Saturday, April 27, 2013

"Corporate sleaze," oh my -- an impressive new piece by Glenn Greenwald...

Glenn Greenwald is an extremely eloquent critic of state tyranny, using his training as a lawyer to relentlessly disassemble the hypocritical claims of corporate governmental powerbrokers (even though he still seemed to be supporting Obama when I saw him speak shortly before the “election”). But, at the same time, Greenwald is almost dogmatic in his support for the gay marriage agenda – this seems an unfortunate example of allowing self-interest (he is in a spousal relationship with a Brazilian man) to block self-awareness. In other words, he never makes the obvious connections between his critique of institutional power and the gay establishment’s obsession with accessing that same power through a never-ending obsession with marriage and military inclusion, hate crimes legislation, etc. But, here in this brilliant and scathing piece in the Guardian, he finally seems to be making those connections. Could he become an anti-assimilationist critic, after all?

A wonderful interview on Flashpoints!!!

Flashpoints has long been one of my favorite news programs because they dispense with that horrible illusion of “objective” journalism and instead present something nuanced and incisive. In the past month, I’ve had the honor of being on the program twice! This time I talk with host Dennis Bernstein about The End of San Francisco, the violence of assimilation, crying as resistance, childhood trauma, and more…

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Let me pause here and say I'm excited!

I'm excited that people are responding to The End of San Francisco in such delightful ways, hooray! I'm on a roll – to more and more and more…

And, on that note, a wonderful Q&A in the San Francisco Bay Guardian...

And, just in time for my reading at Bookshop Santa Cruz on Sunday at 7:30, a piece in the Santa Cruz Sentinel, the daily paper!

Here it is...

And, a beautiful event pick in the SF Weekly!

“Leave it to Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore to have us all excited about the end of San Francisco… Her writing is furious and unlike anything you’ve ever read… Drunk on language that ought to be incomprehensible but is somehow piercingly lucid, [Sycamore] wails elegiac for the dream of a transcendent queer culture once glimpsed with such promise here.”

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

A fantastic review in the San Francisco Bay Guardian!!!

“Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore — outspoken queer anti-assimilation activist, genderblending thriftstore style icon, archetypal Mission District character, huge-hearted den mother, insufferable gadfly — is the posterchild for all that was culturally alternative in San Francisco in that pierced-lip poser decade, while at the same time possessing one of the loudest voices cutting through the bullshit clamor back then and questioning it all. She's also a brilliant writer… Her new memoir The End of San Francisco from City Lights Books is written in such a hypnotically elliptical style (summoning City Lights' Beat poet legacy) and contains so many spot-on observations and era-damning epigrams that anyone who lived through the period described will cling to its pages while wishing to hurl the book at a wall in embarrassed self-recognition. Searing, funny, maudlin, elegiac, infuriating, and confessional, The End of San Francisco is a deliberately disordered collection of vignettes dealing mostly with Sycamore's span living in the city… Along the way we get drug overdoses, AIDS, lesbian potlucks, heroin chic, crystal meth, ACT UP, the birth of the Internet, the dot-com boom, the dot-com bust, mental breakdowns, outdoor cruising, phony spirituality, Craigslist hookups, hipster gentrification, Polk Street hustling, fag-bashing, shoplifting, house music, the Matrix Program, crappy SoMa live/work lofts, "Care Not Cash," gallons of bleach and hair dye, and processing, processing, and more processing. It's definitely not a nostalgia-fest: Juicy passages about SF club history, '90s queer life in the Mission, and Gay Shame's internal dynamics and gloriously kooky pranks… are accompanied by an Oprah-load of issues including chronic pain, incest, personal betrayals, anorexia, depression… This, then, is the tenderness that drives [Sycamore] to keep speaking out, despite the personal costs. As we weather another dot-com boom of homogenizing gentrification, The End of San Francisco is a timely reminder of the community that can spring from resistance.”

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

"The End of San Francisco is the opposite of nostalgia"

Oh, my – I cried so much reading this gorgeous interview by Jessica Hoffmann in the Los Angeles Review of Books. To speak, to be heard, to search, to fail, to hope, to fail again, to search more...

Jessica says, in part:

"Can memoir be honest, emotionally or otherwise? Is counterculture actually possible as a way to live? What happens to those who dream of a radical queer community when the dream fails? Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore’s latest book, The End of San Francisco, is a despairing memoir of loss — the loss of the dream of radical queer San Francisco, the loss of formative friendships, the loss of personal and political innocence. Written in a free-associative style and merging personal and social history, it is — like all of Sycamore’s work — innovative both formally and politically… The End of San Francisco is the opposite of nostalgia. Nostalgia is fundamentally conservative, and its conservatism is often embedded in the form in which stories are told. The End of San Francisco seems to me radical, not just in content, but formally, in insisting on other ways of remembering and documenting."

Friday, April 19, 2013

A special flower

Everything smells like urine in LA today — there couldn’t be this much urine in the world, could there? It must be something in the air, but what? A special urine flower blooming? Maybe just because it’s 20 degrees warmer in the morning today, 80 instead of 60, maybe that brings out all the elegant aromas. I guess the urine just stays there in the street because it never rains, even in this grass, and I’m on my way to get cucumber juice, even though thinking about going into that health food store and standing with everyone else waiting for juice sounds awful, but guess what? Here I am on the street afterwards, and already I feel better. Hooray for cucumber juice! Maybe I will actually be able to go on a walk in the park today. That’s my favorite thing in LA, Griffith Park, driving there with someone and then going down the path. The same path, mostly, the one up to the observatory, because the others I’ve tried are too steep. This park is so big it’s astonishing, how big is it? So big that you drive to a different neighborhood and there it is again, what park is that? Oh, really? Really.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013


This is a great audience, I realize that right after I start reading and everyone is laughing right away, even laughing it things that I didn’t realize were funny but that’s the point of a reading: the engagement. And then, right when the story shifts, boom, the energy in the room is so dramatically different; even though it’s my writing that’s doing this, it’s almost too dramatic to feel at all. This part about when I first remembered I was sexually abused, how it comes through talking about first finding other queers and freaks in San Francisco in the early -‘90s and now I’ve read it a few times at readings and it always surprises me how much I feel it when I’m reading it and I guess that’s the writing, translating into the reading, and my sister is here at this reading too so that’s intense, also a new friend who might be crying and I keep wondering what would happen if I started crying, it would ruin the performance of the writing, right? Or, would it? I keep wondering.

And then the questions: so intimate and layered, this is a really varied audience in terms of age and gender and race and even perhaps sub/cultural affiliation. I keep talking about vulnerability, that’s what happens, that’s what I keep feeling. One person who’s just fled a childhood home in the Inland Empire, asking about the vulnerability because I said something about how as a kid I learned to cultivate invulnerability in order to survive, but now it’s vulnerability that I think will help me most and she wants to know when I first learned that. I guess when I first remembered I was sexually abused, when I was 19.
And I also talk about nostalgia as violence. Because the early-‘90s in San Francisco were the most formative years for me but I don’t want to create a mythology of a golden age. Yes, that’s where and when I learned how to create outsider queer culture on my own terms, how to find others like and not like me, how to dream of accountability intimacy and negotiation and relationships created through desire, desire created through relationships, the politics of desire, the politics of relationships, relationships through politics, all of this. But also it felt like everywhere people were dying AIDS drug addiction and suicide, it was a desperate time and I don’t want to erase that desperation.
Every time it is a desperate time, for those of us trying to self-actualize in a world that wants us to die or disappear. Or wants to swallow our creativity into a lifestyle product. The myth of a golden age prevents us from imagining new possibilities in whatever age we live in.

And I’m talking about Patti Smith’s Just Kids and how she perpetuates this myth of New York in the ‘70s, that she was just hanging out and somehow propelled into the upper echelons of permanent stardom. That doesn’t happen to people who are just hanging out. It doesn’t happen to 99.9% of people who are trying to make it happen. There are many flaws in the book, but perhaps the most egregious ones in me is the way she keeps the mechanisms that propelled her to stardom invisible – she was just in the right time at the right place, right? We can never be there, will never be there, again.

And speaking of that place, the Chelsea Hotel where so much of the mythmaking of Just Kids takes place, someone tells me after the reading that Patti Smith is actually part of the business partnership attempting to evict all the remaining residents. These are the dreamers that didn’t make it to start on like Patti – the ones who have survived, that is. I need to find out more about this hideousness – somehow I didn’t expect the figurative violence of Patti’s mythmaking to manifest itself so blatantly. More to think about – the clarity that touring gives me about my own work and its place in the world, I will think about all of this more.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Pricking my head in different ways

Yes, a cloudy day but I look at the weather forecast and how can the chance of rain be 0%? Oh, the desert – but then I’m driving with Emerson to North Hollywood and what’s that burning smell — oh, no, it’s the air. All of that haze is smog. I’m inside the KPFK studios doing an interview for a whole hour, but then outside for just a moment and my voice gets all scratchy. Although my headache is actually better without glare of the sun, until the next day when it’s smoggy again but the glare is back. Oh, it was so nice not to have to wear sun hat for one full day, even with so much poison pricking my head in different ways, oh here it comes, here it really comes, I better lie down.

A lovely article about my reading at Loyola Marymount, in the campus newspaper…

Here it is...

Sunday, April 14, 2013

The dead father

On the way to Loyola Marymount I have one of the moments where I can’t believe all this is Los Angeles – highways going on and on and on and it really does feel like we’re in the middle of nowhere still this is the city, I guess. People are right that the air is better over here on the West Side where you can smell the ocean, softer too and I walk over to a viewing area on the campus, thinking maybe I can even see the ocean but instead it’s just a cliff overlooking an area where everything has been torn down to make way for a new development.

The school looks like country club and I can’t exactly tell how people are reacting during the reading, but then afterwards there’s a professor who asks how many books I brought, and she says I’ll take them all, and then gives them out to other professors and students, and this one student comes up to me who was sitting towards the back, someone who I really couldn’t gauge at all but now he’s so animated, telling me about the books he read in high school because that was one of the questions and how what I was reading really opened his mind.

And then a conversation afterwards with several professors and one of them says every once in a while we give an award for someone who really stimulates us to think in new ways, and he pulls out a book that he had just recommended to me, Donald Barthelme’s The Dead Father in first edition hardback, he must have gone to his office to get it. The Dead Father because that’s how my book begins. Donald Barthelme because, well I will know once I read it.

Friday, April 12, 2013


Pay attention to the way the trunks of the palm trees look so smooth, but when you touch them actually they’re prickly. The part at the bottom that looks rough is actually softer. Look how tall they are, two huge ones in front of a tiny house. Pay attention to the ivy climbing all the way up that one. The cute houses on this street. Side streets: that’s the key. Avoid the bigger ones, too much noise and then everything is ruined. Maybe Los Feliz Boulevard for a block so I can walk toward the park, yes the big pine trees, the pretty old buildings but no, I can’t take it, turn around. Stay on the side streets. What’s that up ahead? Hillhurst. Maybe I can cross to the other side. No, too noisy, turn around. Oh, those red feather duster flowers dripping off that tree, touch them. Oh, so soft – do you think they could really be used as settlor dusters? Moist too, I like the moisture. LA is a difficult place for me, but this is a good intersection, Welch and Dracena, turn quickly off Vermont like I’m fleeing the traffic and when I get back just turn quickly into the building and the glass door closes, noise in the distance but still so bright inside the courtyard, sunglasses.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Another mood swing

So much light and so little oxygen, is that what causes all my mood and energy swings here in Los Angeles, a roller coaster indeed. I’m doing the awareness practice I learned in therapy to try to figure out what I do when I eat, I think I pull in my whole upper body, everything goes to the back of my head and I’m thinking about this while I’m chewing and then suddenly I feel so sad, crying while I’m eating and yes, last night I didn’t sleep as well, but maybe also this is what awareness means. Israeli journalist Amira Hass, apparently the only Jewish-Israeli journalist who has spent the last 20 years living in and reporting from Gaza and the West Bank, so she can’t imagine real change in her lifetime. And I’m walking down the street, trying to find something pretty. That’s the problem with LA, or one of the problems: everything is so ugly. Accept those little birds, chirping anyway, and wait, look at that flowering purple vine climbing almost all the way up those tall palm trees, another mood swing.

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

The allure

I don’t think I been to a 7-Eleven in years, but there’s one a block from where I’m staying in LA so I figure it would be a good place to get toilet paper, right? I can’t believe that the company that makes Charmin actually manufactures smaller rolls of toilet paper, and calls them “regular size,” and then 7-Eleven sells this atrocity for double the usual price. And, at the register, you want to buy a Powerball, or something lottery bullshit with a name like – they ask every customer this, what a racket.
But, the good news is that I make it to Griffith Park. It turns out that yesterday I was only a few blocks away. I get to the entrance and I don’t know where to go exactly, not to the golf club, that’s for sure, how about this path up a hill and oh, after a few turns up a steep sandy path I realize this is it, this is why people love this park, this is why people love LA, I actually get it. Because it’s like you’re in the desert, you look in one direction and the mountains, in the other strange shrubs and all these birds chirping and wait, no way, what is that, a dear, a deer crossing the path in the middle of the day and I’m in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world, really?
Even the air smells like air, dry, way too dry, but still air in that familiar desert way that isn’t my climate, that’s for sure, no more living in the desert, but still, up here it’s gorgeous and I wonder where the infamous Griffith Park cruising take place, in my mind it’s somewhere near the observatory which is up there but maybe I made that up, I’ll have to ask someone because I can certainly see the allure of cruising in the middle of the day in this amazing fantasy world.
Oh, and there’s the skyline – no, don’t look at that, it’s ugly. Back to the dry earth and the bending trees, especially this little area with so many chirping birds. Oh – and, lizards, so many lizards. I only saw lizards twice the whole time I lived in Santa Fe, and I’ve already seen three today. Isn’t that supposed to be good luck? This park, I can tell, it must be good luck.
Remind me never to go into an optician again to look for sunglasses – they bring out all these ridiculous things, I mean ridiculous because they cost 300 or 400 dollars, they should get together with 7-Eleven and their overpriced mini-Charmin, that’s for sure. The problem with going to the park is then you come back down and really, this, ugly streets and cars speeding by and oh, I’m exhausted again.

Monday, April 08, 2013

Oh, look – a lovely staff review of The End of San Francisco at Elliott Bay Book Company!!! Thanks to Dave Wheeler for the props, and Meghan Storms for sending the photos…

Arranging the vertical blinds

Pretend that this blustery wind blowing trees and dead leaves and pollution and dust and dirt and who knows what else, this blustery wind blowing everything into my nose it seems, trying it out completely as soon as I step out the door, pretend that this blustery wind doesn’t remind me of the desert. Even though I know this is supposed to be desert too, without all the water diverted from everywhere. Pretend that I don’t notice all these cars, the ugliness of this street like a highway, every major street in LA feels like a highway.
Okay, the trees, yes, notice the trees. Those big tall pines, I don’t remember noticing those in LA before. And what are those weird skinny evergreens that grow so tall but not wide, we had some like that in Seattle but different. The roots of these other trees, not evergreen, pushing through the sidewalk, I always appreciate that.
The problem with a map of LA is that everything looks manageable. A few blocks — is this really a few blocks? I’m walking towards Griffith Park, but I don’t think I’ve gotten anywhere yet. Oh, I see what Jessica means — up here the street becomes more residential, look at those trees with the trunks twisting almost like braids with the big flat green-brown leaves, they’re familiar but I’ve never them huge like this. In the median strip: trees with red spiky flowers like birds.
I should be in the median strip, it’s bigger than the street, which isn’t that small: much bigger than the sidewalk. So much grass, cushion under my feet. So many ugly mansions, kind of like the apartment buildings earlier although I know I’m supposed to say it the other way. How much further is the park, I don’t think I can get there. I call it Northwest realness when you lie down anywhere in the sun and take off your clothes, I think I will try out the median strip, even with all the poison on the grass into my skin, yes it feels good and I’m so glad I brought the eye mask.
I’m trying to think of this sudden light sensitivity as a temporary change — I’m discovering strategies for coping, it’s always good to have strategies. These will be useful once the headache goes away, to keep it away. To keep myself healthy.
In between the last paragraph and now, I had a Feldenkrais session. It was great, but now I’m exhausted. Probably more in my body, and my body is exhausted. Wow – there’s so much wind the vertical blinds are blowing everywhere, and I can’t keep the sunlight out unless I close the windows. I don’t want to close the window, because I like the air. The sound, the sound of the vertical blinds slamming against one another, it’s so irritating.
I was going to say something about cucumber juice. That’s what helped, earlier, when I was walking back from lying in the sun on the median strip, and I found the health food store Jessica mentioned and it was much better than I expected, the store, I mean, and I ended up getting cucumber juice, something I would only want in Seattle in the summer, but this isn’t Seattle and it totally shifted my mood, I wish I could go back there now, not back for more cucumber juice, not back to that health food store, I mean I will get back but not right now, just back to that shift.
But first I need to rest, yes rest although I think that’s what I was doing, just doing with Feldenkrais, right, but no, Feldenkrais is work and rest so I guess I’ll rest and get ready for the sun to go down you can go on a walk without a sun hat, or maybe I’ll need the sun hat anyway and that will irritate me because it will mess up my hair after I just washed it, but whatever, I’ll take irritation instead of headache, or instead of this headache and the irritation, a different irritation, oh, and I wanted to mention how as soon as I got off the train, no not as soon as I got off the train but as soon as I got outside in front of the train station, is soon as I got outside in front of the train station I had a sinus headache, right in between my eyes and the good part is that I thought oh, this is a different headache, a different one than the one I’ve been getting, although why would let the good part? I guess better than this headache, and when will this wind stop?

Saturday, April 06, 2013

Stocking up on moisture

The moss in Eugene is different than the moss in Seattle – much paler, almost a pastel green instead of the deeper green I’m used to, it makes some of the trees look like ghosts. Yesterday I walked a mile in pouring rain, luckily there’s a washer and dryer where staying. I guess I’m stocking up on moisture before LA, or before the 28-hour train to LA. Oh, the 28-hour train – I hope I survive.
I’ve survived so far, but this is a bigger test. Those long trains always destroy my sinuses, and will that make me incapacitated by the headaches again? Here I wear sunglasses even in the rain, but what about the sun in LA, what will I do there? I did bring a sun hat, that’s been great so far. I actually feel better rather than worse. I think the new homeopathic remedy I started right before I left Seattle is helping. And, hiding from the sun, the glare, at all times of day. Of course the rain helps my allergies too, probably there won’t be any rain in LA. Different allergies.

Friday, April 05, 2013


A question from someone after the reading in Eugene: how do you maintain hope?

A good question: sometimes I don’t feel like I’m hopeful at all. But I still believe in the same ideals as I did 20 years ago, or similar ideals, does that help me to feel hopeful? Even when everything turns into a sham, over and over again, even when everything fails me?
No, that doesn’t sound right. I have retreated more into myself, my own interior world, but I don’t want to. I still want to connect. I still want that dream of community, not as some amorphous thing you join or belong to, but you create with friends through activism and relationships and caring for one another.

Strangely, maybe I do feel more hopeful for these connections, these
sustained relationships, when I’m on tour. The intimacy of connection in the moment, through this work that I’m putting out in the world, through this vulnerability and openness. Is that hopeful? I don’t know.

Thursday, April 04, 2013

And, the student newspaper at the University of Oregon…

Mattilda Berstein Sycamore doesn’t like to be called gay. Instead, she prefers the term queer – a word that she believe carries a stronger connotation of the kind of all around liberal defiance she hopes to embody .

A beautiful piece in my neighborhood paper…

“The book is a radical alternative in its own right, foregoing a linear narrative structure and telling stories of some the world’s outsiders: queer people, sex workers, drug addicts, anarchists and others.”

In the moment

I’m in Eugene. I walk to a park down the street, and at first I’m not sure why there were all these brown patches of grass in the middle. Then I realize oh, wetlands, this really is a swamp. It’s not a pretty park, but there are a lot of chirping birds. I sit in the rain in my sun hat and sunglasses, I’m so glad I brought this hat because even in the rain the glare is hurting my eyes.
Moments I want to remember from this tour, already. The looks of recognition in people’s faces, sometimes literally recognition of exactly the moments and people and places I’m talking about but more often a recognition of our common histories, of similar experiences in similar places. The feeling of closeness and intimacy when people come up to talk to me afterwards. All the stories and hugs, I love all the stories and hugs.
The affirmation when someone comes up and says I’m nervous because I’m a total fan girl, I quote you all the time, every time I write something I quote you. Or someone I met five years ago on a different book tour, who says: I went out and bought for your book, and the changed my life. This is what makes touring so important: feeling the impact. So often I feel incapacitated, overwhelmed, barely able to function, so it’s important to feel that softness and hope too, right?
An older guy and a younger guy who come up to me in Portland, and the older one says thank you for your bravery and truth-telling. Truth-telling was in the exact word, but I can’t remember it exactly. Something that means truth-telling. Bravery and honesty, I think that’s what it was. And he said: your work could be so important to so many youth. Which means a lot to me, because so often we’re told that youth need positivist bullshit or glossy lifestyle brochures.
At my Portland reading, I notice that I could actually start crying. It’s the part where I’m talking about San Francisco in the early-‘90s, and remembering I was sexually abused. Of course I told this story so many times, but now I’m actually feeling it, I guess that means my writing is working. But I don’t want to start crying while I’m reading, right? Maybe later, during the Q&A. But of course it passes. What would it mean to start crying while I’m reading? Would it ruin the effect or enhance it, and does asking this question already limit the possibilities for my response? In the moment.

Wednesday, April 03, 2013

Flashpoints Radio!

I did an interesting interview on Pacifica's Flashpoints Radio last night – mostly about marriage and military assimilation drama, and the host, Dennis Bernstein, was nervous that people at the station would go after him for the show, but then he opened the phones to listeners (a rare event on the show), and people overwhelmingly called in to support my critiques, hooray! Here's the show archive -- I come in about 35 minutes into the hour, haven't listened to it yet so hopefully I sound okay...

One question at least

Sometimes I feel like whenever one health problem starts to calm down, something else starts to flare up. Like this morning I wake up with the most horrible intestinal bloating, I mean it’s hard to walk, hard to stand up, hard to do anything but get back in bed, and why? I keep thinking, why? What did I do yesterday that was different, was there something that was different?
And I realize oh, feldenkrais, I went to a great feldenkrais session and why, why now? Why when I do something to help myself, to keep myself in balance, to prevent too much pain on this tour, something soothing and calming and uplifting and grounding, why then? And I realize oh, in the session we were doing all this work around breathing into the belly and that’s why. Because when I breathe into the belly, everything gets stuck, I’m not sure why, maybe something with the diagram but this has been going on for so long and lately it has felt a little better until waking up this morning on this cloudy soothing day except now it feels sad, I feel sad and oh, there’s some explosive gas coming out, that’s helpful, helpful for this pain, but how to get the rest of it out, that’s the question, one question at least.

Tuesday, April 02, 2013

A review of The End of San Francisco in Velvet Park…

“Shirking the idea that time unfolds linearly and our lives are both affectively lived and narrated chronologically, Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore's The End of San Francisco gives us memoir as "an active process of remembering" to be experienced simultaneously by author and reader. At its core, The End of San Francisco is a narrative of emotions loosely tied together in constellations of events. It's a trippy read—in multiple senses of the word—but at the same time profoundly honest and raw.”

Monday, April 01, 2013

Makes connection possible

There’s so much to write, and I just started his tour. There’s so much to write, but the voice software is not cooperating. Like I just started this tour yesterday, and I already missed my first train. But then, thanks to problem-solving by Alex West an Meghan Storms, I found a ride with people I didn’t know and we ended up in Olympia, where I hadn’t expected to go, we ended up in Olympia on this gorgeous faux-spring day and everyone was so friendly, it was like a dream of what Olympia could be, everyone stopped in the aisles of the coop to say hello to one another and then you have any random people that actually meant something and then we got Portland much later than my original plan but it felt special in the way that a sudden connection in a moment of possible crisis makes connection more possible, and that’s what touring is about, right?

I want to write about all the different birds and flowers and the way people are so much friendlier in Portland and Seattle, I mean people on the street, and what does that mean? There were kids outside an elementary school who waved hello. Several middle-aged straight guys who stopped me to compliment my outfit. Yes, it’s a sunny day in the Northwest, or almost sunny, which is the same thing, since it’s the Northwest, the people are not this friendly in Seattle, not even on a sunny day and I want to write more but damn this voice software is really a mess right now, maybe it just takes time to train since this is a new computer.

A gorgeous interview in the Huffington Post!!!

Here it is...