「當有史以來最嚴重的颱風來臨時,我們只想帶着大量流動性走出颱風,我們想把100%的現金留着去收購企業。」
「在危機下,很多人的反映是被嚇呆了。以航空公司為例,他們不知道該怎麼辦,但他們都在和政府談判,沒有人給沃倫打電話。」
「我認為,早晚經濟將會復甦,那將會是温和的經濟增長。就業水平很可能因為種種原因再也恢復不到疫情發生前的水平,我們永遠也回不到之前的就業率水平了。」
【Charlie Munger最新觀點】
Charlie Munger: ‘The Phone Is Not Ringing Off the Hook’
查理·芒格:「我和沃倫的電話沒有響個不停」
Will Berkshire step up now to buy businesses on the same scale?
伯克希爾·哈撒韋會像2008、2009年那樣進行同樣規模收購嗎?
「Well, I would say basically we’re like the captain of a ship when the worst typhoon that’s ever happened comes,」 Mr. Munger told me. 「We just want to get through the typhoon, and we’d rather come out of it with a whole lot of liquidity. We’re not playing, ‘Oh goody, goody, everything’s going to hell, let’s plunge 100% of the reserves [into buying businesses].’」
「嗯,我想説,當有史以來最嚴重的颱風來臨時,我們就像一位船長。」芒格説到,「我們只想逃離颱風,我們寧願帶着大量的流動性衝出去,我們很認真的對待,這不是鬧着玩的。「哦,太好了,一切都要完蛋了,我們想把100%的現金留着去收購企業。」
He added, 「Warren wants to keep Berkshire safe for people who have 90% of their net worth invested in it. We’re always going to be on the safe side. That doesn’t mean we couldn’t do something pretty aggressive or seize some opportunity. But basically we will be fairly conservative. And we’ll emerge on the other side very strong.」
他補充道:「為了那些把90%淨資產都投資於伯克希爾的人,沃倫希望伯克希爾是安全的。我們總是站在安全的這一邊,但這並不意味着我們不能做一些積極的操作或抓住一些機會。基本上,我們是相對保守的,但也會在市場有明確安全預期時進場。」
Surely hordes of corporate executives must be calling Berkshire begging for capital?
肯定有很多公司高管打電話給伯克希爾,想要你們投資吧?
「No, they aren’t,」 said Mr. Munger. 「The typical reaction is that people are frozen. Take the airlines. They don’t know what the hell’s doing. They’re all negotiating with the government, but they’re not calling Warren. They’re frozen. They’ve never seen anything like it. Their playbook does not have this as a possibility.」
「不,他們沒有」,芒格説,「在危機下,人們最典型的反應是,好像都被嚇住了。以航空公司為例,他們不知道該怎麼辦,他們都在和政府談判,沒有人給沃倫打電話。他們的生產活動被凍結了,他們從來沒見過這樣的事,他們也沒想到過這種可能性。」
He repeated for emphasis, 「Everybody’s just frozen. And the phone is not ringing off the hook. Everybody’s just frozen in the position they’re in.」
他重複了一遍,強調説:「所有人好像都被嚇住了,而且我和沃倫的電話也沒有響個不停,每個人好像被困在了原地。」
With Berkshire’s vast holdings in railroads, real estate, utilities, insurance and other industries, Mr. Buffett and Mr. Munger may have more and better data on U.S. economic activity than anyone else, with the possible exception of the Federal Reserve. But Mr. Munger wouldn’t even hazard a guess as to how long the downturn might last or how bad it could get.
伯克希爾在鐵路、房地產、公用事業、保險和其他行業持有大量股份。巴菲特和芒格先生可能比其他人(除了美聯儲以外)有更多、更準確的關於美國經濟的數據。但芒格也不敢猜測經濟低迷會持續多久,或者會變得有多糟糕。
「Nobody in America’s ever seen anything else like this,」 said Mr. Munger. 「This thing is different. Everybody talks as if they know what’s going to happen, and nobody knows what’s going to happen.」
「在美國,從來沒有人見過這樣的事情」,芒格説,「(疫情)與以往任何事情都不同。每個人都説他們知道會發生什麼,但沒有人知道會發生什麼。」
Is another Great Depression possible?
可能會出現另一場大蕭條嗎?
「Of course we’re having a recession,」 said Mr. Munger. 「The only question is how big it’s going to be and how long it’s going to last. I think we do know that this will pass. But how much damage, and how much recession, and how long it will last, nobody knows.」
「當然,我們正在經歷一場衰退,」芒格説,「唯一的問題是它影響範圍有多大,持續時間有多長,但我們確切地知道這件事會過去。而具體會造成多少損失、衰退的程度有多大、會持續多久卻沒有人知道。」
He added, 「I don’t think we’ll have a long-lasting Great Depression. I think government will be so active that we won’t have one like that. But we may have a different kind of a mess. All this money-printing may start bothering us.」
他補充道:「我不認為我們會出現長期的大蕭條,政府會採取積極的舉措避免出現大蕭條。但我們會進入一段混亂的時期,美聯儲的‘印鈔’行為會對我們有所困擾。」
Can the government reduce its role in the economy once the virus is under control?
如果病毒得到控制,政府會降低其在經濟中的干預作用嗎?
「I don’t think we know exactly what the macroeconomic consequences are going to be,」 said Mr. Munger. 「I do think, sooner or later, we’ll have an economy back, which will be a moderate economy. It’s quite possible that never again—not again in a long time—will we have a level of employment again like we just lost. We may never get that back for all practical purposes. I don’t know.」
「我們並不確切地知道會有哪些宏觀經濟的後果,」芒格説,「但我認為,早晚經濟將會復甦,那將會是温和的經濟增長。就業水平很可能再也恢復不到疫情發生前的水平,可能因為種種原因,我們永遠也回不到之前的就業率水平了,我不知道。」
Berkshire won’t escape unscathed. 「This will cause us to shutter some businesses,」 Mr. Munger said. 「We have a few bad businesses that...we could be tolerant of as members of the family. Somebody else would have already shut them down. We’ve got a few businesses, small ones, we won’t reopen when this is over.」
伯克希爾不會毫髮無損,芒格説:「這場危機會使我們關閉一些業務。我們有一些經營不善的生意……作為(伯克希爾)家族企業中的一員,我們可以容忍(它們),但如果是其他企業,則已經被關閉了。我們有一些規模小的企業,關閉後將不會再開業了。」
Mr. Munger told me: 「I don’t have the faintest idea whether the stock market is going to go lower than the old lows or whether it’s not.」 The coronavirus shutdown is 「something we have to live through,」 letting the chips fall where they may, he said. 「What else can you do?」
芒格先生告訴我:「我完全不知道股市會不會創下新低。」他説,因為冠狀病毒帶來的全國隔離是我們必須要做的事情,只能順其自然了。「你還能做什麼呢?」
Investors can take a few small steps to restore a sense of control—by harvesting tax losses, for instance—but, for now, sitting still alongside Mr. Munger seems the wisest course.
投資者目前可以通過小幅的操作來恢復控制感,但是,就目前而言,和芒格先生保持一致似乎是最明智的做法。
u.s. stock live 在 文茜的世界周報 Sisy's World News Facebook 的最佳解答
0325紐約時報
*【即時疫情更新】
*白宮:任何離開紐約的人都應該進行自我檢疫。白宮冠狀病毒特別工作組的專家對紐約市的感染率表示震驚,並建議已通過或離開該市的人進行14天隔離。
*川普對必須“關閉國家”以遏制該病毒的擴散表示不滿。即使從英國到印度等國家宣佈全國範圍內的經濟封鎖,川普總統仍表示,希望限制不超過三個星期,並且只想在復活節之前開放,但這項目標讓衛生專業人員感到太樂觀了。
*美國第二大州德州沒有封鎖。但州長Greg Abbott語氣強硬的鼓勵德州民眾留在室內,以避免Covid-19傳播。
*美國對新冠病毒的反應太緩慢,因此延誤了製造呼吸機的時間,川普政府如果在二月即對呼吸機短缺做出應對,企業在四月中下旬應該就有充足的設備,但現在至少在六月前都不太可能。
*洛杉磯縣公共衛生部表示,一名18歲以下的青少年死於新冠肺炎,成為美國最年輕的受害者之一。
*民主黨初選被迫推遲。奧運會也推遲。大多數的人都認為,美國11月的總統選舉也不太可能如期舉行。
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/24/world/coronavirus-news-live-updates.html
*【刺激經濟方案達成協議,美國股市飆升】
因市場預期國會的經濟刺激方案將出爐,美國股市週二大漲,標普500指數創下自2008年以來最大單日漲幅,超過9%,航空,郵輪和賭場等可能獲得救助的企業股票飆升。挪威郵輪是標準普爾500指數中表現最好的股票,上漲了40%以上,而達美航空,美國航空公司和聯合航空公司的股價均上漲了20%以上。
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/24/business/coronavirus-stock-market-live-tracker.html
*【民主黨與白宮就刺激方案達成協議】
國會領導人和川普政府官員達成協議,達成一項約2兆元的經濟穩定計劃,以應對冠狀病毒大流行。此前,美國同意民主黨要求增加對不良企業的5000億美元政府救助基金的監管要求。
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/24/us/politics/coronavirus-stimulus-bill.html
*【紐約確診病例每三天翻一倍】
週二,白宮冠狀病毒工作組的專家對紐約市的感染率發出警告,並建議途結以及離開紐約的人自我隔離14天。這座城市已經成為疫情暴發的熱點地區。紐約州長科莫表示,該州確診病例每三天就增加一倍。他暗示聯邦政府做得不夠,但川普迅速發起猛烈回擊。截至週二上午,紐約州已報告25665例確診病例(僅紐約市就有約15000例),至少157人死亡。
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/24/nyregion/coronavirus-new-york-apex-andrew-cuomo.html
*【是什麼讓紐約成了美國的疫情中心?】
紐約比美國其他任何主要城市都要擁擠得多。美國人口普查局(U.S. Census Bureau)的資料顯示,全市每平方英里有2.8萬居民,人口密度排第二的城市三藩市每平方英里有1.7萬居民。在這麼小的空間裡,在擁擠的地鐵、繁忙的操場和蜂巢般的公寓樓,所有人似乎都在説明病毒迅速傳播,形成不斷擴大的感染範圍,使紐約成為美國的疫情中心。“在這種情況下,人口密度確實是敵人,”史丹佛大學流行病學家Steven Goodman博士說。“在人口密集中心,人們隨時都在與更多的人互動,所以它就會成為病毒傳播最快的地方。”
https://cn.nytimes.com/usa/20200324/coronavirus-nyc-crowds-density/
*【印度總理下令將13億印度國鎖定21天】
從星期三開始,印度總理下令該國所有13億人口在其房屋中待三個星期,這是為阻止冠狀病毒傳播而採取的最大,最嚴厲的行動。總理莫迪在電視上宣布:“將完全禁止您出門。“每個州,每個地區,每個車道,每個村莊都會受到封鎖。”在一個人口13億,但衛生條件差,公共衛生服務薄弱的人口稠密國家,防止病毒傳染是項極大的挑戰。
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/24/world/asia/india-coronavirus-lockdown.html
*【汙名、陰謀論、中國模式:巴黎中外青年的疫中爭論】
從這場疫情的全球化發展,能看出各國民眾與領導人在防疫之外關心的議題差異,無形中也深化了人們對於相互防疫模式的不信任,並突顯了海外華人的心情轉折。
https://cn.nytimes.com/world/20200325/coronavirus-paris-chinese/
*【東京奧運會將延期一年舉行】
日本首相安倍晉三表示,隨著來自世界各國和運動員的壓力與日俱增,經過數月的內部討論,國際奧會將推遲原定於7月下旬在東京舉行的夏季運動會。這項全球最大的體育賽事將延期至2021年夏季舉行,這一變化將嚴重影響各項體育賽事的時間表,但對運動員、賽事組織者和衛生官員來說,這是一個令人欣慰的舉動,他們認為冠狀病毒大流行已經令繼續推進這項賽事變得不安全。
https://cn.nytimes.com/world/20200324/tokyo-olympics-delay/
*【《紐約時報》等三家報社要求中國撤回驅逐記者決定】
《紐約時報》、《華爾街日報》(The Wall Street Journal)和《華盛頓郵報》(The Washington Post)出版人發表聲明,批評中國政府禁止這三家報紙的美國記者在中國工作的決定。
https://cn.nytimes.com/usa/20200324/china-journalists-newspapers/
*【武漢準備解封,但“沉默帶原者”引發擔憂】
隨著新增病例數字向好,湖北多地放寬出行限制。疫情暴發中心武漢週二也表示,公共交通將在24小時內恢復運行,居民將從4月8日起獲准離漢離鄂。
中國本土感染病例已經趨近於零,但武漢在週二通報了一起醫生感染事件,同時,被發現的無症狀感染者越來越多。這引發了中國公眾的擔憂:真正的感染數字可能遠超政府此前報告的81171人。
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/24/world/asia/china-coronavirus-lockdown-hubei.html
u.s. stock live 在 YOSHITOMO NARA Facebook 的精選貼文
Nobody’s Fool ( January 2011 )
Yoshitomo Nara
Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.
It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.
But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.
While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.
As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.
In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.
Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.
Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!
I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.
Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.
By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.
After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.
And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.
Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.
But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.
The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.
Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.
After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.
Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.
After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.
I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….
u.s. stock live 在 DOW and NASDAQ Stock Market 07/28/2020 Ticker and Graph Live ... 的推薦與評價
We are constantly improving and resolving issues. Spotted a mistake? Have any suggestions? Email us at [email protected] or by messaging me on Twitter @ ... ... <看更多>