A rare triumph, and a bummed out celebration! The two filaments don’t really seem to knit well with each other, do they?
Sitting in a secluded quadrant, the caves of solicitation branching out to all portions of the arsenal (however, the last immediate strand doesn’t even lead to the directions of the concerns!). Anyway, sequencing it up with tangles of words and a perplexed degree of language, that apparently was never fantasized nor envisaged to shape up a spectacle out of itself…THE IRONY? It does sneak itself in to pull the boundaries of laurels within the envelope of reach. What nurtures the tail of the trail bangs on being nothing short of a stroll in the park to be posited…CELEBRATION, FEST…ZEAL and ZEST! Cash in the latter two for me, and zap out the former chunk for charity. Seems to be the perfect fairy tale with a drag of assault at its closing episode.
So the nucleus that is wrapped around recursively by this idea along the periphery is the justification of the triumph. And on a pivotal ground, the inclinations onto which this justification leans. The grueling judders destining to feat and a probable astound of glory have celebrations and parties waiting at the summit, or aren’t they? And the most perturbed curse to be granted access to is, when the pinnacle of all accomplishments is the next door neighbour, but is conjectured to be a step higher – and an indefinite count of iterations flags off.
What more addition can make the perfect assortment of ecstasy, exhilaration directed by the victory vandalize? A mammoth mountain being squeezed into the perception as a miniscule fraction of a “nothing”. At this spot, optimism augments its confinements towards globe trotting and space trekking. But how many graduations does it encapsulate under its possession. Contentment succumbs to its own injuries.
Alright, the stride for betterment should pull up its socks everytime. On the contrary, it’s the only time when the corridors of eccentricity denies to immortalize even for an experimentalist. In the most defining sequence, what is the tail of the tale? A dash of optimism cutting itself loose, or does the big L has cannon balls being shot in all splits of the cargo space…
Friday, October 5, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
PizzA HuT FiesTaaaH...
A fizzed green apple drink – with the effervesce hovering in the prophesy of a crystalline exhibit – kept by your side with the droplets of water exuberating a flirty intimacy with the walls of the glass, a Russian mushroom embedded pasta (exonerate my memory for not reserving a portion of itself for the name) that when squished within the sharp edges of your teeth virtually caress through your tastebuds – enthralling all of its four divisions to dump the rattle of infuriation and disgust for letting the gravy of abhorred tadkas stream over them for the past couple of weeks, and now having a contingent of herbs bestow warmth on them – moreover, the sensation of liquid cheese with sprinkles of mint tangling with your saliva makes you experience what love is, AT FIRST TASTE!
Hold on! The awe-inspiring ride still has a bundle of astounds to take the wind out of your sails! Next up, the cheese tortilla – though it was apparent stack of voided expectations that could’ve been queued up outside the confinement of contentment – anyhow, a scoop of white sauce (or whatever the chefs prefer to call it), presented in the center of the cheese-and-tomato projection over a virtual papad like thin crust was like a relish of hot chocolate on a vanilla scoop.
And then the definitive slash of icing over the cake, the good ol’ dash of Italian and Mexican flavours infused in the pizzas, hypnotizing all your senses on the grandeur, leaving them numb (Probably the adrenaline’s scorch knitting the voluptuous taste escalated beyond the pinnacle for me, but that is the ecstasy for pizza lovers!). anyhow, it was an uphill task to brick a wall contrasting the country tang (with the only exception of a red sauce to spice up the country!) – owing to the speculation from its name, THE COUNTRY FEAST. And the paneer blanketed, the prophesized Mexican PANEER EL RANCHO (trust me! Most of the chews were serviced by chunks of paneer and certainly, the thick pan crust. To me, it seemed the traditional Mexican spice had eccentrically paralyzed its verve).
That is how the most scintillated and as sensational (and a smidgen of strangulated ambiguity) meal assorted with straight-from-the-oven garnish of cheese, topped with the otherwise reluctant to be swallowed down the throat sabziyan that mounted on a clamp of mint conditioned, heavenly extraditions had been served on our platters.
Hold on! The awe-inspiring ride still has a bundle of astounds to take the wind out of your sails! Next up, the cheese tortilla – though it was apparent stack of voided expectations that could’ve been queued up outside the confinement of contentment – anyhow, a scoop of white sauce (or whatever the chefs prefer to call it), presented in the center of the cheese-and-tomato projection over a virtual papad like thin crust was like a relish of hot chocolate on a vanilla scoop.
And then the definitive slash of icing over the cake, the good ol’ dash of Italian and Mexican flavours infused in the pizzas, hypnotizing all your senses on the grandeur, leaving them numb (Probably the adrenaline’s scorch knitting the voluptuous taste escalated beyond the pinnacle for me, but that is the ecstasy for pizza lovers!). anyhow, it was an uphill task to brick a wall contrasting the country tang (with the only exception of a red sauce to spice up the country!) – owing to the speculation from its name, THE COUNTRY FEAST. And the paneer blanketed, the prophesized Mexican PANEER EL RANCHO (trust me! Most of the chews were serviced by chunks of paneer and certainly, the thick pan crust. To me, it seemed the traditional Mexican spice had eccentrically paralyzed its verve).
That is how the most scintillated and as sensational (and a smidgen of strangulated ambiguity) meal assorted with straight-from-the-oven garnish of cheese, topped with the otherwise reluctant to be swallowed down the throat sabziyan that mounted on a clamp of mint conditioned, heavenly extraditions had been served on our platters.
Monday, August 13, 2007
ThAnK GoD ItS FridAy...
Undoubtedly, a ridiculous and ludicrous textual arsenal snapped on this blog. But it isn’t a grueling ask to judder through it and escalate the count of my profile views. And running through it isn’t a peccadillo! Nothing alien that has been entitled and scripted in this passage, and nothing that would get the mind scratches buzz out to their business. Accordingly, a few claims of ‘crap’ and ‘shit’ that knit the strands of this particularity shouldn’t spin out leaving anyone astounded!
How does one configure the seeds of exhilaration for a Friday – where the groove is just a step away, and the ecstatic bewilderment is probably waiting in a corner to pounce at you – and that for a Monday – where all the jazzed shades of parties have annihilated and a virtual dull verve has once again looped in.
A Friday evening is prophesized to synchronize all the nerves and stack them into a bag of delight. Splashes of exhilaration are everything when the breeze flowing on the onset of an ‘incredible’ weekend strikes and at the same time, smears through my face, dumping my sorrowed lexis. For a fractional fragment of the population, its all about the groove of an indefinite stretch of gluing their eyes on the television screen, or for the others its all about sticking their feet on the dance floor. The sweetness of the posited fun awaiting at the other end of the day even takes water along the bitter route. Apparently, the reason why we (my batchmates) tend to bunk all our classes, lecture and practicals for the entire day on a Friday – to pay tribute to our ecstasy! (On the contrary, a bunk is like a desperate slurp that remains engraved on our tongues…and it has the privilege to strike down at any point in our daily schedules!)
Think you’ve had enough for Friday? Well, stick to it, because the spark with which a new week flags off already has water spilt over it. All of it in actuality stems out a dozen of hours before the dawn of a new week wakes you up…The exercise of waking up with the cry of the hen every Monday mornings is an absolute sin you cannot fight swords or retaliate towards. What’s more? It seems the time has slipped back by a couple of hours. Puffed eyes (and for the Sunday night party routers, ‘BLOODSHOT EYES’), a scoop of crankiness buttered all over, the head seemingly snatching the all the shackles of your body bulk… (Alright! Not that you cannot flesh yourself out of it, but Monday dawns are the ones where the darkest of nights evidently will not mind filling in their prioritizations over them!)
it is like a virtual cliff that we scale ourselves onto. The bottom (where the climb instigates from) adheres to the new week sparked, and crawling up that indefinite stretch doesn't really hypothesize tolerance to imperialize the territory. But the same crawl does possess the judder to ram throughout the extension in an apparent click of the finger - much like the scratch of gold among a pile of nickel!
now for laddering oneself from the zenith of that exhilaration till the sink. well, it sweeps out and reciprocates by a greater magnitude - just like those incredible magicians that dare to wipe out everything kept under your nose; the weekend scoots out at an immaculate blaze. I'm everytime recursively tangled in the shackles of the rubble at square one...
How does one configure the seeds of exhilaration for a Friday – where the groove is just a step away, and the ecstatic bewilderment is probably waiting in a corner to pounce at you – and that for a Monday – where all the jazzed shades of parties have annihilated and a virtual dull verve has once again looped in.
A Friday evening is prophesized to synchronize all the nerves and stack them into a bag of delight. Splashes of exhilaration are everything when the breeze flowing on the onset of an ‘incredible’ weekend strikes and at the same time, smears through my face, dumping my sorrowed lexis. For a fractional fragment of the population, its all about the groove of an indefinite stretch of gluing their eyes on the television screen, or for the others its all about sticking their feet on the dance floor. The sweetness of the posited fun awaiting at the other end of the day even takes water along the bitter route. Apparently, the reason why we (my batchmates) tend to bunk all our classes, lecture and practicals for the entire day on a Friday – to pay tribute to our ecstasy! (On the contrary, a bunk is like a desperate slurp that remains engraved on our tongues…and it has the privilege to strike down at any point in our daily schedules!)
Think you’ve had enough for Friday? Well, stick to it, because the spark with which a new week flags off already has water spilt over it. All of it in actuality stems out a dozen of hours before the dawn of a new week wakes you up…The exercise of waking up with the cry of the hen every Monday mornings is an absolute sin you cannot fight swords or retaliate towards. What’s more? It seems the time has slipped back by a couple of hours. Puffed eyes (and for the Sunday night party routers, ‘BLOODSHOT EYES’), a scoop of crankiness buttered all over, the head seemingly snatching the all the shackles of your body bulk… (Alright! Not that you cannot flesh yourself out of it, but Monday dawns are the ones where the darkest of nights evidently will not mind filling in their prioritizations over them!)
it is like a virtual cliff that we scale ourselves onto. The bottom (where the climb instigates from) adheres to the new week sparked, and crawling up that indefinite stretch doesn't really hypothesize tolerance to imperialize the territory. But the same crawl does possess the judder to ram throughout the extension in an apparent click of the finger - much like the scratch of gold among a pile of nickel!
now for laddering oneself from the zenith of that exhilaration till the sink. well, it sweeps out and reciprocates by a greater magnitude - just like those incredible magicians that dare to wipe out everything kept under your nose; the weekend scoots out at an immaculate blaze. I'm everytime recursively tangled in the shackles of the rubble at square one...
Saturday, August 11, 2007
UnTiTLEd...
When you know the flouroscents of your presence as a portion of a scintillating group of friends stands on the threshold to set itself when the dusk exuberates:
1> When you tag your friends as "activity partners"...and you have enough reasons out-pouring from your bucket for not believing in friendship.
2> Or, if it doesn't prove to be a contraception, you claim your best friends as aomeng the six characters of the time old, "F.R.I.E.N.D.S" - Jeniffer Aniston, Couteney Cox, Lisa Kudrow, Matt Le Blank, Matthew Perry or David Schwimmer.
3> When the "received calls" list in your cell phone falls scanty of any name in comparison to the dialled numbers list.
4> The inbox of your cell phones are filling in nothing else but air. Or even if, you got a stack of messages piled up, they'll be the composed mails (I hope people recognize the line drawn between forwards and self composed mails).
5> When you can afford to get a reputation in your college for your accomplishments (EUREKA!), but in the spectrum of friendship, you still incline to being a complete piss.
6> When the "Why's" stream with more pressure into the sea of questions than the other "W's".
7> When you probably for the first time utter out, "Screw them!"
8> The first time that you shut your FM station when the radio jockey played "Masti kii Pathshalaa"
9> When you prefer to hang out all by yourself instead of encountering the company of a bundle of junkheads
10> CUPID STICKS TO YOUR WORLD! The desperation for having a partner escalates and scorches like you never did before.
11> When you pray you could be the next spiderman in the industry.
12> When you think you're mature enough to brick a wall between friends and mere company keeping people, though in realism you've flunked...BIG TIME!
13> When you let all your books and learned knowledge hoist a white flag defining a surrender and slope towards nature as your ultimate teacher (humph!)
14> You lock in enough reasons to dash in contraceptions to the famous sayings.
15> When the pores of your body can let anything...everything ooze out except what you consider as the summit of YOU...your ego!
16> When the greetings over the line turn tables from "Oye! Kaisa hai haramkhor!" to a sublime and formal "Hello..."
17> When your fascinations switch its contexts with your portion of realism.
18> When you cannot draw a line between any two people. Every living soul seems to be like a star in a galaxy.
19> When you move up a step or two, or probably row back as well. But it taste like a delicacy of an irony to ground yourself with the actualities of the present.
20> When you prefer to reach the summit through a steep and barren slope rather than taking a fleet of stairs. You always want to pull an alternative approach upto your sleeves rather than exploiting the seeds of an obvious plant.
21> When you deny to take up any machine-on-wheels and instead lay down your priorities to WALK!!...(even if its a thousand's miles to be covered in the blistering heat that's launched itself in your neighbourhood)
22> When you want to bang your heads on to a concrete wall becAuse you've climbed the summit of ecstasy and your contacts' list is still an excruciating void of your life...(as its said, "when you share the blossoms of your life, you actually multiply it!")
23> When the number of communitiesn your orkut profile wins the race competing with the number of friends.
24> When you had your envisages lurking out for you to join the group of "sazi wallahs" on your trip to the market because they seem to form an enormed gang of friends within them.
1> When you tag your friends as "activity partners"...and you have enough reasons out-pouring from your bucket for not believing in friendship.
2> Or, if it doesn't prove to be a contraception, you claim your best friends as aomeng the six characters of the time old, "F.R.I.E.N.D.S" - Jeniffer Aniston, Couteney Cox, Lisa Kudrow, Matt Le Blank, Matthew Perry or David Schwimmer.
3> When the "received calls" list in your cell phone falls scanty of any name in comparison to the dialled numbers list.
4> The inbox of your cell phones are filling in nothing else but air. Or even if, you got a stack of messages piled up, they'll be the composed mails (I hope people recognize the line drawn between forwards and self composed mails).
5> When you can afford to get a reputation in your college for your accomplishments (EUREKA!), but in the spectrum of friendship, you still incline to being a complete piss.
6> When the "Why's" stream with more pressure into the sea of questions than the other "W's".
7> When you probably for the first time utter out, "Screw them!"
8> The first time that you shut your FM station when the radio jockey played "Masti kii Pathshalaa"
9> When you prefer to hang out all by yourself instead of encountering the company of a bundle of junkheads
10> CUPID STICKS TO YOUR WORLD! The desperation for having a partner escalates and scorches like you never did before.
11> When you pray you could be the next spiderman in the industry.
12> When you think you're mature enough to brick a wall between friends and mere company keeping people, though in realism you've flunked...BIG TIME!
13> When you let all your books and learned knowledge hoist a white flag defining a surrender and slope towards nature as your ultimate teacher (humph!)
14> You lock in enough reasons to dash in contraceptions to the famous sayings.
15> When the pores of your body can let anything...everything ooze out except what you consider as the summit of YOU...your ego!
16> When the greetings over the line turn tables from "Oye! Kaisa hai haramkhor!" to a sublime and formal "Hello..."
17> When your fascinations switch its contexts with your portion of realism.
18> When you cannot draw a line between any two people. Every living soul seems to be like a star in a galaxy.
19> When you move up a step or two, or probably row back as well. But it taste like a delicacy of an irony to ground yourself with the actualities of the present.
20> When you prefer to reach the summit through a steep and barren slope rather than taking a fleet of stairs. You always want to pull an alternative approach upto your sleeves rather than exploiting the seeds of an obvious plant.
21> When you deny to take up any machine-on-wheels and instead lay down your priorities to WALK!!...(even if its a thousand's miles to be covered in the blistering heat that's launched itself in your neighbourhood)
22> When you want to bang your heads on to a concrete wall becAuse you've climbed the summit of ecstasy and your contacts' list is still an excruciating void of your life...(as its said, "when you share the blossoms of your life, you actually multiply it!")
23> When the number of communitiesn your orkut profile wins the race competing with the number of friends.
24> When you had your envisages lurking out for you to join the group of "sazi wallahs" on your trip to the market because they seem to form an enormed gang of friends within them.
God's own Demon...
One of the questions that has always spellbounded and on the parallel track, dumbfound a few others has been, “How do we draw a line between fascination and reality?”
In reference to the movie, The Exorcism of Emiley Rose, that tracked down the life of a 20 year old Anneliese Michel. Religiously devoted, she reprimanded every portion of her life to be spent on the footsteps of the Almighty. But as its said, with great devotion, there is an equal shade of remorse exuberated by that heap of consecration.
The commencing steps of the ‘70’s enforced Anneliese to witness demons during her prayers. Voices, blurred images…all that one can afford to confine and restrict within their reach of fascinations knitting the threads of evil, screamed over her. Obviously, the medical arena wasn’t equipped with enough hands to wrestle with that predator and had to surrender. Irrevocably, with the escalating drench Anneliese was made to swim her feet in – she insulted, beat herself, bit the fractions of her own family - pastors were approached to for performing “The Great Exorcism”, the basis of the ritual defined as “Rituale Romanum” . Though her parents had to excruciatingly fix the tables of accusations over themselves, and the court mantled medical negligence as the cause for her death. Yet, the sequence that confined the slots of starvation (not intentional, it was infact the autocracy of the demons), sleeping on the stone floors, engulfing spiders, flies and coal as her feed, and sipping in her own urine! Moreover, it’s a spectrum of ironies to witness a person thrashing the seeds of her priced possessions; she was seen tearing off all Jesus’ paintings, pulling apart rosaries. Acts of self mutilation, tearing apart her own clothes, urinating on the floor…All of it unarguably doesn’t ring a bell to snoop in on a parallel track with the context of a person who had spiritualism reigning in her blood! The “Kligenberg Case” was conclusively held to unlock two questions, something that still sings the melancholies of faith, conviction: What caused the death of Anneliese Michel, and who was responsible?
Was it that God slipped out of the quadrant and couldn’t prove the belief that Anneliese possessed when every desperation was inclining towards Him, or did the demons have the nerve to shatter His presence? Regardless, what all of it boils down to is whether God exists or not…Its perhaps, the only question that can stand tall and stay leveled to having a squirm full of all possible shades of answers. “He’s invisible yet felt, invisible yet gets transformed into anything and everything…”
However, if a heads inclines to possessing an equal proportion of its occurrence to a tails – or expanding it to a broader spectrum, if everything (be it any seed of life) has to be tagged with a counterpart…then what is God tagged with? How many of us tend to squish the fingers into the ones of the opposite palms and sing our prayers when the lightening of tribulations breaks down at us? Or how many worship Him when we desire to let the pleasant winds wrap around the storms of dilemmas? Let’s just lock ourselves on the fact that we require God when the desire of anything sunny has to be encountered. Else if?
Who deals with sorrows and grief? Demons…Devil? We always squeeze ourselves out of the arsenal while coming across the term “evil”. Its either fright, foreboding, terror…while some reciprocate by lashing in their swords to stand conclusive, for “evil” to be just a word confined to the English Dictionary, nothing more than that! It wasn’t a fact that Anneliese Michel encountered demons that clung onto the dominance of her life. People who got swayed with it have locked their beliefs in it, the rest haven’t. And its equivalent to calling it a child’s play for denying (with evidences) the existence of evil in our lives. “You believe in what you see, and unless you see, you don’t believe!” Then what about God?
Our perception allows only those pieces of relevant ions to get absorbed that we want to. And surely, it doesn’t embed fractions of dread in itself. Rightly commented by the defendants (the lawyer) of the Emiley Rose case (as foreseen in “The Exorcism of Emiley Rose”), “Angels and Demons…God and Devil…either they exist, or they don’t!” What it means is that one cannot be hanged in the middle and flood in their trusts for something and sideline the other… if your God asks you to believe in Him, have the strength to question him about evil as well!
Science, however has the most incredible nerve for paralyzing the existence of Demons, and the accuracy is maintained by what we call it as “Schizophrenia”. According to the dictionary terminology, “Schizophrenia is a chronic, mental illness variously affecting behavior, thinking and emotion.” The term schizophrenia is best translated “shattered mind”. The abduction of Annaliese’s autocracy towards her inner self was simply put down as a case of this particular mental disorder. The question still cradles in the middle without turning its tables to either polarities – just an additional parameter that has been introduced. And this parameter fixes the pieces of puzzle with immaculate precision, because it has facts – that do not leave any further room for questioning.
So what are we left with, is the presence of God a fact? Or can Science easily wipe off the struggle for questioning over it?
In reference to the movie, The Exorcism of Emiley Rose, that tracked down the life of a 20 year old Anneliese Michel. Religiously devoted, she reprimanded every portion of her life to be spent on the footsteps of the Almighty. But as its said, with great devotion, there is an equal shade of remorse exuberated by that heap of consecration.
The commencing steps of the ‘70’s enforced Anneliese to witness demons during her prayers. Voices, blurred images…all that one can afford to confine and restrict within their reach of fascinations knitting the threads of evil, screamed over her. Obviously, the medical arena wasn’t equipped with enough hands to wrestle with that predator and had to surrender. Irrevocably, with the escalating drench Anneliese was made to swim her feet in – she insulted, beat herself, bit the fractions of her own family - pastors were approached to for performing “The Great Exorcism”, the basis of the ritual defined as “Rituale Romanum” . Though her parents had to excruciatingly fix the tables of accusations over themselves, and the court mantled medical negligence as the cause for her death. Yet, the sequence that confined the slots of starvation (not intentional, it was infact the autocracy of the demons), sleeping on the stone floors, engulfing spiders, flies and coal as her feed, and sipping in her own urine! Moreover, it’s a spectrum of ironies to witness a person thrashing the seeds of her priced possessions; she was seen tearing off all Jesus’ paintings, pulling apart rosaries. Acts of self mutilation, tearing apart her own clothes, urinating on the floor…All of it unarguably doesn’t ring a bell to snoop in on a parallel track with the context of a person who had spiritualism reigning in her blood! The “Kligenberg Case” was conclusively held to unlock two questions, something that still sings the melancholies of faith, conviction: What caused the death of Anneliese Michel, and who was responsible?
Was it that God slipped out of the quadrant and couldn’t prove the belief that Anneliese possessed when every desperation was inclining towards Him, or did the demons have the nerve to shatter His presence? Regardless, what all of it boils down to is whether God exists or not…Its perhaps, the only question that can stand tall and stay leveled to having a squirm full of all possible shades of answers. “He’s invisible yet felt, invisible yet gets transformed into anything and everything…”
However, if a heads inclines to possessing an equal proportion of its occurrence to a tails – or expanding it to a broader spectrum, if everything (be it any seed of life) has to be tagged with a counterpart…then what is God tagged with? How many of us tend to squish the fingers into the ones of the opposite palms and sing our prayers when the lightening of tribulations breaks down at us? Or how many worship Him when we desire to let the pleasant winds wrap around the storms of dilemmas? Let’s just lock ourselves on the fact that we require God when the desire of anything sunny has to be encountered. Else if?
Who deals with sorrows and grief? Demons…Devil? We always squeeze ourselves out of the arsenal while coming across the term “evil”. Its either fright, foreboding, terror…while some reciprocate by lashing in their swords to stand conclusive, for “evil” to be just a word confined to the English Dictionary, nothing more than that! It wasn’t a fact that Anneliese Michel encountered demons that clung onto the dominance of her life. People who got swayed with it have locked their beliefs in it, the rest haven’t. And its equivalent to calling it a child’s play for denying (with evidences) the existence of evil in our lives. “You believe in what you see, and unless you see, you don’t believe!” Then what about God?
Our perception allows only those pieces of relevant ions to get absorbed that we want to. And surely, it doesn’t embed fractions of dread in itself. Rightly commented by the defendants (the lawyer) of the Emiley Rose case (as foreseen in “The Exorcism of Emiley Rose”), “Angels and Demons…God and Devil…either they exist, or they don’t!” What it means is that one cannot be hanged in the middle and flood in their trusts for something and sideline the other… if your God asks you to believe in Him, have the strength to question him about evil as well!
Science, however has the most incredible nerve for paralyzing the existence of Demons, and the accuracy is maintained by what we call it as “Schizophrenia”. According to the dictionary terminology, “Schizophrenia is a chronic, mental illness variously affecting behavior, thinking and emotion.” The term schizophrenia is best translated “shattered mind”. The abduction of Annaliese’s autocracy towards her inner self was simply put down as a case of this particular mental disorder. The question still cradles in the middle without turning its tables to either polarities – just an additional parameter that has been introduced. And this parameter fixes the pieces of puzzle with immaculate precision, because it has facts – that do not leave any further room for questioning.
So what are we left with, is the presence of God a fact? Or can Science easily wipe off the struggle for questioning over it?
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