its amazing how simple the things you miss can be..yea, you had it right: its the physical intimacy of us that we miss most...theres so much you can't say, without labouriously typing out *grin*..a shoulder squeeze, a smile, a shrug..bilingual..
my scripts still lying on the floor, wind flicking the pages.
dove, shove, above.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Friday, May 21, 2004
the artist attempts to paint the world the way only (s)he sees it...whether the medium be words, paint or film, each piece attempts to tell a story only the hands of the teller can see.
we move through pictures, words, two-dimensional depictions of three-dimensional life..each trying to get closer and closer to what we see...what is reality to you?
and as it comes in fragments, what we're really doing is constructing our own reality.
-escape artist.
it sounded better at 5am, lying flat on my back staring at my fan go round and round and round
we move through pictures, words, two-dimensional depictions of three-dimensional life..each trying to get closer and closer to what we see...what is reality to you?
and as it comes in fragments, what we're really doing is constructing our own reality.
-escape artist.
it sounded better at 5am, lying flat on my back staring at my fan go round and round and round
Thursday, May 20, 2004
the highwayman
part one
i
the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
the road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
and the highwayman came riding-
riding-riding-
the highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
ii
he'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
they fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
and he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
his pistol butts a-twinkle,
his rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
iii
over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
and he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
he whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
but the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
iv
and dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
his eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
but he loved the landlord's daughter,
the landlord's red-lipped daughter,
dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-
v
"one kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
but I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
then look for me by moonlight,
watch for me by moonlight,
i'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
vi
he rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
but she loosened her hair i' the casement! his face burnt like a brand
as the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
and he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
part two
i
he did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
and out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
when the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
a red-coat troop came marching-
marching-marching-
king George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
ii
they said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
but they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
there was death at every window;
and hell at one dark window;
for Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride..
iii
they had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
they bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
she heard the dead man say-
look for me by moonlight;
watch for me by moonlight;
i'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way..
iv
she twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
she writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
they stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years,
till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
cold, on the stroke of midnight,
the tip of one finger touched it! the trigger at least was hers!
v
the tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
she would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
for the road lay bare in the moonlight;
blank and bare in the moonlight;
and the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
vi
tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
the highwayman came riding,
riding, riding!
the red-coats looked to their priming! she stood up straight and still!
vii
tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
nearer he came and nearer! her face was like a light!
her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
then her finger moved in the moonlight,
her musket shattered the moonlight,
shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.
viii
he turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
how Bess, the landlord's daughter,
the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
ix
back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
with the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
when they shot him down on the highway,
down like a dog on the highway,
and he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * *
x
and still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
when the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
when the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
a highwayman comes riding-
riding-riding-
a highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
xi
over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
and he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
he whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
but the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
-alfred noyes
part one
i
the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
the road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
and the highwayman came riding-
riding-riding-
the highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
ii
he'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
they fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
and he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
his pistol butts a-twinkle,
his rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
iii
over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
and he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
he whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
but the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
iv
and dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
his eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
but he loved the landlord's daughter,
the landlord's red-lipped daughter,
dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-
v
"one kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
but I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
then look for me by moonlight,
watch for me by moonlight,
i'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
vi
he rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
but she loosened her hair i' the casement! his face burnt like a brand
as the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
and he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
part two
i
he did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
and out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
when the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
a red-coat troop came marching-
marching-marching-
king George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
ii
they said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
but they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
there was death at every window;
and hell at one dark window;
for Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride..
iii
they had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
they bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
she heard the dead man say-
look for me by moonlight;
watch for me by moonlight;
i'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way..
iv
she twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
she writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
they stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years,
till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
cold, on the stroke of midnight,
the tip of one finger touched it! the trigger at least was hers!
v
the tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
she would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
for the road lay bare in the moonlight;
blank and bare in the moonlight;
and the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
vi
tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
the highwayman came riding,
riding, riding!
the red-coats looked to their priming! she stood up straight and still!
vii
tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
nearer he came and nearer! her face was like a light!
her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
then her finger moved in the moonlight,
her musket shattered the moonlight,
shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.
viii
he turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
how Bess, the landlord's daughter,
the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
ix
back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
with the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
when they shot him down on the highway,
down like a dog on the highway,
and he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * *
x
and still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
when the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
when the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
a highwayman comes riding-
riding-riding-
a highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
xi
over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
and he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
he whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
but the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
-alfred noyes
Sunday, May 16, 2004
its 4.20..
it's been 4.20 for the past three hours. its a peculiar property of sunday afternoons, this.
so hot it seems to have gotten under your skin..so you're baking alive, but from the inside. the winds blowing its merry way, but not this way. jack and jill have gone back inside..the hill's for another day. tell me, is this the way we once lay?
strawberry cheesecake.
...its still 4.20!!!!
it's been 4.20 for the past three hours. its a peculiar property of sunday afternoons, this.
so hot it seems to have gotten under your skin..so you're baking alive, but from the inside. the winds blowing its merry way, but not this way. jack and jill have gone back inside..the hill's for another day. tell me, is this the way we once lay?
strawberry cheesecake.
...its still 4.20!!!!
Thursday, May 13, 2004
the interesting thing about memories, or atleast my memories, is i almost never recollect them. i do, however, live each detail out.
i'll explain..ask me to tell you about some crazy thing i've done with my friends..and i'll stare at you. draw a complete blank.
but as i look at that curve in the road, i can't help but think of the time we went down to the beach for someone's birthday, racing each other like maniacs. i see my neighbors house, and i'm throwing stones at it again, from the shadows. i walk into my kitchen and i'm drinking chai, sitting down with an old friend after a semester of college and comparing notes on how we survived the big bad world.
it's a fine line. and in the end i wonder, drinking chai on my porch, staring at my green gate, if i'm living two lives, or killing one. fondly recollecting, or frantically escaping? fine line.
escape is one thing. but you can't keep running away. in the end, you draw lines between what's real, and what isn't. But you never stop remembering. You also never stop adding to things to remember when you're old, withered, and sitting on a chair staring out towards the horizon.
(just because it looks quaint, and someone is bound to happen by and take a picture)
i'll explain..ask me to tell you about some crazy thing i've done with my friends..and i'll stare at you. draw a complete blank.
but as i look at that curve in the road, i can't help but think of the time we went down to the beach for someone's birthday, racing each other like maniacs. i see my neighbors house, and i'm throwing stones at it again, from the shadows. i walk into my kitchen and i'm drinking chai, sitting down with an old friend after a semester of college and comparing notes on how we survived the big bad world.
it's a fine line. and in the end i wonder, drinking chai on my porch, staring at my green gate, if i'm living two lives, or killing one. fondly recollecting, or frantically escaping? fine line.
escape is one thing. but you can't keep running away. in the end, you draw lines between what's real, and what isn't. But you never stop remembering. You also never stop adding to things to remember when you're old, withered, and sitting on a chair staring out towards the horizon.
(just because it looks quaint, and someone is bound to happen by and take a picture)
Thursday, May 06, 2004
dark bitterness. it starts in the back of your mind, travels throughout your body, stretching you out, spreading you over too much bread, and then it hits the back of your throat.
we're so utterly spoilt. completely. we don't even live real lives anymore...understand, a real life does not exist in a bubble. life in a box is no life at all. so distant from whats really going on, so fascinated with the latest ways to fight our boredom with pretty lights.
its dark outside.
so transfixed by the sounds that can transport us so far away.
..people hearing without listening..
wow. isn't that great? i'm a spoilt little rich kid, trying to find his place in the world. should i do engineering for a living? should i buy this car, or that? should i build that annex to my house? should i buy the fucking big television of my dreams?
yea. i'm the rich kid who's got everything he ever wanted, or should ever want. i write to exorcise myself. catharsis through the written word, metaphors set me free, images give me wings. ..but my soul still aches.
shit load of good that does anyone.
we're so utterly spoilt. completely. we don't even live real lives anymore...understand, a real life does not exist in a bubble. life in a box is no life at all. so distant from whats really going on, so fascinated with the latest ways to fight our boredom with pretty lights.
its dark outside.
so transfixed by the sounds that can transport us so far away.
..people hearing without listening..
wow. isn't that great? i'm a spoilt little rich kid, trying to find his place in the world. should i do engineering for a living? should i buy this car, or that? should i build that annex to my house? should i buy the fucking big television of my dreams?
yea. i'm the rich kid who's got everything he ever wanted, or should ever want. i write to exorcise myself. catharsis through the written word, metaphors set me free, images give me wings. ..but my soul still aches.
shit load of good that does anyone.
Friday, April 30, 2004
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home
oh, won't you please take me home
oh, won't you please take me home..
just a' urchin livin' under the street
i'm a hard case that's tough to beat
i'm your charity case
so buy me somethin' to eat
i'll pay you at another time
take it to the end of the line
rags to riches, or so they say
ya gotta-keep pushin' for the fortune and fame
it's all a gamble when it's just a game
ya treat it like a capital crime
everybody's doin' their time..
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, yeah
strapped in the chair of the city's gas chamber
why I'm here I can't quite remember
the surgeon general says it's hazardous to breathe
i'd have another cigarette but I can't see
tell me who you're gonna believe..
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home, yeah..
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, yeah!
so far away
so far away
so far away
so far away
captain America's been torn apart
now he's a court jester with a broken heart
he said-
turn me around and take me back to the start
i must be losin' my mind-
"are you blind?"
I've seen it all a million times
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home, yeah
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh won't you please take me home
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, home
i wanna go
i wanna go
oh wont you please take me home
i wanna see
i wanna see
oh won't you please take me home
take me down
take me down
oh won't you please take me home
i wanna see
i wanna see
oh won't you please take me home
take me down
i wanna go
oh won't you please take me home
-Paradise City, Guns 'N Roses.
wonder if she'll remember me?
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home
oh, won't you please take me home
oh, won't you please take me home..
just a' urchin livin' under the street
i'm a hard case that's tough to beat
i'm your charity case
so buy me somethin' to eat
i'll pay you at another time
take it to the end of the line
rags to riches, or so they say
ya gotta-keep pushin' for the fortune and fame
it's all a gamble when it's just a game
ya treat it like a capital crime
everybody's doin' their time..
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, yeah
strapped in the chair of the city's gas chamber
why I'm here I can't quite remember
the surgeon general says it's hazardous to breathe
i'd have another cigarette but I can't see
tell me who you're gonna believe..
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home, yeah..
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, yeah!
so far away
so far away
so far away
so far away
captain America's been torn apart
now he's a court jester with a broken heart
he said-
turn me around and take me back to the start
i must be losin' my mind-
"are you blind?"
I've seen it all a million times
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
take me home, yeah
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh won't you please take me home
take me down
to the paradise city
where the grass is green
and the girls are pretty
oh wont you please take me home, home
i wanna go
i wanna go
oh wont you please take me home
i wanna see
i wanna see
oh won't you please take me home
take me down
take me down
oh won't you please take me home
i wanna see
i wanna see
oh won't you please take me home
take me down
i wanna go
oh won't you please take me home
-Paradise City, Guns 'N Roses.
wonder if she'll remember me?
Thursday, April 29, 2004
and it gets to be, sometimes, that you can hardly breathe. its like someone took a rather large rock, and placed it, ever so gently on your chest.
your breath comes in spurts. what do you want? what do you want? where do you want to go? where? what? how? when? panic..panic..escape..escape...please...
it says, in large friendly letters: 'Don't Panic.'
sometimes its the only thing that maintains my sanity, or rather distinct lack thereof.
damnit, slipped again.
your breath comes in spurts. what do you want? what do you want? where do you want to go? where? what? how? when? panic..panic..escape..escape...please...
it says, in large friendly letters: 'Don't Panic.'
sometimes its the only thing that maintains my sanity, or rather distinct lack thereof.
damnit, slipped again.
Sunday, April 25, 2004
Friday, April 23, 2004
will you drink of me,
as i drink of you?
will you lift that cup,
press it, lightly, against those lips,
and let me course through your veins?
i feel thinner now,
so thin, you could walk through me,
disperse me.
you could breathe on me,
and my smoky, emptiness would diffuse into everything.
will you drink of me?
will you breathe?
please.
bleah. don't you hate it when all you can do is retch?
as i drink of you?
will you lift that cup,
press it, lightly, against those lips,
and let me course through your veins?
i feel thinner now,
so thin, you could walk through me,
disperse me.
you could breathe on me,
and my smoky, emptiness would diffuse into everything.
will you drink of me?
will you breathe?
please.
bleah. don't you hate it when all you can do is retch?
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
its like running your hands,
gently, carefully,
over the surface of the sea
(the and not a,
you understand.)
it is reading
without opening my eyes.
it is feeling,
without thinking twice.
it is falling, slowly, almost imperceptibly,
inexorably,
backwards.
it is letting you waft through me,
like a warm summer breeze,
my arms outstretched,
my bones tingling faintly, as you pass..
it is.
gently, carefully,
over the surface of the sea
(the and not a,
you understand.)
it is reading
without opening my eyes.
it is feeling,
without thinking twice.
it is falling, slowly, almost imperceptibly,
inexorably,
backwards.
it is letting you waft through me,
like a warm summer breeze,
my arms outstretched,
my bones tingling faintly, as you pass..
it is.
Monday, April 05, 2004
you're getting closer, to pushing me off of lifes little edge,
[...]
you're getting closer, you're holding the rope...i'm taking the fall...
who, or what, are you? what am i pushing myself against? or from? why...is it just innate, or maybe i'm just blind..
it'll never be over, will it? despite all odds, i'll always find some reason to insist on sitting outside, in the rain. i may find home, but i will wish it was impossibly the same as it was...i may find peace, but i'll complain incessantly about how the sky is just the wrong shade of purple...
why can't i find your arms, and just sleep...
[...]
you're getting closer, you're holding the rope...i'm taking the fall...
who, or what, are you? what am i pushing myself against? or from? why...is it just innate, or maybe i'm just blind..
it'll never be over, will it? despite all odds, i'll always find some reason to insist on sitting outside, in the rain. i may find home, but i will wish it was impossibly the same as it was...i may find peace, but i'll complain incessantly about how the sky is just the wrong shade of purple...
why can't i find your arms, and just sleep...
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
to you, and the lives we haven't lived, but remember anyway
hey you, out there in the cold
getting lonely, getting old
can you feel me?
hey you, standing in the aisles
with itchy feet and fading smiles
can you feel me?
hey you, don’t help them to bury the light
don’t give in without a fight.
hey you, out there on your own
sitting naked by the phone
would you touch me?
hey you, with you ear against the wall
waiting for someone to call out
would you touch me?
hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?
open your heart, I’m coming home.
[...]
hey you, standing in the road
always doing what you’re told,
can you help me?
hey you, out there beyond the wall,
breaking bottles in the hall,
can you help me?
hey you, don’t tell me there’s no hope at all
together we stand, divided we fall.
"well, only got an hour of daylight left. better get started"
"isnt it unsafe to travel at night? "
"it’ll be a lot less safe to stay here. you’re father’s gunna pick up our trail before long"
"can loca ride? "
"yeah, I can ride... magaret, time to go! magaret, thank you for everything"
"goodbye chenga"
"goodbye miss ..."
"i’ll be back"
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands...
hey you, out there in the cold
getting lonely, getting old
can you feel me?
hey you, standing in the aisles
with itchy feet and fading smiles
can you feel me?
hey you, don’t help them to bury the light
don’t give in without a fight.
hey you, out there on your own
sitting naked by the phone
would you touch me?
hey you, with you ear against the wall
waiting for someone to call out
would you touch me?
hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?
open your heart, I’m coming home.
[...]
hey you, standing in the road
always doing what you’re told,
can you help me?
hey you, out there beyond the wall,
breaking bottles in the hall,
can you help me?
hey you, don’t tell me there’s no hope at all
together we stand, divided we fall.
"well, only got an hour of daylight left. better get started"
"isnt it unsafe to travel at night? "
"it’ll be a lot less safe to stay here. you’re father’s gunna pick up our trail before long"
"can loca ride? "
"yeah, I can ride... magaret, time to go! magaret, thank you for everything"
"goodbye chenga"
"goodbye miss ..."
"i’ll be back"
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands...
Saturday, March 27, 2004
i'm walking on the edge of my roof, you see....way up there, beyond the clouds. beyond your reach. the normal rules don't apply. there are no rules. except gravity. and i live on the edge. i tip-toe now, moving across the concrete, to gain a better view.
except gravity. lets see where the music takes me tonight...
except gravity. lets see where the music takes me tonight...
Monday, March 22, 2004
"there's another world inside of me that you may never see,
there's secrets in this life that I can't hide,
well somewhere in this darkness there's a light that I can't find,
well maybe it's too far away,
or maybe I'm just blind,
maybe I'm just blind...
[...]
i won't tell you a damn thing that I could not tell my friends,
roaming through this darkness, I'm alive but I'm alone,
and part of me is fighting this,
but part of me is gone... "
-'when i'm gone', three doors down.
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