𝖨𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗍: 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗑 𝖼𝗒𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗀𝗈. 𝖡𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗁, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖶𝗂𝗇𝖽-𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗌, 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗓𝖾 (𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝟣𝟫𝟢𝟢𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗈𝗌?). 𝖨𝗇 𝖡𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝖤𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁, "𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾" 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋, 𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆. 𝖠𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗇𝖽, 𝗐𝖾 𝖠𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 "𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁" 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖤𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖺𝖼𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 "𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋" 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝟣𝟫𝟦𝟢𝗌—𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅.