Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dios Dormer  Apr 2015
Ode to Joel
Dios Dormer Apr 2015
JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOEL
JOEL JOEL

JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOEL
JOEL JOEL

L JOEL JOEL
JOEL L JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOELOEL JL JOEL JOEL JO
EL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOEL JEL J
JOE JOEL

L JOEL JOEL

JOEL L JOEL JO
EL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOELOEL JL JOEL JOEL JO
EL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOEL JEL JL JOEL JOEL
JOEL L JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
ARE YOU REALLY JOEL
JOELOEL JL JOEL JOEL JO
EL JOEL JOEL JOEL JOEL
JOEL JEL E JOEL
JOE JOEL

E͝L̈ ̭̳ͥJ̡OͦE͖L᷾ ͎JͨO᷉E͐Ļ ͦJ͒O̐E̚L̳ ͋J͕O͖E͕L᷇ ᷊JͬȮẼL̊ ̄J̳ĖL̇ ͡J̶ͫ᷅L͉
͟JͬO͑ḘL᷊̤̄᷾ͭ ̇J᷊OͥEͣL͢ ̵J͊O̻E͢L̴̸̆ ᷁L͠ ̆J̒ỎE᷄L̋᷈͛ ̟J̉O̭᷈̑E̍L̲ ͘JͮO̱E͚L̜ ̯J̰O͘E͊L̀ ̧̪᷅̏͘J͘OͬE̦L̝ ̓J̑Õ̧ͯE᷄L̎ ̺J̯ÓE͜L̒ ̟J̾O̔EͅLͩO᷂ÈL͚ ̑J̌L͡ ̤J᷾O͑E͐L͘ ͡J̧O̟E̗Lͯ ͣJ̟Oͭ ͙E͢L͓ ̪J̨O͆E̶Ḻ ̬JͪÒ̠᷀᷁᷀ĘL̇ ̑J͓O̯
E̪L͌ ̪̾̇J͗OͫE͉L̏E͝L̈ ̭̳ͥJ̡OͦE͖L᷾ ͎JͨO᷉E͐Ļ ͦJ͒O̐
E̚L̳ ͋J͕O͖E͕L᷇ ᷊JͬȮẼL̊ ̄J̳ĖL̇ ͡J̶ͫ᷅L͉ ͟JͬO͑ḘL᷊̤̄᷾ͭ ̇J᷊OͥEͣL͢ ̵J͊O̻E͢L̴̸̆ ᷁L͠ ̆J̒ỎE᷄L̋᷈͛ ̟J̉O̭᷈̑E̍L̲ ͘JͮO̱E͚L̜ ̯J̰O͘E͊L̀ ̧̪᷅̏͘J͘OͬE̦L̝ ̓J̑Õ̧ͯE᷄L̎ ̺J̯ÓE͜L̒ ̟J̾O̔EͅLͩO᷂ÈL͚ ̑J̌L͡ ̤J᷾O͑E͐L͘
͡J̧O̟E̗Lͯ ͣJ̟Oͭ ͙E͢L͓ ̪J̨O͆E̶Ḻ ̬JͪÒ̠᷀᷁᷀ĘL̇ ̑J͓O̯E̪L͌ ̪̾̇J͗OͫE͉L̏

Ę̏͝L̈̔̚ ̸̭̳̺ͬ̋ͥJ̡̼̉O᷃ͦ̔E̜͖ͯL̛᷾͟ ͎͉͢J̧̬ͨO̗᷉͂E̛̙͐Ļ̦ͭ ̸̼ͦJ͙͒ͦO͈̐᷾E͓̅̚L̳̳̒ ᷉͋ͥJ͕̐͞O͉͖ͫE͕͒᷈L᷿̱᷇ ̧᷊̥J̴̰ͬȮ̺̏E᷄̃̋L̂̊̌ ̳͆̄J͓̳̙Ë̇͜
L̡̇͛ ͔̣͡J̶̖̱ͫͤ̇᷅L͉̽̐ ̡̓͟J̼̽ͬǪ͎͑Ḙ̣̌L᷊̼̹̤᷉̈́̄᷾ͭ̃̎ ̨ͯ̇J̺᷊̳Ǫͥ̈́E̶᷉ͣL̫͙͢ ̵̠͒J̞͛͊Ö̼̻E̵̻͢L̴̸͎͙̆̒̚ ̬͛᷁L̙̃͠ ̟̿̆J̨̒̿Ỏ͚᷀E᷃᷄͡L̴̨̰̰̋᷈͛ ͖̟̠J̗̉̚O̭̅̓᷈ͧ̑̑E̸̵̍L̲̥͡ ̫͋͘J̰ͮͅŐ̴̱E̥͚̝L̜᷃͟ ̝̯̟J̰̈́̾O̪͎͘É͙͊L̓̀᷆ ̧̪͔̲ͨ᷅̏͘͘͜͞J᷿͘̚O̯ͬ͟E̦̮͆L̦̝̞ ͂̓᷁J̖̳̑Ò̧̃ͫͯ̄̕E̠̥᷄L̓̎ͨ ̺̻᷉J̯̈̓Ó̴̃E̱͜͏L̿̒͆ ̵̟᷀J͓̾͜O̺᷁̔ẼͅͅL̃ͩͯO̵᷂᷾Eͦ̀͒L̼͚̔
͖̾̑J̸̌ͧL̙͛͡ ̤ͩ᷄J̏᷾̿O̡͑͝E̞᷿͐L̤̋͘ ̟᷁͡J̧̔̕O͏̟͜E᷿̗̯L̊ͯ̑ ̏ͣ͡J̵̟͝O͆ͭ͛ ̢͙͟Ẻ͊͢L͓̾͢ ̪ͩ͞J̨ͣͯO͈͖͆E̶̬̍Ḻ̝᷆ ̴̧̬J̶̛ͪ
Ò̢̰̪̠ͧ᷀᷁̑᷀ͮĘͥ͋Lͩ̇ͭ ̳̑ͧJ̵͚͓Ő̯̈́E̸̪᷅
L᷅͌͌ ̪̹ͧ̓̾̇ͣJ̴̶͗O̖͖ͫE̮͉̎L̬̏̒
L̸̸̤̑᷃̇̑ ̢̱͇̑̾̑̿J̎̑͗͏̒̑᷀Ọ͙̼ͭ̑͑̑Ȇ̥̬̞́̑͡Ḻ̵̙̑̍̑̔ ̷̙̱̑ͤ̊̑J̭͆̑̉̑᷅͢O̵͎ͨ̑̎̑̕E̛᷊ͭ̑̏̋̑L̨͙̑̏̑̕͡ ̗̤̑᷄̑̚͝J̥᷀̑ͪ᷆̑ͦO̥͕̒̑᷾̋̑Ė͕̞̑᷄̈́̑L̢͔̑ͮ̈ͤ̑
̲͖̄̑ͪ̑᷃Ļ̷̑́̈̑᷀ ̥̟̌̑ͪͬ̑J̡͉̑̔̑͢͡Ȏ̷̗̀̔̑̏E̎̑᷅̓̑͘ͅḶ̑ͮͫ̉̑᷇ ̷̟̑̑̀͘͞J̖᷅̑̈́̿̑͘Ǫ̘᷿͚̑ͩ̑Ȇ̼̯͚ͤ͒̑L̤̑̈᷅̑̑̈ ̘̝̑͏̘̋̑J͏̨̑ͦ᷅̑᷇Ơ͍͓ͦ̑ͭ̑Ȩ͕͎̑̽̑᷅L̖̤᷂̑̓̑̏ ͓̟͚̑̍̑͢J̰͍̝̑̑̑ͪO̪̳͈͂̑̑ͨE̬͉̭᷄̑ͤ̑
L̵̻̀̑̈͒̑ ̨̞̲̖̝̟̱̺̰̑̑̑͛̑ͯJ̠̑ͥ̂̑̉̚Ȏ̤̻ͨ̾̑ͩḘ̴̬̽̑̅̑L̡̩̞̮̜̑̑ ̳̦̱̥̑̂̑J̷̢̬̪̑̒̑Ȏ̬̰̰̑᷾̕Ȇ̛̝̤̪̉̑L̸̖̣̑̄̑̔ ͉ͦ̑ͪͬ̑̾Jͫ̑̓ͤ͐̑̊Ơ̴̧̆̑͐̑E͎̍̑̐̑ͪ͠L̤̖͗̑ͭ̑͢ ̟̲̪̑̄ͫ̑J͓̭̑᷃̈̑᷇Ȏ̘᷂͚̑̿͝Ȇ̷̵̺᷂̑͛L̸̢͖͂̑͋̑O͂̑̋͏̓̑ͥE̺͔̼̽̑᷆̑L̢̎̑͗̌ͨ̑ ̵̤̬͊̑͌̑J̪̮̓̑̔̑͋L͉̳̑̓̽̑ͧ ͏̑᷈͒ͦ̑̂J͒̑ͧ᷆̑̀͡Ȏ͇᷾̑͂͢͡E͏͔̑̓̎̑ͩḶ͈̑ͭͩ͒̑ ̴̞̑͒͊̑ͅJ̮̘̘̗̑̑͗Ȏ̠̲̟ͨͧ̑Ḛ̶̑ͩͩ̑͡L͔᷆̑͊̑́͜ ̢̩̬̑͒̑᷃J̜᷁̑ͪ̑᷉͝Ȏ̴̝̼͈͇̑ ̤̖̑ͣ̑̆̚E̱͔᷃̑̀̑᷇L͎᷿̑̓̑͆ͅ ̱̓̑ͤ̊̈̑J̶̢͍͉̑͒̑Ȏ̵̜̼͆ͣ̑E͙̒̑͂᷈̑ͫL̰͙͓᷊̑̑͟ ͔͖̑ͩ̾̑̉J̘̜͑̑̍̑͑O̯̓̑̋ͩ̑͜Ȇ͇̲̥͂͊̑L̫̑᷈̉̑̚͠ ͉̈́̑͐͐ͮ̑J̟᷂̞͇̑ͭ̑O̪̊̑̑͐͘͢E̞̬ͯ̑ͭ̑͑L̰̫͋̑̑͌͝ ᷂͔͕̻̑̍̑J̲̣̳͖̑͆̑Ő̹̥̑᷈̑̆Ḙ̴᷊̑͒̑͞L̷̵̟̲̑͌̑ ̧̑̍̑̚͟͞J͖̑́᷉ͩ̑ͥǪ̖̯̜̎̑̑Ȇ̶͕͏̤ͫ̑L̠̞᷂̺̑̿̑ ̵᷊̑͑͊̑ͅJ̪ͧ̑᷃ͦ̑ͧȆ̺᷆᷇̑᷅̕L̪͖͆̑͋ͤ̑ ̡᷿̑̏ͩ̑͢J̳͚̑ͯ̌̑̎L̯᷂̻̦͇̑̑ ̬̼̑͂̉̑̅J̻̑᷾ͮ͊̑᷇O̲᷇̑̈́̑̑᷅

Eͥ̑̓ͧ̑̾͢L̶̷̞̑̒̑͢ ᷂̦̑̏᷆̑̒J̙͕̮̓̑̑̚Ő̑ͪ̎ͮ̑᷄E᷅̑ͤ᷀ͪ̑͋Ļ̢̪̑̆̑͂ ᷿͇̑͋̑͂̚J̥̍̑̋ͨ̑̈́Ọ͙͕͒̑̑̏E̡̎̑̔͌̑᷄L̹͖̬̓̑ͣ̑ ̨̼̑͋᷉̑͐L̻᷿̑̊͂̑᷁ ̭̟̟̑᷁͊̑J̡̛᷿̑ͨ̈̑O̙͗̑̂̑̎͞Ȇ̮̪̬̿̑̌L̜᷅̑͆ͧ̓̑ ̠̑̑̆̚͘͝J̑̈́͋̑͛͜͜Ȏ̵̝̺̪̀̑Ȩ͓̺̑́̋̑L̶̟᷉̑̓̑́ ̣̯̑̾̑̌̚J͔͔̟̑̈̑ͅȎ̷̥̥̃̓̑Ḛ̴᷊᷁̑̊̑L̘ͨ̑͒̑̏̕ ̣̰̼᷉̑ͪ̑J͋̑̃̑̌͡͠Ȏ̻̣̜̉́̑Ȇ̥̘̯̩᷈̑L͖ͪ̑̐ͫ̑ͯ ̛̲̼͗̑̑͡J̛ͧ̑͂̇͑̑Ȏ̴͈͎᷄͒̑Ȇ̝͎ͯ͑̑͏L̩̪̑̋͂̑͋ ̵̑᷁ͬ̀̑͟J͕͉̾̑̿̑ͩƠ̝͚̫̑̑̆Ȇ̞̈́ͭ̑̉͡L̞̫̱̑ͥ̑͟ ̜̑̃̑̔̚͟J̑͢͏̘̑᷇ͅO̖͓͊̑᷅̑ͬ
Ȇ̖̘̺̿ͩ̑L̙̪̲̑̔ͫ̑ ̢ͦ̑̽̑̄͠J͎͖᷃̑᷈ͭ̑O̝᷊ͬ̑͂̈́̑Ę͇̥᷆̑̑̍L͖̓̑̐̄ͦ̑Ȏ̧͇̻ͫ̑̇Ḛ̹ͩ̑͑̑̓L̵̢̥̑᷉̑͜ ̑̔̐̍̑͑͢J̶̑̇́̑͝ͅL͖̰ͨ̑ͫ̑ͅ ̛̟̑ͮ̑̽͜J̦͕ͦ̑ͭ̑͆Ȏ̪͓̈́ͭ̃̑Ȇ͙͚̼ͯ̑᷀L̷͖̺̞̑͌̑ ͙᷀̑᷄᷾ͦ̑J̸͉͉᷅̑᷆̑O̢̟̽̑͛̑͟Ȇ̙̰̏͌̑̔L͕̗̟͉̑᷉̑ ͮ̑̑ͪ̑͗͟J̛̼̑͆̑͑͜O̵̜ͧ̑̄̑͘ ͚͋̑᷈ͥ̑͂E̠͇̎̑ͯ̑ͬL̜̪̑ͩ͋ͩ̑ ̶̷͚̑̑͟͞J̷̮᷊̇̑̊̑Ȏ̭͍̤̮̑͋Ĕ͖̫̮̑ͧ̑L̳̳̦̑͆̑͋ ͈̝͆̑᷆̑͜J̫᷾̑̃͒̑ͣȎ̶̍͐̑᷄͝Ę̖᷆̑̄̑̏L͈̑᷀ͬ̑᷀͜ ̢̩̮͚͈̑̑J͈͛̑̅̐̑͜Ȏ̗͍᷀ͦ̑̑E̴͇ͮ̑᷀̑͡L̖̼̺̑̈́͑̑ ̨̫̱̩̑᷄̑J͗̑ͣ̊᷆̑ͅȎ͍ͧͦ̀̑͢Ȇ̳᷊᷅̾̑̓Ļ̴̡̼̑̑͞ ̹͗̑̽͛̑͝J̸̠̘̑᷉̑̽Ȏ̷̝̻᷉̑̽Ȇ͎̠̍̓̑͡L̷̴͎̭̑ͩ̑ ̦̠̣̌̑̑᷇J͚ͨ̑᷈ͯ̑͞Ȇ̥̦̓͛̑͠Ļ̑ͬ̓̈́̑͟ ̢͓̑̓̑͝͠Ȩ̵᷿̠̽̑̑ ̔̑͛᷈̑᷁͞J̥̩̑̓̿̑͜O̵͔̊̑᷾̑̑Ę̳̈́̑̄̑ͭL̷͔̑ͩ᷀̑͢ ̷͇̑͌̍̑͘J̧̺̑̀᷄̑ͤỌ̡̒̑ͧ̀̑E͎ͫ̑᷄̒̑̋ ̮̂̑᷇̒̑̔J̷̻͕̑͒̑᷉Ȏ̸̳͓̭͐̑E̴ͩ̑̋ͬ̑͋Ḻ᷊̑̂̌̑̉
L̸̸͎̝̤᷿ͬ̀̑ͭ᷃̓̇͗̑ ̸̢̧̱͇̭̽̑̌̑̾̑̿̕͜J̪̯̎̑̾͗͝͏̸̘̒̐̑᷀͘O͚̺̣͇͙͕̼᷊ͭ̑͑᷁̑ͬ͘E̝̥̬̞͉᷉̑͆́͑͗̑͟͡͠L̿­̵̨̱̙᷂̈̑ͦ̂ͪ̍̑̔᷾ ̷̙̱̞̘̥̑̑᷉᷈ͤ᷃̊̑͠J̴̸̨̣̗̭̹͆̑̈́͐̉̑᷅͢O̴̵͎ͨ̑ͯ̎̾ͧ̑̏͐̕͟͞Ę̛᷊̥̼᷊ͭͧ̑̑̏̋̑̒͡Ḷ­̨̼͙̘̫̑̏ͤ̑̓͘̕͡͝ ̤̮̰̗̤͇̮̑᷁̊᷄̑᷁̚͝J̙̥͖͍ͦ᷀̑̌ͫͪ᷆̑ͮͦ͝Ỏ̥̺̥͕̭͕̒̑᷾͐̋͒̑͝Ė̶̸͕̞̑͂᷄̃ͭ̈́̑᷉ͦͅL͌­̸̢̙̬͔̑ͮ͑̈ͤ᷆̑̿̄ ̷̲͖̔̄͐̑̒ͪ͊̒̑᷃͝͞Ļ̷̭̳̪͎̑́̓̈̑̈́᷀͡ͅ ͉̥̖̩͇̟͙̽̌̑̌ͪͬ̑͝J̵̡͉̰̀̑̔̔ͩ̑᷁͢͢͢͡Ơ̷̧̤̗̬͇̘̑̔̀̉̔̑̏E̶̢͙̘͈̎̑̍᷅̓̑ͪ̚͘ͅL͉­̴̣̮̝̑ͮͫͮ̉̈̑ͬ᷇᷉ ̷̞͕̰̟̇̑ͯ̅̑̈́̀ͦ͘͞J̵̷̶̝̖᷅̑̈́᷾̿̏̑̂͘ͅǪ̱̪̘᷿̤͚̀̑̄᷾ͩ̉̑͛Ȇ̢̼̯̯̺᷿̻͚̌ͤ͒̓̑͘L̰­̤̙͎̑̀̈᷅̅̑̑̑ͨ̈͝ ͉̘̦̝̑͒ͅ͏͕̘̋᷀̑᷾̈J͈͏̨̣̹̩̑ͦ̉̋᷅᷇̑᷇̄Ơ̮͍͙͎͓ͦ̄̑᷆ͭ͆̑ͪ͡Ȩ̛͕̭͎̭̽͆̑̑᷄̽᷀̑᷅L̝­̧̖̫̤᷂̑͐̓̅͋̑̏̋͡ ̷̱͓̤̱̫̟̖̘͚͈̑̍̑͢J͈̰̳͍̘̝̤̲̑᷇̑̑᷄ͪ͝O̡̫̪̹̳͈̤̬͂͗̑̆̑ͨ̚Ȩ̦̬̻͉̟̭᷄̑̽ͤ̑͛̉͟L̘­̵̥͖̻̥̀̑̈̾͒͋̑͋͝ ̸̨̗̞̦̲̖̝̟̱̝̺̰̳̦̊̑ͦ̑̽᷈̑̊͛̑͗ͯͦ̚͢͜J̧̪̠͂̑ͪͥ̎̂̑̾̉ͧ̚ͅǪ̺̤̼̻̃̑ͨ̾᷉᷾̑̒ͩ̍E̬­̴̸͎̹̭͈̬͍̽̑ͨ̅̍̑L̡̢̩̞̮᷊̜̆̑͛̓̑̓̿͝ ̶̳̦̱̥͓᷇ͦ̑᷁̂̂̑̾ͅ
J̷̢̨̝̬̪̑͌̐̒̀̊̑̅͜Ó̦̬̳̰̺̰͚̆̑̑᷾̕͘͜Ȩ̸̡̛̝̻̤̪̑᷃̉᷀̑͛͢L­̸̛̠̺̖̩̣̮̉̑̄̌̑̔͠ ̡͉̱ͩͦ̏̑᷉ͪ̀ͬ̑ͥ̾͝J͉ͫ᷀̑̓͟͏͎͇ͤ͐̑̒̊̾Ơ̴̧̥̜̝̹̆̑͐ͮͯ̑ͥ̕E̸̗͎͎͇̍̑ͭͧ̐̑ͪ᷾͘͠L̆­͉̠̤͖̖͗̑̋ͭ᷆̑᷈̕͢ ̟̹̲᷂͉̪͉͆ͬ̑᷄̄ͫͥ̑J͓̳̗̭̱̬̓̋̑᷃̃̈᷀̑᷇Ơ̘͇᷂͚͓̯̅̑᷉ͭͫ̑̿͝Ẻ̷̵̛̺̱᷂̜̘᷊̑̎̑͛͆L̖­̴̸̢͖͖͂ͨ̑̓͋͒̑̊͟O͎͔͂͂ͣ̑̋͏̧᷿̓᷆̑̓ͥȨ̷̯̺͔̼͆̽̑̄᷆᷀̑͞͡L̢᷂̯̙̗ͧ̎̑͗́̌ͨͮ̑͞ ̴̵̣̤̰̻̱̬͊̌̑͌̑ͥ̕J̘̪̮̙͎̣͐̓᷾̑̔̑ͩ̑͋L̵̴͉͚̳̬̃̿̑̓̽̈́̑̀ͧ ̶͏̹̲̪̑᷈ͨ͒ͦͤ̑̂ͣ͠J̸̳̗͙ͯ͒̑ͧ̑᷆̎͆̑̀͡O̶͇͙͚͗̑ͮ᷾̐́̑͂͢͜͡E͉͏͔͑̑ͣ̓ͤ̎̏̑̀ͩͤ̚L̴­̣̬̻̯͈̑ͭ̎ͩ͒̏̑̌̉ ̴̧̫̞ͣ̑᷇ͥ͒ͨ͊̑᷆ͭͅJ̮̊̑̕͏̸̘̘̗̯̂ͫ̑͗̓O̠͔̲̟ͤ̽̑̀ͨͧ͛ͪ̑͊̐Ȇ̶̪̰̩͉̟̎ͩ̂ͩ̔̑͞͡L̋­̷͖͔͉̟̹᷆̑͊̑́͐̚͜ ̸̢̛̩̬͇̻̔᷆̑͒͗̑᷃ͧJ̟̱̰̙̜̻͎᷁̑̏ͪ̑᷉̂͝O̴̝͍̜̼͈͇̤ͫ̑ͥ̂̑̎͠ ͇̤̺̖̣̭̑᷆ͣ᷾̏̑̆̚͞Ḙ᷿͔̱͔̲̝᷃̑̾̀̑᷈᷇᷉L̬͎̥͈͚̼᷿̫̑̓᷈̑͆͛ͅ ͉͉̱̬̽̓ͪ̑ͫͤ̊̈̀̑͟J̶̢̡͍͉͇͋̽̑̌᷁͒᷾̑̂Ǫ̵̜̼͆͌̑̀ͯ͆ͣͮ̑̐᷈E̘͙͕͍͕̅̒̑͂̾᷈̑ͫ͋͟Ḷ­̰̟͙͚͓᷊͔̈́̑᷇̽̑͆͟ ̰͔͖̲͙᷄̑ͨͩ̾̑̉ͪ͢͠J̛̺͔̘̜̙͓ͯ͑̑ͤ̍̑͑̎O͎̯̯ͫ̓̓̑̽̂̋᷾ͩ̑ͮ͜E͇̲̼̥᷉ͥ̑᷇̎͂͊̔̑ͭͬL᷾­̫̹͔̠̟̑᷈̉᷉̑᷃᷄̚͠ ᷿̗̣̣͉̈́̑᷃͐ͨ͐̑ͮ̑͛J̢̳̟᷂̰̞͇̖̑̿ͭ̽̑͜͠O̵̟̞̫̪̳̊᷅̑͊̊̑͐͘͢E̼̻̞̬͈ͯ̑᷆ͫ͗ͭ̑̋͑͆L̡­̰̫̥̦͋́̑̽̌ͥ̑͌̚͝ ̶᷂͔͕̻᷅̈̑͆ͥ̍̐̑ͨͅJ͖̲̣̳͖̦ͫ̑̇͆ͨͪ̑ͭ͢O̹͕̥͇̻̫᷁̋̐̑͒᷈͐̑̆E̴̖̭̻᷊̦͑̑̄̀͒̈́̑͋͞L͌­̷̵̟̼̲̑̌̌͌᷾̈́̑̒͟ ̧̠̭̮̱̰ͭ̑̍ͨ̔̑̚͟͞J̷͖̪͉᷿͛̑̈́᷉̅ͩ̑̔ͥO̢̝̎̑͏̢̨̖̯̙̜̘̳̑ͅȆ̶͙͕᷊̙̊͏᷿͔̤ͫͮ̑ͥL̵­̠͔̞᷂᷂͕̺͂̑ͣ̿͆̑ͬ ̶̵᷊̌᷅̑̇͑͊᷃͏̣͚̑ͅJ͖͓̪͎̣̻᷀ͧ̑᷃ͯͦ᷁̑ͧȄ̪̣̼̺̮́̑᷆᷇̑̀᷅᷉̕L͓̪᷿͖̐͆᷅̑͋ͤͦ᷀̑̄͘ ̡̨̡᷂̟᷿̇͂̑͛̏ͦͩ̑͢J̢̳͚̪̱̌̃̑᷇ͯ̆̌̓̑̎L̡̯̯᷂̻̦͍͓͇̋̑́̑͜͢ ̴̬̩̼̖͔́̑᷁͂̉̇̑̅̅J̛᷿̻̲͙͚̑̽᷾ͧͮ̋͊̑᷇O̻̲̖᷄᷇ͪ̑̈́̄̑ͦ̑̉᷅ͫȨ̵̜ͥ̑̔̓ͨͧ͐̑ͪ̾᷃͢L̗­̶̷̧̘̞̍̑̏̒᷉͋̑͢ͅ ᷊᷂̲͓̑̏͏̜̦̥̻᷆̑᷉̒J̧̙͕͎̮̗͋̓̔̑͛̃̑͂̚O̷̯᷊̐̋̅̑́ͪ̎ͮ̑᷄̎͜E̶͖̯̳᷅̑ͤ᷇᷀́ͪ̐̑̇͋L̖­̷̧̢̟̪᷊̑ͯ᷄̆̅̑ͩ͂ ̸̨̡᷿̩͇ͮ̑᷁̓͋̑̂͂̚J̶̧̝̥̼̥̍̑̈̋᷆ͨͫ̑̈́Ọ̧̡͙͕͍̽͒᷆̑ͣ̊̌̑̏E̡̲̹̎᷃̑͏̶̠̔̽͌̑̒᷄L͍­̧͖̹̪͖̜̪̬̓͂̑ͣ᷉̑ ̨̼̱᷿̭͎̀̑͋᷉͒̑͊͐̚L͙̻̞᷿̟͈ͧ̑᷁̊͂᷃̑᷁͟ ̭̫̟̩͎̟̥᷁̅̑᷁͊̑́̚J̡̛̙̠͕᷿᷾̑ͨ̍̈̏̑̇̚O̯̙᷂̦͇̓͗̑᷀̂̀̑̉̎͞E̸̴̱̮̪̝͖̬ͮ̑̿᷉̑̌̅L᷁­͈̝̘̜᷅᷁̑͆ͧ̓ͮ̑᷾͢ ̛̹̠͕ͫͨ̑ͧ̑̆̌̚͘͝͝J̛̳̤̺̿̑ͨ̈́ͣ͋̑̽͛͜͜Ȏ̵̰̮̝̺̘̪͆̀͗̑ͣ͘͘Ȩ̺͙͓̗̺̑͐́͂̋ͫ̑᷀ͥL᷾­̶̜̟᷊̯̜͎᷉̑̓̒̑́͝ ̜̣̯̳̪̫͑̑ͭ̾͛̑̌̚͘J̼͔̹͔̟᷅᷆̑ͩ̈᷅̑̅᷃ͅO̷̡̥̮̥̯͆̑ͥ̃᷆̓ͪ̑ͅË̴̦᷊̰᷊͓̮́᷁̑̊̑̂̚͟L̊­̸̘̫᷿ͨ̑͒͒̆̑̏̕̚͠ ̷̮̣̯̰̙̼̤͐᷉̋̑ͪ̑͌J͉ͨ͋̾̑̉̃ͪ͌̑̌ͬ͡͠͠O̻̫̣̜̞ͥ᷈̑́̉͂́ͣ̑᷁Ȅ̥̲̘̯̳̦̩̑̀͆᷈̑ͬ͟L͌­̛͖̦̘̘ͪ̑̐ͬͫ᷀̑ͯ͢ ̨̛̲͇̼̽͗̎̑ͨͩͫ̑͢͡J̸̛̺̔ͧ̑͂ͪ̇͗͑́̑̐̽O̴̸̷̘͈̮͎̾̑᷄ͬ͒̑̌͟E̝͍̣͎᷾̒̑ͯ͑᷄᷆̑ͩ͏͘L͌­̩̪͉͍̓̑ͤ̋᷆͂̑͋̎͟ ̵̦̦᷊᷊̑̇᷁ͬ᷈̀̑ͨ᷄͟J͍̯͕͉̾ͣ̑̿᷅͋̑̍ͩ᷅͡Ơ̶᷂̝͚̫̘̑ͮ̀̑͞͏̆͡Ȇ̢̛̞̬̞̦̭̈́ͣ̀ͭ̑̉͡Ḽ­̶̷̞̫̱̑ͧ̒ͥ͛̑͂̃͟ ̛̗̝̜̻͚̑̿̃̑̔̒̚͟ͅJ̩̺̲̑͢͏̛̘͗̅͑̑᷇͠ͅO̴̖͓̻̓͊̆̑͆͂ͧ᷅̑́ͬE̵̛̖̘̘̮̺͑̑̿̿ͤͩ̑͟L̾­̙̩̪̲̙ͨ̑̔̎ͫ͂̑̑͜ ̷̢̡̖̖᷿̲ͦ̾̑̽̑̄͠͠Ĵ̹͓͎͖᷃̅̑᷈ͭ̑̂͜͢͡O̷͓̝̪᷊͊ͬ̌̑͂᷅̈́̑̓̂Ę̭͇͓̥̖̐᷆̒̑̓͒̑̍ͣLͧ­̶̶͍̥͖̓̿̑̐̄́ͦ̑᷃Ȏ̶̡̧͓͇̻̖̆ͫ͐̑̿̇͡E̫̪̲̥̰͚̹͓͕ͩ̑͑̑̓̏L̷̵̢̞̥᷂̄̑ͫ᷉᷃ͮ̑͜͞ ̷̜̤̌̑̐̔̐̄̍̑᷇͑͐͢J̶̻̳̑̇᷀́̊̑ͫ͘͝ͅͅͅL̬͖͍̫̰ͨ᷇̑̽ͫ᷇̑᷅̐ͅ ̸̴̛̲̟᷉̑̍́ͮͯ̑̽̚͜J̼̦͕ͦ̑᷄̈́̅ͭ̇̑ͤ͆ͬ͝Ȏ̪̝̮̳̖͓̑̈́ͭ́̃̃̑̾Ê̵͙̩͚̼̼̹̑ͬ᷄ͯ̑᷀ͨL͌­̶̷̨͖̺̞͎̞̣̑͌̉̑͝ ̧̣̮̟͙᷀̑̂᷄᷾̇ͦ̑̔͟J̸̢̻͉͉̥̉᷅̑᷆ͥ̆ͪ̑͡O̢̟ͧ̽̉̑᷾͛᷄̑᷀ͭ͘͟͟E̙̘̗̰͍͉ͪ̑̏͌̑ͣ̔́̕L̞­͕̩̗̟̗͉͑̑᷉̓᷈̑ͪ͠ ̟̭̤͉ͮ̑̄̑ͪͥ͊̑͗᷇͟J̸̛̫̼̣̳̑̑̊͐͆ͬ̑͑͗͜Ọ̵̜ͨͧ᷉̑̒͏̄̑̑᷇͘͞ ̧̩͚̰̑͋᷅̑᷈ͥ̓ͩ̑̀͂E᷁̎̑᷇ͯ̕͏̠͇̭̄̑̇ͬ̋L̸̜͖̘̪̇̑̆ͩ̇͋ͩ᷃̑͆ ̶̷̞͚᷇̑᷈ͯ͟ͅ͏̳̑̈͞J̷̧̘̮᷊̜̇᷅̑᷾̊̒̑̿͆Ȏ̼̭͍̤̮͕̔ͫͯ̑̆͋͘͝E̛̛͖̫̟̮ͮ̆̑̏ͧ᷉̓̆̑L̡­̳̥̼̳̦͎͔̫͚̑ͤ͆̑͋ ̡̭͈̝᷂̽͆̀̑ͭ᷆ͥ̈̑͜J᷊̟̫̼̜᷃᷾̑̈̃᷅͒̑᷉ͣO̶̯͇̽̑᷄̍᷃͐̇̑̈᷄᷃͝E̢̨̨᷂̖̘᷆̏̑᷇̄̏̑̏̾L͂­̧͈̬̑̆᷀ͧͬ̑᷀̚͜͞ͅ ̴̢̨͚̩̮͚͎͈̟̑̌̑͢ͅJ͇̬᷿͈͛̑̅̆̐̀̑̓͘͜͠O̧̗͏̫̪͍̑᷀ͦ͆ͩ̑᷾̑͠E̴̴͉̠̜͇̦ͮ̑᷀̋̑ͫ᷆͡Lͧ­̛̖̼̺̰ͥ̑̈́͂͑ͯ̑᷅͜ ̨̫͈̱̩̜̓̑᷄᷀ͨ̑ͩ͢͞J̸͖͗̑̂ͣ᷈̊̓᷆̑̽᷆͜ͅO̜͍̙̓̑͊ͧͦ̀͊̑᷾͊̕͢E̡̳᷿̪᷊̬͂̑᷅᷾̾̉̑̾̓L᷉­̴̧̡̰̝̼̙̑̎᷅̑ͯ̕͞ ̗̻̗̹͗᷇̑͋̽ͩ͛̑͜͝ͅJ̸̠̘̇᷉̑̆̎᷉̆͂̑ͨ̽̈Ọ̷̡̡̝̻͙ͭ̑ͥ᷀᷉̑̽͟E̴͎̊ͯ̑ͥ̐̍̓͡͏̠̑̃̽L̘­̷̴̢͎̰̭͙᷄̑᷾ͩ̈̑̐ ̦̠̣̺̌ͤ̑̏᷃́̑᷇̔͢͢J̵̡͚̭̫̗ͨ̓̑᷈ͯ̑̅͜͞Ẻ̥̫͓̦᷿̗̑̓͛ͣ̑̅̚͠Ļ̷̢̺ͫ̑ͬ̂̓̌̈́̑᷾̚͟ ̷̢̛̜͕͓̹̝̑̓̍̑͜͝͠Ȩ̵̖᷿̠͎̗̽᷀̑̾̈́ͪ̑ͩ ̣̦̻̄̔̑͛᷈͂̓̑᷁̀̕͞J̨̥̱̩̑ͬ̑̐̓̿ͮ̑͒ͮ͜O̵̗͔͖̊̑ͣ᷾̒̑̑᷄̚͟͞Ę̮̳͈̖̿̈́̑̆̄̑̂ͭ͘͟L᷆­̷̧̬͖̱͔̆̑͋ͩ᷀̑̔͢ ̷͇͕͇̯͖͓͋̑̏͌̍̐̑͘J̧̻̺̬ͮ̑ͥ̀᷄̾᷃̑ͤ̕͘Ǫ̸̡̣᷁̒͋̑̎ͧ̉̀͗̑̓E͇͍͎͕͆ͫ̑̓᷄̒̾͑̑̋̔ ̲̮̫́̂̑̾᷇̍̒᷾̑̔᷄͟J̷̻̱͕̖͚͆̑͒̀̑ͯ᷉͜͞O̸̧͚̳͓᷿̭͆̑̽͐̑̒᷇̚E̴̦̳̺ͩͭ̑̈́̋ͬ̋̑̽͋ͬL̤­̱̫᷊̑̈́̂᷆̌͊̑̉̓̕̕



Ę͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͗́̏͞͝L͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠̀ͩ̚­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎̈̔͘ ̸̴͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̩͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎᷅ͬ᷀̋ͥ̔J͎­̡̠͎̪͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̉᷁͠O͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͩ᷃ͦ̔͞ͅE͎̠­͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷀̽ͯ᷆L̢̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̋᷾͟ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎̒͆ͮ͢J̶̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ͢͟͠O͎­̠͎̠͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎̄᷉ͭ͂E͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͗͐͏̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎L͎̠­̧͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̬͎̠͎ͭͣ ̸͎̠͎͇͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉ͦ̊͠J͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̅͒̓ͦ͠O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̓̐̑᷾͞E̴͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̽̾̅̚L͎̠­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͚͎̠͎̒͒̓͟Ę͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͆͏͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪ̏͝͠L͎̠͎­͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̐᷾̈̔̚͜ ̸̢͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎ͬ̿ͪ̋᷁ͥ᷆͝͠J͎­̡̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈̓̉ͭ͘O͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̓᷃ͦ̔E͎̠­͎̮͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͖͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎ͯL̛͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃᷾ͬ͟͞ ̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̬͎̠͎ͫ͢J̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎̇ͨ͐O͎­̠͎̰͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉͂͜͟E̷̛͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷁̾͐ͪL͎̠­̢̧͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̣͎̠͎ͭ̇̋ ̸͎̠͎̘͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͦ͘J̷͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̄͒ͦ͜O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̃̐᷾ͧ̕E̷͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̒̅̚L͎̠­̢͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͍͎̠͎͑̒̅ ̶͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉͋ͥ̓͘J͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̐ͧ̓̾͞O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̑͛ͫ̎͠E͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͍͎̠͎͕͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷇͒᷈̔L͎̠­͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎̅́᷇͆̇ ̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ᷀͆J̴͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎ͬ̋O͎­̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͐̇̏͝E͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͯ᷄̾̃̉̋͗L͎̠­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎ͭ̂̊ͫ̌ ̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͒͆̄J̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎ͦͩ̋E͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̔̈̎̇̅̏͜L̡̢͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͒̇᷀͛ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉̉̔͡J̶̛͎̠͎͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎ͮͫ̈́ͤ­̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎̇͌᷅͐̃L͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̽͊͏͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̐͘ ̡͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̄͟͠J̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̽ͬͧ͌͠O͎­̨̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͑ͥË͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎́̌̑̍͘L͎̠­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̹͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎̎᷉̈́̄̅᷾ͭ­͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̃̈́̎̆ͅ ̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃ͯ͊̇ͮJ͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̻͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͟O͎­̨̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎̌ͥ̈́E̶͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉ͣ̄L͎̠­͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͙͎̠͎᷁̎͒͢ ̵͎̠͎̟͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̐̊͒͆J͎̠͎̹͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͛͊͊͊͠O͎­̸̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͞͏͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈̈́E̵͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎̊͢L͎̠­̶̴̸͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̆̒ͯ̚͢͜ ̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎̒͛᷁L͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̂̃ͥ͠ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎̠͎̠͎᷀̿̆͐J̨͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎̅̒̿̿O͎­̠͎̩͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̉᷀᷃͘͠E͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̑᷄͟͡͞L͎̠­̴̵̨͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̹͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾̋᷈͌͛͛͞ ̶͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͐͢J͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ̉ͬ̿̚O͎­̸̛̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̅̓̈́᷈ͧ̃̑̓̑E͎̠­̸̵͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎̃̍͟L͎̠͎̩͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪ̈́͡ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎̿͋̾͘J͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎̇ͫͮ͛ͣͅO͎­̴̢̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̋͜E͎̠͎̲͎̠͎̥͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̹͎̠͎ͤL͎̠­̢͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̐̉᷃̅͟ ̷͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̟͎̠͎̖͎̠͎J̡͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̈́͛̾O͎­̨̠͎̪͎̠͎̪͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓͘E͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃́ͤ͊᷾ͨL͎̠­̢͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓ͫ̀͊᷆᷈ ̧͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̅ͨ̀ͯ᷅͘͘͜­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͕͎̠͎᷈ͮ̏͞J͎̠͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̍̃̏͘̚O͎̠­͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̠͎ͬ᷉̆͟E͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̜͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͆̐̈L͎̠͎­͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾ͪ̓͠ ͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͂̔̓͏͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷁̀J͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̝͎̠͎᷈̑̏O͎­̧̧̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͣ̀̃ͫͯͣ̄͗̕̚E͎̠­͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎̌᷄̃L̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷄̓̎ͨ ͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉᷾᷅̕J͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈᷇̓̓̚O͎­̴̵̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̆̊́̃͆E̛͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͆͜͏͎̠͎͚͎̠͎L͎̠­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎ͬ̿̊̒᷄͆ ̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͍͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̅᷀̆̕J̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎̐̾᷾͜O͎­̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎᷁̔᷄̋
Ę͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̽͊̃ͤͅͅL͎­̧̠͎͍͎̠͎͎̠͎̩͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎̃ͩͯO̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷆᷾̊͞E͎̠­̧͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷈ͦ̅̀᷾͒L͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͩ͊̅̔̔ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̾᷃̑̄̄J̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̆͑̌ͪͧ̄L͎­̧̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ͊͛ͩ͡ ͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎ͩ̆᷄J͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͯ̏͏͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾ͧ̿̊O͎­̡̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͑͑̈́͝E͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͆͐᷃L͎̠­͎̻͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̇ͫ̋ͩ͘ ͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷁͗͠͡J̧͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̔͆ͬ̕O͎­̷̠͎͎̠͎͏͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͜͠͏͎̠͎Ę͎̠͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̠͎̍̂L͎̠­̷̡͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̊ͯ̃̑͒ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎ͥ̏ͣͤ͡J̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̏̑́̚͝O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎᷇͆ͭ͆͛ ̢͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷅͟͝Ẻ̛͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͊̈́͢L͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̾̊ͩ͢͠͡ ̨̢͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͩ̓ͣ͞J̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͣ͑ͯ̂͞O͎­̶̶̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͇͎̠͎̄͆E̶͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̍᷇͗L͎̠­̡͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̇᷆͒́ ̴̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͧ͋᷈J̶̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷆̆ͪ᷆O͎­̢̠͎̹͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠̀ͧ᷀̇᷃᷁̑᷀­͎̤͎̠͎̪͎̠͎̪͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥͮ᷃Ę͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ̉ͮ͋̋L͎̠͎­͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎᷈ͩ̇ͭ ͎̠͎͏͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͆̑ͧͭ̕J̵̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̈̈O͎­̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̋͐͗̈́E̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎ͤ͐᷅L͎̠­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾᷅͗͌̒͌̒ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎̹͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎ͧͦ̓᷄̾ͮ̇ͯͣ͝J͎­̴̶̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷄͗̌
O͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎ͫ̇͡͝E͎­̠͎͙͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷁̎᷈L͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̏̒ͣ̕ ͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎᷉᷃͋̒ͥJ̧͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̐͢͞O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̀ͫ͟Ȩ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̒͒᷈̍͝L͎̠­͎̗͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎̜͎̠͎᷇͛ ̧̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͊͟Ę͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷅͛̏ͩ͝L͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈͛̈̔ͣ̚͜ ̸̨̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͍͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎ͬ͐̋͊ͥͯ͜J͎­̡̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̒̉͝O͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͒᷃ͦ̔̔E͎̠­͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈̆ͯ̉L͎̠͎͏̨̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̎᷾͟ ̵͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎̾͢͡J̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ̈́͡O͎­̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈́ͮ᷉͗͂᷾E͎̠͎͏̛͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪ͐̈͝L͎̠­̧͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎ͭͮ̂᷆ ̸̢͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪͦ͟J͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪ͒᷾ͦͤO͎­̠͎͙͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷅̐᷾ͤÉ͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̆̅̚͝L͎̠­̸͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̠͎̠͎̒ ̶͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎᷉͋ͥJ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̌̐͌ͪ͞O͎­̵̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎ͣ͒ͫE͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͕͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͒᷈͑L͎̠­̶͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎ͫ᷉᷇͋ ̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͋̌ͧĴ̴͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͬ̔͘O͎­̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̇̏ͅͅE͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷄᷆̃̋̎L͎̠­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎ͪ̂͒̊̌ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͆ͩ̄̂͟J͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͍͎̠͎ͮ͐E͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎᷈̈᷇̇͜L̡̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̇ͩ͛͡ ̶͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͡J̶͎̠͎͎̠͎̖͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎᷾ͫ̓ͤ­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͍͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎̎̇᷅᷁L͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̽̐͟ ̡͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ́̓͆͟͠J͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̌̽̽ͬ̉̕O͎­̨̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ͑͋̔Ě͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̞͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͚͎̠͎L͎̠­̨͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉̈́̌̄ͦ᷾̄ͭ­̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̃̉̎̿ ̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̎ͯ̾̇͡J͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̪͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̅̈́᷆O͎­̨̨̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̄ͥ̂̈́͒E̶̶͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉ͣ̉L͎̠­͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎̉͌͢ ̵͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾̎͒͘͜J͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͛͐͊͋͡O͎­̛̠͎͕͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ̈ͬȨ̵͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͇͎̠͎̏͢L͎̠­̴̸͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾̆̒̋ͪ̚͟ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͑͛᷁᷁᷃͘L͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎ͮ̃̌͒͠ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉̿̆̔J̵̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̑̒̒̿O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̅̉ͮ᷀̿E͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃ͮ᷄͑͜͡L͎̠­̴̴̨͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎ͣ̋᷇᷈ͦ͛ͥ̕ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎̇̌ͭ̏J͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͛̔̉̋ͧ̚O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈́̅̈́̓᷈̍ͧ̑᷁̑͜͠E͎̠­̸̵̛͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎̑̍L̡͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎ͣ͡ ͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͋͛̍͘͜J̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̩͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̭͎̠͎᷆ͮͅO͎­̴̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎᷈̋̀E͎̠͎̬͎̠͎̥͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̒L͎̠­̶͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎᷃ͦ᷃͟ ͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͓͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͛͐ͥJ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎᷈̈́̾O͎­̠͎̻͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͯ͘ͅÉ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎ͭ͊̚͠͡L͎̠­̛͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̀ͪ᷆ͪ̚ ̧̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̌᷄ͨ̾᷅͘͘͜͝­̶̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̏̽͞J̨͎̠͎̦͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ͘̚O͎̠­͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̠͎̓ͬ͟͡É̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͆̐͘L͎̠͎­᷊͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̻͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͉͎̠͎ͅ ̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉͂̓̓᷁͏͎̠͎J͎̠͎͎̠͎̖͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̾̑᷇O͎­̧̨̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̾̀᷈̃ͫͯ̄̏̕͟E͎̠­͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ᷄̃͞L͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎̓͏̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̎ͨ̓ ̶͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͋᷉ͭͦJ͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̈̐͏͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̂O͎­̴̷̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎́̃E̡̡͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̒͜͏͎̠͎̮͎̠͎L͎̠­͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̿̊̒᷈͆͠ ̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎̀᷇᷀J͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͆̾ͥ͜͝O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̱͎̠͎᷁ͭ̔ͅE̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷇̽̃ͅͅL͎̠­͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̃ͩͯO̵͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎ͭ̓᷾E͎̠͎­̡͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͦ̀͒᷉͝L̴͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎̔͘͡ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎̫͎̠͎᷅̾͆̑̀J̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎ͮͩ̌ͭͧL͎­̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̋͊͛̐͡ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓ͩ̆̔᷄̑J̴̡͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̏̔᷾̋̿O͎­̡̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̇͑͝E͎̠͎̘͎̠͎
JOEL
The room was filled with freak ******'s and other assorted nut jobs and then there were the folks that weren't writers.

It was a poetry reading open mic deal yeah what a wild party this was going to be but being the best of the best from Hello were supposed to be there I figured my invitation must have got lost in the mail.

You know what that is kids.
See before the net you actually had to get off your lazy **** to mail a letter yeah I know how ****** up is that?
It's almost like music where you actually play instruments  to enjoy instead of steal a loop from one of your parents records yeah don't pretend you understand that one if you under the age of thirty .

But enough with the foreplay children .
The room was packed the poets ready and as I took my seat I was shocked to find they wouldn't be serving ***** at this snooze fest .
Probably a good idea cause after teen age Timmy read his ode to his two day relationship we would all probably slip into a coma .

No worries much like batman but not as gay.
, I always had my trusty utility belt I'm kidding I just had a flask what kind of freak do you think I am?, Okay don't answer that one hamsters.

So after ordering a coffee and adding a little ******* tonic  I sat back and waited to listen to the young crop of writers read there poetry eager to take it all in yeah, right I did as always sat back and waited to
heckle the **** out of everyone hit on the waitress and generally be known as the loveable poetic areshole  of the site.

The time flew.
If by that you mean the time dragged on like we were being ear ***** by a duet between Justin Bieber    and Selna  Gomez .
It was brutal I tell you but the tide was about to make a turn for the better .

As the MC  for the event announced we have a special guest in the crowd tonight and hopefully with a round of applause we can get him to do a reading for us folks give a warm round of applause for .

I jumped to the stage the truly poetic ego maniac ***** eager to save the day or at least give it a good kick in the *** there's only so much
you can listen to of this yuppy ***** before you go insane hamsters .

The woman must have been in shock being in the presence of the greatest co writer in Hello history .
For she looked at me like she had no clue who the hell I was .

Um sir do you mind getting off the stage we are getting ready to ask Joel M Frye  to the stage.
Joel ?

Yeah sure he's a great writer and can spell and his farts smell of cinnamon and pier one or at least I have herd.
But do you have no idea of who I am woman?

She looked at me with a mix of sympathy and probably thinking I wonder if the institution knows he's escaped ?
Umm no sir sorry I don't have a clue.

I had to take in consideration this poor women probably had a smaller brain than the genius that stood before her .
I am Gonzo my sweet lady I said really slow so she could understand
cause she had a smaller brain I'm not saying that cause she was a woman so don't get all *** crazy on me sisters cause you know Gonzo loves you all like a perverted uncle .

Gonzo where have I herd that name oh yeah I know you I thought you died ?
What duh I'm standing here aren't I?

Wait a minute maybe I'm a ******* zombie **** I hate to think I'm one of those walking dead ******* although I have had *** with some ladies I swear could pass for a zombie course that was probably just the drugs I slipped them hey don't judge  I'm kidding I would never do that I do what every true gentleman does when in need.
Pick up hookers .

Hey John Joel said as he slipped up behind me like some poetic ninja .

Joel amigo how the hell are you please do me a favor and explain to this woman just who I am I mean really yeah it's like they don't know how kick **** I am .

Well Gonz maybe I can talk them into letting you do a reading .
Look this guys totally ******* nuts okay so bare with me Joel
whispered to the mc lady  who's smaller brain was truly annoying the **** out of me.

Gonz let me just work this out okay buddy .
I began to object then Joel pulled a truly ***** trick by handing
me the most recent issue of hustler magazine  .
From what I herd it had a great article in it yeah right you have to admire **** that doesn't pretend to be nothing more than what it truly is kind of like me  .  

The woman and Joel spoke for some time and I assume she had seen the error of her ways as she laughed and shook her head oh that Joel he is a charmer.

I  was almost halfway through the ****** hunt  section when .
Joel appeared again like some magical poetic ninja slash friendly dragon .

Gonz man I pulled some strings and after I do a reading your going to close the show hell I even got you your own dressing room and everything figured you'd like to warm up a bit or at least not ******* in front of everyone it's getting a bit awkward I'm just saying bud.

I had to admit Joel was a true friend and as I was shown to the back dressing room it truly tugged at that lump of coal I called a heart to know I still had a true friend on the site I could trust .

Okay here's your dressing room Mr Gonzo it must be a awesome one I thought to myself for it had a big red sign above the door man they truly went all out for me .

But much like when I learned where babies come from my delusion was soon broken in half yeah I always thought they came from dumpsters like I did.

I was standing in a alley ***** cold there were no drinks or hot chicks with there ******* out as I had been promised .
****** man I was starting to believe I had been tricked.

I quickly made my way to the front of the club to tell Joel what these ******* had done !.
But the doors were locked man poor Joel they have trapped him inside
anything could be happening I sure hope he wasn't being ***** .

I banged on the door but couldn't see anything for the lights were off
it's like the people inside were avoiding me like most my friends .

Hey I know your in there open up you *******! .
Woman with the small brain I called out.
Please if you can here me please get Joel out of there he's to good to be tarnished by your terrible readings or *****  cause that's not funny haha yes it is I'm so demented.

I sat there for what felt like ages .
and after five minutes I had to give up Joel was lost to the poetic **** inside ****** man so many good writers have been lost to such lures as these coffee shop readings.

I made my way to the local bar heartbroken seems there was no love for Mr Gonzo left in this town  .
I ordered a double and drank one to my friend who probably is reading this and thinking what the **** am I on this time .

Well it's mix of speed and bourbon but I'm  taking it a bit easy these days .

Dam you!, poetry coffee house readings you have taken far to many of my friends .
I drown my sorrows and passed out as usual and thanked the lord I had escaped with my life and Joel's **** mag I will treasure it forever my friend.

Until next time
Stay crazy kids .

Gonzo
Hello My name is Gonzo and everyday somewhere in the world a terrible open mic poetry reading claims yet another great writer .
If you know someone thinking about going to one of these events reach out and help them before it's to late
victor tripp Oct 2013
Joel's ten month old only child, a son, had just started walking as Joel was sentenced to jail for three to six months for fighting, after charges had been filed against him. Each time a court hearing was set Joel went, but the dates were always post phoned. Joel meet Sena a tall dark skinned buxom  twenty nine old French speaking woman, just off the coast of Ghana. They married and through mutual friends came to America,and settled in Germantown. Sena spoke French to her dacca. She was a devoted mother and wife. Each time that Sena dropped her child off at daycare, she covered dacca's face with kisses,before heading for the indoor fruit stand that employed her. Joel always cocky and prideful,all of his life,drove a black Lincoln with his girlfriend closer than a flea on a dog, and met sales quotas when required. Granted one phone call from jail, Joel spoke with his rejected wife Sena, asking for bail money, his once proud and sarcastic voice breaking. A lawyer informed Sena that since charges had been filed ,the conviction had to stand. Joel now sits in a shared cell occasionally looking through the steel bars in lock down, gazing up at stars that he once rode and walked under freely.
Robert Frost  Jul 2009
The Fear
A lantern light from deeper in the barn
Shone on a man and woman in the door
And threw their lurching shadows on a house
Near by, all dark in every glossy window.
A horse’s hoof pawed once the hollow floor,
And the back of the gig they stood beside
Moved in a little. The man grasped a wheel,
The woman spoke out sharply, “Whoa, stand still!”
“I saw it just as plain as a white plate,”
She said, “as the light on the dashboard ran
Along the bushes at the roadside—a man’s face.
You must have seen it too.”

“I didn’t see it.

Are you sure——”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

“—it was a face?”

“Joel, I’ll have to look. I can’t go in,
I can’t, and leave a thing like that unsettled.
Doors locked and curtains drawn will make no difference.
I always have felt strange when we came home
To the dark house after so long an absence,
And the key rattled loudly into place
Seemed to warn someone to be getting out
At one door as we entered at another.
What if I’m right, and someone all the time—
Don’t hold my arm!”

“I say it’s someone passing.”

“You speak as if this were a travelled road.
You forget where we are. What is beyond
That he’d be going to or coming from
At such an hour of night, and on foot too.
What was he standing still for in the bushes?”

“It’s not so very late—it’s only dark.
There’s more in it than you’re inclined to say.
Did he look like——?”

“He looked like anyone.
I’ll never rest to-night unless I know.
Give me the lantern.”

“You don’t want the lantern.”

She pushed past him and got it for herself.

“You’re not to come,” she said. “This is my business.
If the time’s come to face it, I’m the one
To put it the right way. He’d never dare—
Listen! He kicked a stone. Hear that, hear that!
He’s coming towards us. Joel, go in—please.
Hark!—I don’t hear him now. But please go in.”

“In the first place you can’t make me believe it’s——”

“It is—or someone else he’s sent to watch.
And now’s the time to have it out with him
While we know definitely where he is.
Let him get off and he’ll be everywhere
Around us, looking out of trees and bushes
Till I sha’n't dare to set a foot outdoors.
And I can’t stand it. Joel, let me go!”

“But it’s nonsense to think he’d care enough.”

“You mean you couldn’t understand his caring.
Oh, but you see he hadn’t had enough—
Joel, I won’t—I won’t—I promise you.
We mustn’t say hard things. You mustn’t either.”

“I’ll be the one, if anybody goes!
But you give him the advantage with this light.
What couldn’t he do to us standing here!
And if to see was what he wanted, why
He has seen all there was to see and gone.”

He appeared to forget to keep his hold,
But advanced with her as she crossed the grass.

“What do you want?” she cried to all the dark.
She stretched up tall to overlook the light
That hung in both hands hot against her skirt.

“There’s no one; so you’re wrong,” he said.

“There is.—
What do you want?” she cried, and then herself
Was startled when an answer really came.

“Nothing.” It came from well along the road.

She reached a hand to Joel for support:
The smell of scorching woollen made her faint.

“What are you doing round this house at night?”

“Nothing.” A pause: there seemed no more to say.

And then the voice again: “You seem afraid.
I saw by the way you whipped up the horse.
I’ll just come forward in the lantern light
And let you see.”

“Yes, do.—Joel, go back!”

She stood her ground against the noisy steps
That came on, but her body rocked a little.

“You see,” the voice said.

“Oh.” She looked and looked.

“You don’t see—I’ve a child here by the hand.”

“What’s a child doing at this time of night——?”

“Out walking. Every child should have the memory
Of at least one long-after-bedtime walk.
What, son?”

“Then I should think you’d try to find
Somewhere to walk——”

“The highway as it happens—
We’re stopping for the fortnight down at Dean’s.”

“But if that’s all—Joel—you realize—
You won’t think anything. You understand?
You understand that we have to be careful.
This is a very, very lonely place.
Joel!” She spoke as if she couldn’t turn.
The swinging lantern lengthened to the ground,
It touched, it struck it, clattered and went out.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2023
Joel, just so you know

I have it on good authority that our heavenly poets
are always near exhaustion, as the clean air, and the
distraction-free life gives one inspiration by the unending,
poetry the common language in the babel up above

but to be sure they see our messages and scrips, I forward them upward via Messenger, from down here to their seemingly inactive page, but don’t you poet, disbelieve me, they may not be able to send or reply to you via Fedex Direct, but they are receiving just fine

So I send them poems just so they’re knowing that they are
still on my mind…right Joel?

or do I say,

Write on Joel?
Joel A Doetsch Mar 2012
Joel's mole dug a hole
in a grassy knoll....
the mole hit a pole
and started to roll....
he hit a troll
and they smoked the whole bowl
of mind control.  

The troll asked for a toll,
but the mole was on parole.  
Joel's mole has no soul.
This was not written by me...it was written for me on my 20th birthday by my classmates (and professor) during class.   I claimed that "Joel" was not a good rhyming word, and thus this was born.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2023
My third attempt to commemorate Joel Frye.

News arrived Mid-May, found me far from home,
found me shock-gasping in a hotel room,
on the wrong coast,
though he sort-of-warned-warned,
about a month earlier, I misunderstood his subsequent
silence, thus it caught me unawares, unprepared,
and strangely grasping for proper comprehension
and the right words, that usually come so quickly,
even too easy~quick, when one’s emotions are
running fast, like a springtime Northwest mountain stream

Imagine a conversation of nine year’s duration,
one of a number forged in the iron-y of poetry,
a most
genteel art.

I found his words above in a comment on a poem (1)
of mine, writ in 2015; the subject, so apropos, to be
ever gentle to thy words.

Our dialogue and mutual admiration lives on and survives,
for bonds forged ex-the world of poetry, but more so,
in real deeds and deals and realized poems come true.

We never met.

Not unusual for an on-line community, where the social, literate
media can foster a closeness surpassing the normative
standard need of the physical,
which nonetheless the absence of that touch is now
deep regretted.


But Joel do not be concerned!

Your words will live with others, as per your desire.

This my promise, this my premise:
A debt of brotherhood that will be,
must be, paid in full.

So let’s begin…shall we…

~~~~

Joel Frye Sep 2015

Friends

Some for a reason,
some for a season; even
lifetimes come and go.
All things are transitory.  Doesn't mean I have to like it.

<>
(1j
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1425812/oh-poet-be-ever-gentle-to-thy-words/
Traveling around Queensland



You see in October in 2002, Brian Allan went on a trip to Queensland with pipeline, where
The bus came right to Brian's door and there was heaps of picnic food, and there was this lady
Named Janet, who was a bit of a larrikin, and Kelly, who was a very nice lady, and then there was Richard, who tried to steal my book, but, in theory, I never kept it due to my mental breakdown, but that was a fun trip, you see we travelled up to Hervey Bay where we went to a museum aquarium, yeah that was cool, and I took some great pictures of the group I went with
And I really participated in the objects of that museum, and then we went whale watching, and that was really really cool, I also remember, doing a bit of Dolphin watching, and also, I took a photo of myself in the captain's seat, and we had a banquet meal aboard that boat, boy it's like the boat at bateman's bay,, but more exotic, and, I moved all around the boat trying to get pictures of the whales and other things, and yes, this was cool, and, one of the older people on the tour I went on had a crush on me, and I thought, she is way to old for me, but, I wanted to be nice, ok, and then as the boat went over each whale, it went rumpita rumpita rumpita
And all the people on the boat, including myself were walking from deck to deck taking photos, as this was the only time we would see whales on this Queensland coast, and then, yes, the boat trip was finished, and we all went off and went home and then Richard was tired and wanted me to get the milk for breakfast, and I didn't and he stole my writing book, because I was ******* him off, but I wrote a Poem called I don't want to be a stalker, and despite me and Richard wanting the same thing, why can't he ask, why me, and then we all had tea, and went to bed, and the next day, we went to feed the seal, and matey oh this was great and I enjoyed as you hold the piece of fish out and the seal jumps up and grabs the fish, oh this was ever so much fun, and I had 3 Goes, I think, but it could've been more, maybe less, but it was fun, and
I can tell you, the seal was having a great time as well, and I took a few photos of the seal as well as we made a movie about it, but through years and years of my mental breakdown I might have wrecked that, but it was a video anyway, and I haven't got a VCR anymore, anyway, but
I don't think I threw out the photographs on the trip, which is great, and after we left Hervey Bay, we went to the Gold Coast, and all the dreams I had about the Gold Coast, first of all we went to Warner brothers movie world, and mate, I felt like I was in the USA and as I watched the police academy cars,yeah cool, and there were a lot of rides we went on, yeah, I just walked around the theme park, buying things in the movie playground, and buying souvenirs, and talking to some of the tourists, and I spoke to a lot of the people from our trip, as I walked around with Kelly and Steve ambrose, and then at the end of this day at the theme park, a bad
Thing happened in Bali, which was the Bali bombings and Tom and Steve who were my room mates were watching the whole boring news event the whole day, as this was a relax and chill day, me and Steve went for a walk, while Steve wanted to live down here, and said, hey, mate
Have ya got any jobs, going, in a real Australian way, and then the trip leader Joel took us on a walk down to surfers paradise, and I ****** in the water, because fish do it, why can't we, well
This was a real relaxing day, and then they bought our meals in, and if I can remember, it was
Fish and chips, with prawns and so on , well this was ever so tasty, I loved it, and then we went to bed, for the next day was interesting, you see, the next day, we will go to currimbin animal
Sanctuary, where we held snakes, and we looked as bold as the big bold eagle, and there were a lot of wildlife, there and I took a lot of photos there, it was radically awesome, and Queensland is the cleanest state in Australia, the seas are cleaner and green, while no, really disgusting seaweed ever existed and, mate, yeah really clean, after that we headed back to our motel, and we watched the football, Australia won, and Tom was showing is patriotism by standing up with his hand on his chest, to the national anthem, and me and Steve and Kelly
Went for a dip in the pool, and Richard who because I spoke up to him, he really liked the way I was ever so cool, and then we went back to our rooms and waited for our next meal, which was
Home made spaghetti  bolognaise and this was made ya know ever so tasty, and Jason  and Joel cooked it, one *** of it to every room, about 3 in total, and I don't know about other rooms, but my room really loved it, yeah, the best spag boll in the country cooked by Jason and Joel, and
Then after about 2 hours, we went to bed, and the next day, we went home and we stopped over at Coffs Harbour and at night, we bought pizzas, for each of us, and James and Kelly joel and myself were driven home by Joel, and we fell asleep after watching our last nights TV
And we went for a Sydney bypass which meant, in about 6 hours we were all home and that was the end of a great trip, and I went to my play rehearsal for urban dreaming that night, and
Despite my parents saying I will be too tired for that, it was just a watching the other theatre performance that was on, which was cool, man, and I really loved the holiday, for it brought me some happy memories, the end


Sent from my iPad
“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.

— The End —