SECTION TWO
SM
COLUMN FORTY-EIGHT, AUGUST 1, 1999
(Copyright (c) 1999 Al Aronowitz)
MANUEL MENÉNDEZ
THE SAGA OF MANUEL MENÉNDEZ
PART 11: BROKE AND DEPRESSED IN LONDON
It
was more than 10 years ago that I decided in retrospect that the U.S.
surgeon-general's report was absolutely right.
That was some 25 years after the surgeon-general's report came out, which
was the year I started smoking cigarettes. Obviously, I should have heeded the surgeon-general's report
when it came out. Because smoking
insults the body's cells. In other
words, smoke is anti-life. I quit
smoking EVERYTHING in the mid-'80s---cigarettes, cocaine freebase and marijuana.
Lately,
however, I've found my own Alice B. Toklas, who keeps me supplied with an
occasional pot cookie, which I eagerly devour.
Why? First of all, I don't
want any evidence lying around the house. But
mostly, because I find it helps me write. Writers have always needed some sort of intoxicant in order
to write. Hemingway and Faulkner
are the ones who immediately come to mind but there were and are so many others.
Although they weren't potheads, they were lushes.
The best writers have always had to get drunk to pour their souls out on
paper.
Manuel
Menédez, it turns out, is both a pothead and something of a lush,
although he can ill afford either drink or dope.
So my Alice B. Toklas has taken it upon herself to send him a couple of
numbers every once in a while and Manuel appeals to his readers to do the same.
Send him an e at eserista@hotmail.com
to learn his postal address. But
remember. Only one number per
envelope is recommended for safety's sake.
Still
crippled by his fall on the stairway and still broke and out of a job, Manuel
continues to write, no matter how bad the pain from his injuries.
He's also daydreaming about winning the "Planeta" prize for
Spanish literature, which may or may not be something akin to me daydreaming
about winning the lotto.
You can learn more about Manuel's travails in the following email, the continuity of which was interrupted when I brought my computer to Comp USA and to Staples for repair. Between the two of them, they managed to erase a portion of my hard disk and all of Manuel' emails between December, 1998 and April. 1999.
*
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Subject:
Keyboard
Date: Tue, 24 Nov 1998 09:36:37 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
24/11/98
.
. .I'm in pain, and when I type both of my shoulders hurt.
*
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Subject:
Corrections, impossible
Date: Sun, 29 Nov 1998 08:22:23 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
29/11/98.
Maestro:
.
..But you, see, I can't make corrections on the stuff you send me back.
The cursor won't move. You
know, I hate Bill Gates. But if the
two Steves had been less nerdy and more bussinessmanlike, the main PC in the
world would be the Macintosh. They
should have given away their operative system, as IBM did.
Take
care:
Manuel.-
*
* *
Date: Sun, 06 Dec 1998 03:41:06 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
6/12/98.
Maestro:
The
words in questión are "Congo Munanga," which is one of many black
criminal gangs tied together by blood oaths; they evolved from the secret
societies of the African slaves. Just
change that name, write instead "Efi Etete," it really doesn't matter.
That's another gang. As for
"mecagüendiez", eliminate the word altogether, it's irrelevant; leave
just "two tone shoes." I
hope those are the only difficulties, the rest of the text I think it's all
English. From now on I'll try to
send you the hard copy. As for the
birthday card and the 10 quid, never received
it, no matter, I appreciate it just the same.
Take
care:
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
Sunday blues
Date: Sun, 06 Dec 1998 04:01:30 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
If
all the sadness I feel were equally distributed among the 59 million inhabitants
of the United Kingdom, nobody would smile again in this country.
It's
a beautiful Sunday, cold but sunny and a pale blue sky rare in London winters. I
spent all night dreaming the surgeon was amputating my arm in cold blood, and it
was the pain that penetrated the fog of my Nozinan sleeping pills.
I
went for a walk, all the way to the drugstore at Upper Clapton, about 15 blocks
from here. It was a radiant
morning, but the long walk didn't dissipate my sadness, on the contrary.
When I came back here to this sordid, dirty room, I tried to cry, to see
if it brought some relief, but I had forgotten how, I just sounded like a dog
howling.
Don't
ask me why I feel this way: depression is
the cancer of the
Take
care you-all:
Manuel.-
*
* *
Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1998 09:46:18 PST
From: "manuel menendez" <manuel_menendez@hotmail.com>
To: andrew.hill@capgemini.uk.co
CC: RMadri7239@aol.com
Sunday,
20/12/98.
(Before 2Kb)
Mite:
The
strikes were surgical, precise, and there
was plenty warning for people not to stay around at night.
Only 68 dead in all. The
F18-A Hornets, F-14 Tomcats and a couple B-1s that took part in the four days
raid dislodged exactly aimed smart bombs, against well known Saddam's military
and repressive corps facilities. And
the Tomahawk cruise missiles were used only when the targets were big enough as
to not harm civilians. It had to be
done. This maniac has a whole 2 million Iraquis hostage, under the
circumstances, the attacks were if anything humanitary, to free them.
The US could have crippled Basra refinery, cutting Iraq's lifeline, the
1.3 million barrels a day allowed by the UN.
But the attacks didn't. They
were squeamish to the point of respecting Ramadan.
If
Tony Blair had struck on his own, he would be now a hero. But he hadn't the airpower---his Tornados and Harriers
technological shit. So he followed
in the wake of the Yanks, so he's an imperialist tool. How fast the Brits forget that the Yanks---alienating in the
process the whole hemisphere---supported them in their just war to reclaim the
Falklands-Malvinas from a despicable Argentinian junta.
Memory
is brief, and certainly not a matter of alliances. I don't like Blair in
particular, but I think he showed guts this time. It had to be done. The
US simply could afford 7 billion sending, aircraft carriers every time Saddam
expelled the UN observers.
It's
a simplistic notion to say that Saddam is just another madman like Khadaffi.
He may be stupid in his foreign policy, like starting an unwinnable war
against Iran, and later invading Kuwait. Had
he bided his time instead, by now he would have an atomic bomb, Mustard and
Sarin gas, Botulism and Plague warheads, and enough Chinese and North Korean
Scud missiles to wipe the whole Middle East, Israel of course the main target.
Not a madman, but a cunning, cruel, unscrupulous, politician that
conducted human experiments on Iranian POWs, like Eichmann watching the Jews
dying in the gas chambers.
What
the Americans did was the right thing, and it was only moral for the UK to
follow. So we disagree.
Which doesn't mean I don't love you the same as Mr. Al.
Called him on the phone but was too stoned to understand me.
Take
care:
Manuel
*
* *
Subject: BBC test.
Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 15:40:20 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
Friday,
April 16, 1999.
Mites:
I
think I passed with flying colors the test, even the double handicap of using a
single hand and an IBM keyboard and mouse I was unfamiliar with.
Even so, I finished before the time limit.
In normal conditions I would have done it in half the allotted time of 5
hours. When my test is scored and
I'm approved only lasts a formality, an interview in English with some honcho.
That's OK with me, for I'm more fluent right now in English than in
Spanish, which feels to me like a straight jacket.
That
doesn't mean I'm going to be hired, neither full nor part-time: I'll be just
part of a pool of eventuals that can be called once in a while when a regular
staffer misses. But even so, it's a
step forward. The girl in the
Recruitment Office told me to buy The Guardian Mondays in the next four
weeks, because perhaps they'll announce a vacancy during the next month.
Let's see if luck gives me a break.
It's hard time, because I have 20 pence left in my pocket, and I don't
know how I'll last until I get the dole. And
I still have to pay this month the phone bill and the bank's loan.
The
key to escaping this fucking abject, degrading poverty is my book: there it is,
on my bed, a big, neat package that weighs about 20 pounds, and I still have to
mail it, which costs a fucking fortune. What
for? Will I win the prize, or even
be finalist, or at least get my novel published?
I just plain don't know, mites. I
did my best, and if the seven juries are so narrow-minded bigots and prudes that
they discard it, at least they'll be aware that, even if they don't like it
personally, it would be still the best novel in the "Planeta" contest.
Which is, by the way, the most important, or at least the best paid of
the large array of Spanish literary prizes.
First
thing I'll do when I get that paltry, miserable fortnightly dole, it's to post
it, get it out of my system. If
they cut my phone, if my checks bounce, fuck it all. I just had lunch and supper altogether. You know what? A
large tomato with some onion. It's
not the Welfare system's fault. It
is my fault, 'cause I spend all my money in 9mm, high octane lager.
Nevertheless, the fact is that I'm hungry in this European Union nation,
where to keep the prices stable they throw into the Atlantic Ocean the wheat,
the rye, the potatoes, the eggs and milk. So
the government keeps the farmers happy with their subsidies, and keep their
votes. The dieticians talk about
junk food and cholesterol, but I wish I could go down the road and buy a half
pounder burger. Perhaps them guys know about nutrition, but I know about
hunger, and I know about starvation, and about hunger strikes.
I'm a PhD on unwilling fasting.
But
what I really need is hard booze, and Texas Medicine, 'cause this world and age
is getting so mean and obnoxious that I just want to go into cyberspace.
And write and live in a much harsher but nevertheless more satisfying
times, those of my youth, when I was capable of love and sex and joy.
I
just downed six big dihydrocodeins with a beer chaser, all I have at hand.
But God, let me forget about today until tomorrow.
Pass from me this cup. Only
the gaseous vertebrate works part time, and He's not available right now, or is
too busy retrieving Kosovars to his ample bosom.
Take
care you-all. Loves you:
Manuel.-
*
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Subject:
Novel.
Date: Mon, 17 May 1999 11:41:43 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: jolyan.turrall
CC: andrew.hill
17/5/99.
Dear
Jolyan:
Did
you get the 19 chapters? How did
they turn out? You know, I'm filing
for bankruptcy, and probably Cable London is going to cut next week my phone,
and therefore access to the Web. Anyway
I couldn't afford it: I was paying about 50 pounds a month.
And
I need to restrict myself at the maximum, because if they don't select my novel
for a prize I'll have to publish it myself.
To print 500 copies cost 800 dollars.
So
we won't be able to communicate, I'll be totally isolated, no e-mail, not even a
phone, the last state of destitution because you can't even search for a job
without having a phone.
But
what I feel the most is not being able to see my own Webpage.
Well, now you have the novel, you can work at the side at leisure.
You know, it seems so good to me, but I have lost faith.
The Spanish publishers won't touch it with a ten-feet pole.
Take
care:
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
J's "
Date: Tue, 18 May 1999 10:06:58 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
Maestro
I wait and wait and the tm don't arrive---needed desperately.
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
Life buoy.
Date: Wed, 19 May 1999 06:25:57 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill
19/5/99.
Dear
Andy:
I
just came from my lawyer, a great Pakistani guy, very decent, very helpful.
He gave a copy of the letters he sent already to the Midland Bank and the
VISA services, telling them I'm destitute, sick, and unable to pay.
He told me not to spend 100 pounds in bankruptcy procedures, but wait
till their next move. He said that
it's up to them to force me to go bankrupt, and if that's the case I have to pay
nothing. Wise guy, knows the law
inside out, and speaks with an upper class accent, something rare among people
of the subcontinent.
He
certainly lifted a weight from my shoulders.
And his employee is going to enquire with the DSS, all papers carefully
collected in his hand, to see what happened to the 40 pounds or so they cheated
from me.
Everytime
I hear movement I go to the slot to see if it's the tm Mr. Alice promised me.
A sacrifice for him, since he's broke too.
But mate, I'm aching for it. They say that Texas Medicine doesn't create
dependency. Bullshit.
I need it to write, to venture into the unknown, my second novel, which
is progressing fast and steady. Ahead
are still the chapters about the hero in the headquarters of the Cuban KGB, the
Combinado del Este penitentiary, and "Carbó Serviá," an asylum for
the criminally insane. I have to
imagine nothing, because I was in the three of them.
It's just a matter of remembering the little details that give veracity
to the story, that's why I need the TM for, to open my pineal gland and let the
repressed memories come through in their utter brutality and squalor.
It's going be a
good
book, the love story of this chap of 33 with a teenager, like "Lolita,"
but in the Cuban hell. Take care and don't worry, I'm Okay.
Loves you-all:
Manuel.-(Planeta
Prize winner to be)
*
* *
Subject:
Johnny arrived.
Date: Fri, 21 May 1999 02:00:53 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
The
tm just arrived. I'll write more
later on, now is too expensive.
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
Promotion, Website.
Date:
Fri, 21 May 1999 09:39:05 PDT
From:
"manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To:
jolyan.turrall
CC:
info@blacklistedjournalist.com
21/05/99.
Dear
Jolyan:
I
've thinking about Cable & Wireless. You
can pay the phone service by money order, but what about Virgin Net, the
Internet portal? The Internet
services only accept VISA or direct debit.
And I don't have a bank account anymore. So whichever way I try, I'll be in isolation.
I'll try to preserve the phone service at least, but I'll lose the
Internet anyway. And with it the
tie to the world.
My
main point: it's alright to advertise the novel, but the message should go
straight to "Cuba Net and Links."
What I would like to say in Spanish is:
"IROKO"
Novela de la Revolución Cubana.
Autor : Manuel Menéndez (eserista@hotmail.com)
Diseño: Jolyan Turrall (rchin@iroko.free-online.co.uk)
Manuel
Menéndez nació en La Habana en 1948, durante un huracán devastador.
Es graduado de la Escuela de Periodismo de la Universidad de La Habana.
Trabajó durante diez años en la radio cubana, nacional y de onda corta.
Sirvió un año y medio por un delito de opinión en la penitenciaría
Combinado del Este, y seis meses en un asilo para criminales insanos, donde
recibió dos docenas de electroshocks sin anestesia.
Fue
al exilio en 1982 y desde entonces ha vivido en España, Suiza, Italia,
Australia, Nueva Zelandia, los Estados Unidos, Canadá y al presente Inglaterra.
Ha publicado piezas en periódicos canadienses y norteamericanos, entre
ellos The Miami Herald.
"Iroko"
es su primera novela. Al principio transcurre en el GULAG cubano, los campos de
concentración para homosexuales y antisociales en la provincia cubana de Camagüey
en los años 60, y luego describe la fuga de la isla en una balsa, y el amargo
pan del exilio. Es sin embargo en el fondo una historia de amor: el mito de
Orfeo y Eurídice en la Cuba de Castro.
Actualmente
escribe otra novela: "Las fronteras son mi cárcel." Una versión
cubana de Lolita en La Habana de 1990, en pleno "Período
Especial," apartheid turístico y jineteo.
El
siguiente libro en esta serie, sus memorias Silencio, Astucia y Exilio.
A ser también también publicados en esta Website: iroko@free-online.co.uk
*
* *
Subject:
Would be testament.
Date: Sat, 22 May 1999 22:01:59 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill
22/5/99.
Jolyan:
Your
idea is very good, but not feasible: I have only six or seven chapters in
English. How can I see the site,
the little there is of it? I have
so many ideas, but don't know how to do them, how to put them in practice: even
music to open the site, a song that plays a relevant part in the novel's finale:
A Whiter Shade of Pale. And a
counter from the start to know the hits accurately.
Photographs. The works.
I
wish it were October already, to know the result of the "Planeta"
Prize. I would like to do like Ryp
van Wynkle, and go to sleep until then. You
see: when you are on trial for your life, the uncertainty kills you.
Once you got life without parole or lethal injection, you resign
yourself. I'm aware I'm making a
great mistake centering so many hopes in this prize.
That maybe I get nothing at all, but I can't help but to dream.
To
buy this house, have two cats and a brindle Boxer bitch. A big screen TV with VCR and cable. A good stereo. To
cut away the plywood division and join this room to the adjacent one, to make a
bedsitter, and rent the other four rooms to cool people.
To buy all the CDs I want. To
build a wooden fence in the backyard and sow my own Texas Medicine and roses.
To take off the curtains and display in the window a human skeleton I saw
in a taxidermist store. To give
every Saturday night a party in my pad, with plenty Colombian Marching Powder
and TM by the ounce, and booze aplenty.
Pipe
dreams, no doubt, but it's a goal worthy to fight for.
And just in case I'm going to make a will.
Me and Mr. Al will kick the bucket in a not too distant future, but you
boys would live well in the 21st Century, and I'll leave you half each all my
material properties and my literary rights and royalties, so you both can quit
working too and pursue the ends you want. Injun's
word. My only condition would be
your moral obligation to continue keeping Mr. Al's and my own Websites.
Take
care and I love you-all:
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
Hellp!!!
Date: Tue, 25 May 1999 18:20:44 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hil
26/05/99.
Need
TM ASAP. Suffering.
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
Phone, cutting off.
Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 06:49:43 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: jolyan.turrall
CC: andrew.hil
27/05/1999.
Mates:
My
phone will be disconnected on June18th. Send
me your respective addresses so we can communicate at least via snail-mail.
And Jolyan, see if you can give me phone or Wireless and cable.
Take
care:
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
Inferences, draw your own
Date: Mon, 07 Jun 1999 14:19:28 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill
7/6/99.
Dear
Sirs:
To
your information, I'm still alive, but barely so.
Yours
truly:
Manuel
Menéndez Castellanos
*
* *
Subject:
How are you?
Date: Fri, 11 Jun 1999 01:30:17 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
11/6/99.
Caro
Maestro:
What's
going on? Why that silence?
Is your computer broken? Are
you sick? I'm completely broke and can't buy a phone card to call you.
If possible give me a ring, or better still, send me tm.
I haven't had a smoke for ages. Andy
and Jolyan promised to come here in this last long weekend, but didn't.
Andrew had been sick, my guess is a nervous breakdown.
I
need the TM desperately because I have to go the 28th next to a trial.
I'm countersuing those Internet Pakistani bastards who ripped me off and
had the gall of taking me to court, and I want to go stoned, to soothe my nerves
and sharpen my mind.
Write
or call, let me know how you are. My
2nd novel was going great, but it's stalled.
I plain can't write without booze or dope, and I'm just correcting the
eight chapters I have so far.
Loves
you:
Manuel.
*
* *
Subject:
Alive!
Date: Sat, 26 Jun 1999 14:53:48 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: blackj@bigmagic.co
26/6/99.
Caro
Maestro:
Glad
to know you're alright and back to business.
After so much time without hearing from you I was worried.
Couldn't call you to check because I can't afford long distance cards.
Andrew is in Crete with his wife and children.
Of Jolyan I haven't heard in months: they both promised to come over here
in Easter, none did.
Take
care, loves you:
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
S.O.S in the last stretch
Date: Sat, 03 Jul 1999 01:12:44 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill
3/7/99.
Caro
Maestro:
I
need TM desperately. I'm sorry for bothering you. It's just that I'm writing one
last chapter for "Iroko." You
see, there was a missing link in the second part of the novel, years unaccounted
for. So I put El Químico in the
midst of Nicaragua's Civil War. In
the ranks of the Contras, of course. So
far I have written 27 pages, but I think it is the best, the most gripping
chapter in the book. El Químico
goes behind the Sandinista lines and kidnaps a Cuban general.
Then the persecution when his squad tries to reach the safety of
Honduras. I tell you, I like it,
sounds real, the real guerrilla warfare.
But
without TM I plain can't write, I get blocked.
I hate to ask favors, and bother my only friends, but right now I'm
touching button. I haven't eaten in three days, which not a bad thing; living on
tea and strong lager I get on credit from the liquor store.
I owe them already 15 pounds, which I'll pay on Monday, when I get my
welfare. But it's a vicious circle.
It's impossible to drink and survive on the dole.
I had nothing more, and am taking codeine.
Yes, gives me a little high, but the secondary effects are terrible.
I developed a skin rash that doesn't let me sleep.
Counting
the days until the start of October, when the winning novels are announced.
If I win, even the finalist prize, I'll never had to beg again or go
without dope and beer. Haven't read
your column yet, I'll do it tomorrow. Please
help me in the last stretch on the race towards money and notoriety.
Manuel.
*
* *
Subject:
Phone call.
Date: Sun, 04 Jul 1999 12:47:23 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: blackj@bigmagic.co
4/7/99.
Sorry
Maestro, I can't make long distance calls with this server, I use instead a
phone card which is much cheaper. I'm
fucking, absolutely broke, and I can't stand this fucking life I'm leading any
more.
Manuel.-
*
* *
Subject:
Nicaragua.
Date: Mon, 05 Jul 1999 23:20:10 PDT
From: manuel menendez <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
CC: andrew.hill
6/7/99.
Dears
Andy and Mr. Al:
If
I had included the present Nicaragua chapter in the novel I sent to Spain, I
have no doubt I would have gotten the prize.
It's gory, violent, but I have managed to imagine and reproduce the
landscape and the combats and skirmishes in those little details that lend
authenticity and realism to the story. The
acid taste of fear in your throat. It's
a shame it's in Spanish and you can't read it as it is. I can feel it, the mosquitoes, the flies, the leeches, the
weight of the knapsacks, the adrenaline of fighting, recreating it as I go.
All the years I spent in the army are giving fruit now.
I have 27 pages so far, and once finished this chapter, ahead lies the
worst part: proofreading and correcting, which I hate.
See if you can spare a little TM, I wish I had some now, to feel my
pineal gland opening like a lotus or the shutter of a camera.
Take
care you both:
Manuel.
*
* *
Subject:
Back on line.
Date: Thu, 15 Jul 1999 09:44:17 PDT
From: "manuel menendez" <eserista@hotmail.com>
To: info@blacklistedjournalist.com
Thursday
15 July, 1999.
Deah
Mistah Al:
I'se
back on circulation. The powers in
the Web gave me my tongue
As
soon as I finish this letter I'm going to finish the last chapter of "Iroko,"
about El Químico turned Contra in Nicaragua.
Thanks to the remains of your kind remittance.
This
I promise, cross my heart, so help me Gawd: if I win anything at the
In
the meantime: send me whatever you can, even half a number: I can't count
anymore on Andy, and Ms. Alice is my only source.
Felt
deeply offended about your phone innuendoes about Catholic priests.
Even if I don't believe in the Gaseous Vertebrate or in Ben Pantera, aka
Jesus Christ, nevertheless am a sort of Catholic myself.
I like the liturgy, the ritual, even the dogma.
And I respect immensely Catholic priests.
Sure, 33% of them are buggers and child molesters.
But if I could rewind the clock 34 years, I would enter a seminary.
Maybe I will yet, who knows? You
can be admitted until 52, under the late vocation deal.
Loves
you, and help finish this neverending novel and the proofreading, and continue
the second one. Depends on the
supply and the flimsy credit in the liquor store.
Love:
Manuel.-
##
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