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THE BLAST APEX - New album from AKP now available!

Posted 7 July 2006, 6.29 am by Alexander

AKP's new album The Blast Apex

Most of you will already know that AKPCEP.com was devised as an online extension of the band AKP (http://www.akp.org.uk) - if you didn't, there's an interesting bit of history for you. AKP is a four-piece alternative rock/pop act from the UK, for which I'm the lead singer, guitarist and songwriter. We rock.

Well - exciting news. After almost 2 years of work the new album THE BLAST APEX is finished and ready to ship. If you want to get your hands on a copy, and directly support up and coming unsigned talent without paying a tariff to the record companies, or iTunes and their ilk, you can buy it direct from the band website HERE:

http://www.akp.org.uk/index.php?page=buy

The 10 track album is only 8GBP including shipping anywhere in the world. It will be available as a download shortly, but we're working on that, and we realise a lot of people like having a physical CD they can then rip themselves. It's worth pointing out this is a commercially duplicated CD with full colour 4-page booklet - it's the shiznit, and it sounds good too!

If you've never heard the band check out our myspace, where there's samples of songs from the album:

http://www.myspace.com/akpcep

Please support hardworking unsigned talent (that's me) and get some kickass music into the bargain!

Alexander

Excerpt from 'Better cooking for better lives'

Posted 22 June 2006, 7.30 pm by justanotherstudent

NORTH AFRICAN VEGETABLE TAGINE:

To make the Tagine, you will need:

2 Red Peppers 1 cup Chick Peas
2 Medium Carrots ½ Cup Brown Lentils
6 Baby Onions 2 Tomatoes (finely chopped)
1 Bunch of Corriander 1 Cinnamon Stick
Ginger 2 Cups Vegetable Stock
Paprika

Rice
1 pint vegetable stock

Serves 4

Tagine is a North African dish (see picture opposite). This exotic dish will go down well at an intimate dinner party! Or why not use it as a distraction, lose yourself in the technicalities of the culinary arts. Cook 150g (10oz) rice with the vegetable stock. Chop the onions and sauté them with in vegetable oil with the garlic and ginger for one minute.

Wash the Peppers and Aubergine and wash the carrots and remove the skin. Do not remove the skin from the peppers and aubergine.

Cut the aubergine into chunks, about 1 in (2.54 cm) cubed. Roast the chunks with the peppers (intact) at 220 C (Gas Mark 8) for 20 minutes.

Remove the aubergine chunks. Did you pierce them with a fork before roasting them? If not, they will be puffed and white, rather than flattened as they should be. They will look good but will be full of bitter juice. You should have pierced them with a fork and pressed them before roasting. What was distracting you? This book assumes a certain level of cooking skill.

Take the chunks out (hot). You must remove the juices. Squeeze each chunk (soft). You will be surprised: An endless amount of hot, bitter juices will spill over your hands, turning your chopping board into a sea (small).

Do not be horrified by this mess. You forgot to prick the aubergines. You clearly need to let go (badly). As you press, each chunk will collapse down, shrivelled, ugly, tasty, ready for the tagine. As each chunk explodes like a bubble / cloud, you will marvel. The vegetable is full of soft, tuberous channels. They are designed to hold the bitter juices, but also to release them when needed, like birth channels (see picture below magnified 1000 x).

Hot tears will spill down your face. Let them go, for 2 minutes (120 seconds). You don’t need a tagine. You need a rest.

Have a burger.

Fuck it, have two. (See picture overleaf).

The Echoes of an Idiot

Posted 8 June 2006, 3.00 pm by HockeyGod

It's a dead end for everyone
we all end up the same
lying underground, 6 feet down
with the gods of yesterday

It's a lonely broken hearted feeling
like yelling down a hole
you keep driving not realizing
that you're on a nowhere road

Nothing really works, yeah you broke it
not sure what to do, can you hold it?
I don't wanna do it anymore
maybe can you tell me what it's for?

tell yourself these things that feel good
tell yourself you do the things you should.
but don't tell me, I don't wanna know
Don't tell me I'll find it on my own.

Don't tell me, I don't wanna know.
Some hands you just can't fold.
There's a reason for everything
A reason that I'm better off alone.

We've come too far I'm almost at myself
can't turn back now, can't give up on me
we can take this road to nowhere
and ride it to forever; ride until we're free.

Nothing really works, it's broken.
lying, cheating, praying, working, hoping.
I don't wanna do it anymore
maybe can you tell me what it's for?

tell yourself these things that feel good
tell yourself you do the things you should.
but don't tell me, I already know
Don't tell me, I know the way it goes.

Don't waste your breath
I found out long ago
Staring in the distance
and yelling down a hole

But there's no one out there
and no one's yelling back.
the only voice to be heard
is the echo of an idiot.

The wand

Posted 29 May 2006, 5.07 pm by justanotherstudent

I won’t bore you with the story of how we got the wand, I’ll cut to the chase: My girlfriend and I sweating – well I am - nervously as we prepare to, in our own way, break the first law of long-term relationships.

In old wives speak it is: “You can marry them, but you can’t change them” or “love the one you’re with”, in modern talk it is all about “respecting the individual.”

Kulwant goes first. She takes the wand and closes her eyes. Her hands are comically arched, unknowingly theatrical, but I see that her face is calm and I realise, just before the pain hits, that she is more ready for this than me. Don’t be like this, I think: calculating, more prepared than I am. And of course it is thoughts like this that explain why we have the wand in the first place.

That is all I have time to think before –

BAM!

- the muscles around my knees, thighs and lower back explode together like a standing ovation: I am glad that she got me to bite on a tea towel. But the pain is just instantaneous and that’s it, I’m two inches taller… taller than she is now. I take a deep breath and… Shit! New lungs! I don’t know why, but it feels like the first breath of my life. Maybe, because… I’m taller… so, more oxygen demand? Sickened dizzily for a second, I imagine new capillaries racing through my flesh like questing sperm.

I’m breathing heavily, she has her eyes open now and she’s breathing heavily so neither of us can talk. Good. I want to do this before I change my mind. I hold, I point, I think – we both think, that’s how we’ve been told to do it - and it is done.

Her change is more subtle. All she wants, to begin with, is to be more toned. I can’t honestly tell myself that she looks greatly different but she is feeling her arms and going ‘oooh’ so I guess it worked. She drags herself away from her tightened skin and looks me in the eyes.
‘Sure?’ she says.
The next bit is delicate, see? We had agreed not to change faces and genitals but I have always envied her knack with languages. I nod. Now I’ll feel like less of a prick on holidays.

This is the point where it goes hazy for me. I’m on the floor… I’m naked… certain parts of my anatomy that we had talked about not changing have changed and… I’m a lawyer. God! I’m a lawyer! I don’t know how I know, but I know! I put my hands to my face. My face has changed! I thought she liked my face!

But, mainly: I’m a lawyer! Some big-shot city wanker no doubt!

‘So my job wasn’t good enough for you?’ I say and something seems to catch in my throat. To give her her due, she looks shocked.

I snatch the wand from her in anger and I then get an idea of just how much trouble that wand is.

It is wrist-bendingly alive in my hands. Everything I really want in a girlfriend jumps to the front of my mind.

Notasteinmusictooserioustoohungrysometimesnotblonde is what I remember of it.

BAM!

She is crying. She is also naked. I feel awful and want to hold her immediately, but can’t because, (and here is the main thing), she is Cameron Diaz.

She is Cameron Diaz’s face on Cameron Diaz’s body.

Obviously, all the physical elements are there: 5’11” tall, the latin-like body, the wide and open face. But apart from that I know she is Cameron Diaz, as well as still being Kulwant. She has starred in Gangs of New York. She has even recently returned from holidaying in Guadelope and has the tan to boot.

And at the same time she is also my girlfriend, who cooks muttar paneer badly, is a member of the RSPB and who secretly bites her own toenails.

Weird.

We have the mother of all rows (I christen my new face with some tears of my own), but are deadlocked as to what to do next. We are no longer ourselves. We aren’t nobodies: we are half-different people. Not that my empathy with Kulwant/Cameron’s position stops us rowing. I remember once my anger at my parents when they tricked me into drinking hated milk by adding syrup to it. Now, my girlfriend and me berate each other with the same hang-on-for-dear-life effrontery in the face of naked facts. The most naked fact being that half of each of us wants us to stay how we are.

Even as I am calling my girlfriend every name under the sun, I know it is thanks to the stamina of my new tar-free lungs (I realise now why that first breath felt so different).

Of course, the realisation eventually comes as to what we should be saving our energies for: panicking. Panicking about the details: How do I get a new passport? Will I have an inhuman urge for muttar paneer? How will she avoid being recognised everywhere she goes?

In the months that follow, I see nothing of Kulwant / Cameron. It doesn’t matter, because every attempt I make to worm my way back into my old life is doomed. I guess you could say my heart isn’t in it. I don’t want to be just the old me. The old me wanted to change people. The new me is too busy working out if all along I just wanted to change my life.

It is a milestone for me when I cave in and walk into the law firm, where apparently I have worked for several years. No one questions my ‘absence’ and my colleagues’ acceptance clothes me like a stripper’s Velcro pants in reverse. Of course, I know my trade inside-out as soon as I walk through the door: I am an ambulance chaser, a personal claims specialist, something I have always detested, but I am surprised to find that I now enjoy. There is something about sticking it to big institutions that appeals to my old sense of perverseness. At parties, when people make unconsciously negative faces at me, I say that because of people like me no bureaucrat can ever shrug their shoulders and say ‘That’s just the way it is’. Those smug gits can’t ignore the smallest complaint nowadays, and if so-called ‘undeserving’ people profit from this, well so what? We can’t have everything in life exactly as we want it, I say.

Like most converts I am evangelical and, as a result, do well. Life outside London is sweet when you have enough money, I find.

It is easy, even without trying, to track Kulwant / Cameron. As I suspected, she isn’t just a clone: she is the real thing. Like me she seems to accept her fate, so I catch inch high fragments of her life in the tabloids, especially when her new film comes out. I flatter myself that I at least picked a fairly good fit for my hybrid ex-girlfriend, because she copes well with the transition, using the actress’s well known capricious and kooky side to stay away from publicity as much as possible.

But I am surprised when she calls me: She is visiting London and wondering if I want to meet up. Not in our old stamping ground (Kenton) but in Holland Park, for a meal. My mouth is suddenly dry, before I say… ‘yes’.

Of course, it is very predictable: We are very nearly made for each other. At the end of the meal I say:
“You’ve got it all, and I’ve got it bad.”
A cheesy line, of the kind that she had never precviously owned up to liking… but obviously did.
We move in together a couple of months later, very much in love. We had metaphorically as well as physically thrown away the wand a long time ago: More than any other couple we know not to meddle with each other, and so we have an idyllic love life.

I’ll tell you what though, you wouldn’t believe how much of a slob Cameron Diaz is around the house sometimes. Toenail clippings in the bath! We’ll have to put a stop to that.

Your Website Is Not Useful

Posted 19 May 2006, 2.20 pm by HockeyGod

I want to talk about a simple truth that many webmasters and business owners can't grasp: Your Site Sucks

Well ok it doesn't suck, but it's not as good as you think it is. One of the hardest things to do in SEO is to look at your site from the perspective of a searcher. That's why it's a great idea to hire a 3rd party company, they're not attached to your site in any way. They have no feelings to hurt.

I wanted to talk about a company who fired me after I said I couldn't make their "contact us" page rank for a software related term, but I feel it'd be better if I use a fictional example.

John owns a chimney sweeping company, and he's really frustrated that he can't get on the front page of Google for "chimney sweeping".

John's done his SEO, he's traded links, got listed in all the good directories, put out press releases, wrote articles, has a blog and a newsletter, updates his content frequently, and has a good pagerank, and even an affiliate program, but he just can't crack the top page of Google.

Eventually John gives up and buys adwords, then swears it's a Google conspiracy to force him into buying adwords. He even makes a post on Matt Cutts blog accusing Google of unfailry not raking his "useful" site.

The problem here is that while John's site IS useful, it's NOT useful to somebody searching for "chimney sweeping".

Let's look at the top results, and we see this: National association of, how to, training school, job profile, and how to find a chimney sweep.

These are useful sites. Why? the term "chimney sweeping" implies that the searcher is looking for information about the topic, NOT a chimney sweeping company. If they were, they'd have searched for "chimney sweep boston" or "chimney sweeping company" etc etc. These are the terms John should focus on if he wants to show up on page 1.

Since John never did his research, and couldn't look at his site from the perspective of a searcher, he wasted months optimizing for terms that he really shouldn't be a top result for.

That's what SEO is about. It's not about tricking the search engines or writing code to make your site better than others. It's about anticipating what somebody is searching for, and then building a site that is relevant to that search - from the searcher's perspective.

To Believe, Or Not To Believe

Posted 30 April 2006, 11.21 pm by Villager

Few of you, if any, will believe what you are about to read. I don't blame you; I probably wouldn't believe me either. I am conscious that what I've written doesn't really do justice to what happened, but that's my limit as a writer. I did my best. This is what happened, a few days gone...

My landlord is a nice chap. We'll call him Li. A builder by trade, he lets me do casual labour for him whenever I need some extra money. On one such occasion, after a day spent reconstructing a garden wall, he gets a call as we're driving back. He says that there is an emergency at his sister's, and asks if I mind coming with him (as it was much closer than my home). I assent. He doesn't explain the nature of the emergency beyond saying that his sister (who we'll call Sonia) has been having some health problems.

We arrive, and an elderly woman, who I presume to be his mother, tells Li that Sonia is in her bedroom. He walks towards the door, and beckons me to follow. I suggest that it might be better for me to wait outside. 'Don't be silly. She knows you.' This wasn't really true as I had only met her briefly, but reluctantly I agree, assuming the emergency to be mild. Sonia is lying in her bed, and doesn't acknowledge our presence. Their mother gives me a chair, which I sit on just away from the end of the bed; the mother sits at the edge of the room, her face gaunt. I anticipate some sort of conventional medical problem, and sit awkwardly in silence as Li leaves and re-enters, bringing a handful of items with him, water and a book among them. This strikes me as a little odd, but nothing further. He approaches the bed.

'Sonia?' he demands sternly. I begin to wonder what could be the cause of such a greeting, when I am startled by her sudden movement. She flips her body to face him, staring intently, her body tense and contorted.

'What are you doing here? I thought I told you never to come back?'

At this she smiles, a sickly smile, and her eyes gleam. I wonder what on earth I'm doing there, and glance over at her mother, face in her hands, tears in her eyes.

'Hold her legs'
'What?'
'Just do it. I don’t have time to explain'

I wanted to say no, but against my better judgement I agree, taking a limp hold of her ankles. Her skin is hot.

'What are you doing here? What do you want? I told you never to come back!'

He continues with similar demands for some minutes, the cumulative effect of which is to make her growl and stare ever more intently at him. Images from a dozen movies pass through my mind. I find the situation scary, yet am not really fearful; I never realised I was so desensitised.

I notice that her irises are become green, where I remembered them brown. They remind my of snakes' eyes – cold, intent, and filled with purpose. Her stare switches to me. An icy cold sensation passes through my body, and I suddenly feel very vulnerable, there at the end of the bed holding her legs. Li sees my discomfort, and begins to chant in a language I don't understand. This pacifies her somewhat, and she becomes still, her still green eyes falling blank, almost sad. Tortured. This continues for what seems like about half an hour, with little effect. As I come to terms with the reality of the situation, I feel angry at Li for bringing me into it. I suppose I did agree, though.

For the first time her eyes close. Li tries to wake her, and she opens her eyes. They're brown. She looks scared, like a child who's just seen something terrifying, and thinks it's coming back. Her eyes beg for help. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Her expression rapidly becomes more pained, and in a few seconds her eyes shift to green once more. I begin to do another reality check, but am interrupted by a piercing scream unlike anything I've ever heard, so loud that my ears hurt. More like the scream of a wild creature than a human, but not quite animal either. I feel my muscles fall limp, and react by taking a firmer grip of her ankles for the first time. Her skin is so hot.

I become conscious that Li has resumed chanting, and it occurs to me that it doesn't seem like he knows what he’s doing, which was the most worrying realisation up to that point. She resumes growling, as though speaking but unable to use words. I am reminded of the way cats behave when cornered.

'You don’t like that, do you? You'd better worry, because that's nothing compared to what's waiting for you. Do you not fear God?'

The growling subsides, she is silent for a while and then begins to emit a deep groan, which turns into a weird, siren-like scream. Fucking hell. When is this going to end? She begins to thrash around, and I struggle to keep her legs pinned. Li resumes chanting, louder than before, and her movement becomes increasingly violent and wild. Distracted by the force of her movements, I hear a shriek from her mother who I had forgotten about. I don’t really begin to process this when I return my sight to the bed to witness the most terrifying thing I've ever seen.

Up until that point I had been disturbed and not a little worried, but I hadn't reached a point of uncontrollable fear. There was an unnerving sense of not really being there. Everything was real enough, but I think I had suspended belief of my senses, pending further inquiry. But at that instant reality came rushing back, a sudden and violent realisation charging through every part of my body and mind, such that I felt I might lose my grip on existence.

What I saw was her body rise unaided from the bed, anchored only by my grip on her ankles. Terrified, I tightened my grip far beyond what I could have done in any other situation. Yet it was as nothing. As her body thrashed around, her flailing legs broke all my resistance to her movement, and I realised I was having no effect. I let go, the realisation of futility overriding conscious will. I dropped to the floor, sweaty and limp. Li has been chanting all the while, and I become aware of it once more. His pace and volume increase, and so do the speed and violence of her contortions. Her movements look uncontrollable, spasmodic, yet her torso hardly seems to move from its axis, like a bird in flight.

She drops to the bed, lifeless. Immediately I think her dead, and Li seems to also, as he rushes to revive her. After some minutes where I believe it all to be over, the growling resumes, her eyes open, still green yet fiery and violent. Li says a few words and presses the book he has been holding onto her face with some violence. She screams again, louder and more desperately, so angry and so unearthly that it feels like it might tear the fabric of reality. It doesn’t. It stops. He removes the book and opens her closed eyes, her body still. They are blank, but brown. She comes around, and, as though realising what has just happened, bursts into tears. After what has happened, her wailing is blissfully soothing, reassuringly human.

'It hasn’t been that bad before. I’m glad you were here'. I wasn’t.

He dropped me off, and didn't mention the event again. I didn't ask. For all that I 'know' that it happened, I'm still not sure if I believe that it did. I didn't ask Li about it because I know what his answer would be. Believing experiences should be a simple matter, with sensory perception leading to belief. But when empirical evidence contradicts your prior beliefs about the world, what do you do? You cannot dismiss one without undermining the other, and trying to reconcile them means accepting that not a single thing that you have ever believed is beyond doubt. This may be an obvious and sensible attitude from a scientific point of view, but would science admit my experience? I do believe it happened, because I witnessed it and have no substantive reason to believe that it was an illusion. Even so, it necessarily constitutes an act of 'faith'. Do we really ever have the choice of believing or disbelieving?

In cold retrospect, it doesn't seem so strange anymore. After all, if I'm sure, what does it matter if nobody believes me?

Forum Upgrade Imminent

Posted 30 April 2006, 10.29 am by Alexander

After a couple of security breaches mainly due to the fact that the version of the forum software we've been using is hideously old, I've decided to upgrade the Shed to the latest version of Invision Board.

Those of you who have used IPB elsewhere will know what a powerful and feature packed bit of kit it is, and by purchasing a license, I'll get constant upgrades and support, which will of course help with reliability, security and bugfixing.

However, it's not free! So if you'd like to contribute some cash towards paying for the license, it would be much appreciated. Any amount, no matter how small, would be a great help.

Please paypal to admin at akpcep dot com

Cheers!

Alexander

Blue Hallway

Posted 13 March 2006, 11.36 pm by Catcher

Where was it? Are you sure? So, wait a minute, what did it look like again? This is a piece so normal looking, so understated, so innocently deceitful, that no-one else had even noticed it. Blue Hallway (2000) by James Casebere, is in strictly materialistic terms, a photograph on paper, mounted on plexiglass. Superficially it's a flooded hallway, with water rising two thirds of the way up neo-classical door frames; a shaft of sunlight illuminating the scene and throwing a reflection into the slightly rippled water. In this setting, hanging in a comfortably sized space, giving its six foot by four foot stature a sense of imposition without overstatement. However, this simplicity of appearance is not all it seems. Of course, we all know the camera never lies, or rather we know the saying, where as the reality is quite different, in fact, the opposite. Far from the camera never lying, it does in fact rarely tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It can not. The medium is too narrow, too short, too fast to capture the multitude of perspectives, of angles, of emotive effects to encapsulate the truth. At best as a medium it can aspire to a truth, (can any medium or indeed person ever aspire to anything more?) that of the photographer in skilled hands, or the chance truth of mechanics and chemistry in the hands of the snap shooter.

Casebere holds this fallacy of the camera's ability for honest recording up to the light for inspection by presenting the audience with a feasible scene, believable lighting and a seemingly transparent end product. Only it's not real. The hallway exists as a structural part of no building (although based on the architecture of Philips Academy, Andover, Massachusetts), the sunlight is a studio lamp and the water is resin. The scene, although feasible, is completely fabricated.

But is it a lie? Granted, without the assistance of the museum information boards, or background research into Casebere's motives, the audience is almost certain to believe the scene is of an actual hallway. But does this deception, or to turn the tables, ignorant misinterpretation, create a lie? After all, Casebere's photograph is an accurate representation of a physical form. His model existed, and the representation has not been artificially altered through any analogue or digital editing. However, the fact remains that he image is not what it seems.

A further question is 'does it matter?' It can be assumed that Casebere intended to create a particular effect, a mood, perhaps a range of responses in his audience and as such, what weight does the concept of truth carry? As with Robert Capa's 'Loyalist Militiaman and the Moment of Death, Cerro Muriano, September 5th, 1936' the relevance of the authenticity of the image can be surpassed insurmountably by the impact upon its audience.

The fact that Casebere has created a piece so comfortable, despite its irregular scene, that it can be passed by owes to a number of factors. Firstly, the fact a current audience has since the piece's creation, bore witness to a barrage of flood images internationally with hurricane Katrina in the USA and a nationally within Britain due to the numerous floods around the country since the start of the century. However, on a more artistic level, his naturalistic style, using seemingly natural light and a deep focus encourages the viewer to see where they wish, or at least where they feel they wish as the eye is invariably attracted to the lightest point. That point by no coincidence appears dead centre in the form of a tapered column of brilliant white, that is bordered by an encroaching collection of grey and black shadow. Furthermore, his choice of neo-classical architecture provides a western audience with forms and shapes almost ubiquitously familiar; and finally, and perhaps most subtlety, his use of two pieces of plexiglass to mount the piece. The result is of a dividing horizontal line exactly half way up photograph. The effect is a slight cheapening, a sense of unimportance to the work - after all, it's not even mounted properly. But to take the assumption that this was a deliberate addition, rather than a crude lack of attention to finishing, it can be observed that the horizontal plexiglass join, and the brilliant white column of light create a cross at the centre of the piece. This not only guides the audience's eyes, but symbolically draws upon religious overtones through the cross of Christ. Further to this the cross could also provide a militaristic link with a cross hair.

Within the piece symbolism can be drawn in a number of places. The dark and light interplay can be read as a classic good and evil connotation, but more broadly toward any opposites, with acknowledgment of the grey areas suggesting transition or furthermore that no issue is simply black and white. The fact Casebere's model was based on a boarding school brings the consideration of the light as a representation of the innocence of childhood, shining brightly amid the encroaching blackness of experience and adulthood. Or also, the haven of a small institution of packed full of innocence surrounded by the threatening dark uncertainties of the outside world. Casebere's use of light and dark in this way opens the piece up to a multitude of interpretations playing to any one viewer’s personal associations, connotations and memories.

Blue Hallway is a deeply emotive work, with resonance and a seductive openness to interpretation. However, this has been achieved in such a way that to the casual observer, all of the above can be skim read, half processed or simply unnoticed or ignored by an audience immune or perhaps ignorant to such subtleties of meaning, such possibility, through their numbing daily exposure to media imagery. As I sat, observed and took notes for twenty minutes, I witnessed no less than a hundred patrons of the arts, culture consumers, members of the masses do just this.

James Casebere's Blue Hallway

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Doggybag/baggy_dog is an artist living and working in Barga, Italy. Click here to read about this piece in his own words.


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80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

Yo ! Does this work ?

* Alexander wonders if this still works

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