also imagine, according to the pre-Augustinian theory of verbal inspiration, that God dictates, word by word, what he proposes to say. This premise (which was the one postulated by the Kabbalists) turns the Scriptures into an absolute text, where the collaboration of chance is calculated at zero. The conception alone of such a document is a greater wonder than those recorded in its pages. A book impervious to contingencies, a mechanism of infinite purposes, of infallible variations, of revelations lying in wait, of superimpositions of light.... How could one not study it to absurdity, to numerical excess, as did the Kabbalah?<br /><br />Borges, “A Defense of the Kabbalah”<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-15483985832101636992012-10-21T00:01:00.000-04:002012-10-21T01:28:56.148-04:00The Reality of the Symbol<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bklCVsDiNIM/UHElMaILbdI/AAAAAAAADTU/z6XbbKF5XXw/s1600/secret%2Bsymbols%2Brosicrucians.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="700" width="650" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bklCVsDiNIM/UHElMaILbdI/AAAAAAAADTU/z6XbbKF5XXw/s800/secret%2Bsymbols%2Brosicrucians.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/320342/Secret-Symbols-of-the-Rosicrucians-of-the-16th-and-17th-Centuries">Secret Symbols of the Rosicrucians</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-52875154693733026482012-09-30T00:01:00.000-04:002012-09-30T02:17:11.405-04:00The Illusion of Reality<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>Wasn’t it Valéry who said that when he read in a novel sentences such as “The Marquis went out at ten o’clock,” he was tormented by how arbitrary the specific time was and realized he could never stoop to the dreariness of fiction? <br /><br /><a href="http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2010/jun/24/more-lad-bad/">Edmund White</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-88334522545993585302012-09-19T00:01:00.000-04:002012-09-20T11:01:01.143-04:00The Reality of the Symbol<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dYdbwFK_sVw/UFF0kmRntPI/AAAAAAAADOA/LPtugOYp1L8/s1600/wallace%2Bberman%2Baleph%2Ba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="427" width="685" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dYdbwFK_sVw/UFF0kmRntPI/AAAAAAAADOA/LPtugOYp1L8/s800/wallace%2Bberman%2Baleph%2Ba.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://snoreandguzzle.com/?page_id=415">Wallace Berman</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-17465427022138206262012-09-14T00:01:00.000-04:002012-09-14T01:16:09.436-04:00The Art of Hermeneutics<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>As with any obscure text, the <i>Illuminations</i> has received numerous esoteric interpretations that make everything clear: each element of the text – at least each problematic element – is replaced by another which is drawn from some variant of the universal symbolism, from psychoanalysis to alchemy. The strange “son of the Sun” of “Vagabonds” is really oneness, or love, or a pharaoh; the rainbow in “After the Flood” is the umbilical cord; the “Flowers” are the pure substance contained in metal. These interpretations are never confirmable, or refutable either, which gives them minimal interest; in addition, they translate the text bit by bit, with no attention to its articulation, and the final result, perfectly clear, provides no explanation for the initial obscurity: why would Rimbaud have found it amusing to encode these rather ordinary thoughts?<br /><br />Tzvetan Todorov, “A complication of text: the Illuminations”<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-71195971171440956072012-08-28T00:01:00.000-04:002012-11-24T00:47:56.808-05:00[mask] doll [puppet]<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YcxummXBRv4/ULBd0iwpawI/AAAAAAAADnU/C_s13FSvSWA/s1600/elliott%2Berwitt%2Bwilmington%2BNC%2B1950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="453" width="685" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YcxummXBRv4/ULBd0iwpawI/AAAAAAAADnU/C_s13FSvSWA/s800/elliott%2Berwitt%2Bwilmington%2BNC%2B1950.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://frenchtwist.tumblr.com/post/28135610529/wilmington-nc-by-elliott-erwitt-1950">Elliott Erwitt</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-68252667623166872492012-08-27T00:01:00.000-04:002012-08-29T01:37:17.016-04:00The Question of Meaning<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>In the artist of all kinds I think one can detect an inherent dilemma, which belongs to the coexistence of two trends, the urgent need to communicate and the still more urgent need not to be found.<br /><br />D.W. Winnicott<br />“Communicating and not communicating leading to a study of certain opposites” (1963)<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-59704539305977289722012-08-26T00:01:00.000-04:002013-04-18T03:20:55.504-04:00a + b<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C0zh-GHyYvM/UDBl3h5bmTI/AAAAAAAADJk/kW1XQs2MRdA/s1600/girl%2Bdeer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="803" width="535" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C0zh-GHyYvM/UDBl3h5bmTI/AAAAAAAADJk/kW1XQs2MRdA/s800/girl%2Bdeer.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://eviscerateyoungcaptain.tumblr.com/post/13173917497">Eviscerate, Young Captain</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-31933056845807708462012-08-23T00:01:00.000-04:002012-08-23T03:21:58.811-04:00The Question of Meaning<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>So I live with this paradox—on the one hand, I am an important poet, read by younger writers, and on the other hand, nobody understands me. I am often asked to account for this state of affairs, but I can’t.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/3014/the-art-of-poetry-no-33-john-ashbery">John Ashbery</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-6523748432581530872012-08-20T00:01:00.000-04:002012-08-20T01:33:27.878-04:00The Human Animal<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ek4936sDRuQ/UDBgN_hudzI/AAAAAAAADIw/V9W2aMdr1sI/s1600/didier%2Billouz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="665" width="475" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ek4936sDRuQ/UDBgN_hudzI/AAAAAAAADIw/V9W2aMdr1sI/s800/didier%2Billouz.jpg" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://frenchtwist.tumblr.com/post/4312482985/antoine-2-by-didier-illouz">Didier Illouz</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-15666271262948731072012-08-19T00:01:00.000-04:002013-04-30T15:24:13.142-04:00Like I don’t know the moment I Google “statute of limitations” and “[redacted]” a little bell will go off in the nearest police station.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-83662393473203978882012-08-10T00:01:00.000-04:002012-08-12T02:05:19.690-04:00the I-that-is / the I-that-is-other<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-swY38gSivPI/UCSr_cMVJhI/AAAAAAAADGU/E7fPY3-cJ-k/s1600/the%2Bi%2Bthat%2Bis%2Bother.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="622" width="550" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-swY38gSivPI/UCSr_cMVJhI/AAAAAAAADGU/E7fPY3-cJ-k/s800/the%2Bi%2Bthat%2Bis%2Bother.jpg" /></a></div><br />source?<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-39310956174302491672012-08-09T00:01:00.000-04:002012-08-09T01:29:01.283-04:00TWO YEARS LATER<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>The hollow eyes of shock remain<br />Electric sockets burnt out in the<br /> skull.<br /><br />The beauty of men never disappears<br />But drives a blue car through the<br /> stars.<br /><br /><a href="http://epc.buffalo.edu/authors/wieners/">John Wieners</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-89654853848437165282012-08-08T00:01:00.000-04:002012-08-12T02:05:01.582-04:00the I-that-is / the I-that-is-other<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yG6gaRXmPcI/UCIBS9UNHDI/AAAAAAAADF0/LJNFVhwMofU/s1600/i%2Bthat%2Bis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="521" width="600" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yG6gaRXmPcI/UCIBS9UNHDI/AAAAAAAADF0/LJNFVhwMofU/s800/i%2Bthat%2Bis.jpg" /></a></div><br />source?<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-57434427121066893202012-08-05T00:01:00.000-04:002012-08-05T03:35:24.008-04:00dialogues with the dead<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div>Without sound, Parry said, “Hello, George.”<br /><br />Without sound Fellsinger said, “Hello, Vince.”<br /><br />“Are you dead, George?”<br /><br />“Yes. I’m dead?”<br /><br />“Why are you dead, George?”<br /><br />“I can’t tell you, Vince. I wish I could tell you but I can’t.”<br /><br />“Who did it, George?”<br /><br />“I can’t tell you, Vince. Look at me. Look what happened to me. Isn’t it awful?”<br /><br />“George, I didn’t do it. You know that.”<br /><br />“Of course, Vince. Of course you didn’t do it.”<br /><br />“George, you don’t really believe I did it.”<br /><br />“I know you didn’t do it.”<br /><br />“They’ll say I killed you.”<br /><br />“Yes, Vince. That’s what they’ll say.”<br /><br />“But I didn’t do it, George.”<br /><br />“I know, Vince. I know you didn’t do it. I know who did it but I can’t tell you because I’m dead.”<br /><br />“George, can I do anything for you?”<br /><br />“No. You can’t do a thing for me. I’m dead. Your friend George Fellsinger is dead.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2012/jun/21/so-deep-dark/?pagination=false">David Goodis</a>, Dark Passage<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3546367795607656685.post-91445221318499564582012-08-04T00:01:00.000-04:002013-04-17T22:31:52.646-04:00The Parts of the Body<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mMeter12UP4/UAOlEaYZylI/AAAAAAAADEY/nSn7dahzbQA/s1600/red%2Blips.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="699" width="500" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mMeter12UP4/UAOlEaYZylI/AAAAAAAADEY/nSn7dahzbQA/s800/red%2Blips.png" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://blog.yimmyayo.com/post/12881392535">Yimmy’s Yayo</a><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0