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Literature
the daughter universe
Lonely men, I’ve noticed, will pay off their little houses
and live in them by themselves until they burn down
from a dead gas pilot and 80’s paperback philosophy.
In other words, out on one hundred highway north at dusk,
which is a daylight’s ride from the sack, the dunes simply
spill out on the road; the crazy thing being, nobody’s worried.
Keep driving until the damn thing just ends at the last rogue pier
on the island’s tip. There’s a dark night beach on the right
and if you wade into the waves, about 130 feet, east by northeast,
you’ll find a miraculous shoal where the salt from a trillion graves
will wash up on your thighs and the moon searches the dark pitch
of water like a frantic mother.  Pick any wave and follow it fondly
until you forget of me,
here.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 86 30
Literature
Alchemy
Inside these walls, I wait past dark.
The shadows steep and over-brew
long before I move a bone;
I’ll never return to mother’s moon.
Star and night, my bench flakes off
cicada shells and sunflower wilt.
By Venus light, it’s a driftwood throne,
an old carob bullet firing straight for the sun.
The air like ink collects and cools:
it is the black throat where braying forms,
and where shady gardens melt and pool;
absorbing the ghosts of cigarette-waft.
These onyx planets swell and bloom,
and metabolise like sheer witchspells -
I turn these crystals to my core
And try unlearn this spiderweb gloom.
Former days contort through tremulous fisheyes
relapse at the bottom of two emptied mugs.
My disfigured mass quakes in its past,
crumples like a demon husk, roadkilled in a dream.
How many molts with their veiny dead hues
do souls need traverse, an urbanex sulking
through concrete petals, ’till our sin
becomes sarcoline, an imperceptible solute?
Electromagnetic eyes to lick
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 15 15
Literature
workshop
The hearth in your denim pocket,
quietus and earthen floor
windows settle nostalgic dust
and hold outcroppings through their pores:
maps, manuals, flightless single wings
awaiting consequence, a bloodless chore
in the future you have willed the world
for those of us who still remain
workless as the dead.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 20 19
Literature
working
I wake
in mourning
working
on the end.
each blade of body
greys like cedar
brittles
in their
marrow
the eyes
become
dimensionless
never weep
from their sleep
years
digress
between
sun salutations
the gut
grows
tempestuous
with a cruel child’s
shame
yet god, buddha,
or the last aching
deity
offers up a salve
at our Mass of the Unnamed:
deadnettle
for regret
in the early grave
of March.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 27 11
Literature
The Meaning of Bearing Life

Experience
may not last.
It
is impractical to
continue to evolve and become
the collective
experience of
bearing life,
for such
internal hardening and
the effects of
material
fatigue, going further
can be called
failure.
Life is the
life of bearing before it fails;
the so-called life
experience.
Life should peak,
oscillate, or remain
extremely short
and compromise
known or calculable external forces
or inertia.  When
free,
ignore deformations in the
frame
and act on a bearing, on a
direction,
for only light
applies to
pure
acts.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 15 8
Literature
60 Inch Samsung TV
The vagabond
at its hilt
in its infant neural twist
before meandering
80 years
in feral knots
and vanishing in a lurch
prior to weeping
into knees
for uninvited gods
in the cold behind the grocery
despite a lack
of all the trappings
articulating
personhood
I’m sure he had it:
a smoke of a dream
a million heaving cigarettes
blazing in the unborn stem.
I took his air
and animation
but in this new configuration
the atoms speak only to his faithful ghost.
In my stolen host
my wiry beard
I never leave my final place
reclining
in the aftermath
and never knowing.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 11 19
Literature
Elsewhere
I do not cede your life to you.
All things begin in my aching bed.
Baristas, starmen, nothing has survived the light.
The living lose their space to me.
The last fond ritual before the ghosts will be allowed their speech
is the moment that I really live, when I breed all neurotic wants at once:
to king, to beggar, to whore out every figure
yet to be betrayed by gross approximation
and dumbly muddled by these dumb fingers.
The all important touch is just a disillusioned brute
hanging like an ugly halo around an arbitrary mass
that hosts your hidden magic.
And I kill the world to have it.
What bizarre and dissolute intelligence births itself in a hot smear of thought,
infests the throbbing slums of my sentience with ideas,
hungers and machinates for a free and unkempt soul,
reams into the deep darknet to damn my lazy search for hell,
or no, but to illuminate this damning of my design
and uncouple me from centuries of tiresome ontologies?
I’ve waited for the searing sign to emblaze
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 25 6
Literature
Retirement
The pecan tree looms like a ghast above the trail
waiting to collapse and crush someone’s skull.
It’s fruitless and frozen in the throes of a last hurrah,
unmoved and unmoving, a fitting bride for fire.  
I wonder when they’ll cut it down?
I am a wretched effigy
pining for the arborist to cull me from the path.
I’m still leftover from the bloom
frankly splayed upon the bosom
of this great interminable happening.
All that is animate is my nonnecessity.
I can no longer rise above the level of my eyes.
The tendons are frayed and salt-encrusted
sail boat lines brittling in the Gulf.
The bones grow blond and discontented.
Tell me, why should I ever move again?
The wind will list southward and find its way
to cool the cracks in this rainless mud.
The planet will bring news of the coming brood,
drench the veins with a violent pace
and I will finally be replaced.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 13 12
Literature
Business Trip
I’ll never make the drive west to San Fran
like a psychedelic troubadour
a zealous eremite on a mad mad dash
a pilgrimage through the Sonoran holy desert
those hipsters lounging outside City Light Books
cream in their wares about.
No, it’ll be this lonely business
pragmatically jetting over grave errors
of character and wind wrinkled hillsides
everyone circling the same 25K miles
half-dead asleep on these very wings!
All the while, trying to forget
what the world remembers to forget;
this is what you wanted.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 14 16
Literature
language
I see her
foraging
for joy
in the tiniest of things
and pretend
I know the world
as well.
Somewhere
on her lips and cheeks -
a myriad of flights
and plumes,
the sweet
dichotomies
between
her muscle
cantering
the pace
of summer
and lounging
with the artless peace
of willows
guarding
waters’ edge,
I find
what she is
looking for -
a pair
of shadows
in her eyes.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 25 24
Literature
loathe
Curious, how he ages past his origins
a rage unfurrowed by the planet's touch
by the girl who held him like a furnace bides the coals
by the women who survive him as a coat of arms
by the man whose imperative is sowing seeds in space
on the mind within the mind where ancient troubles fall on lips
and regrets' subdermal cultivation
in the bodice of his erroneous twin
bloom in these terrific wires
‘till they turn up into the skin;
recalcitrant sores of a leper god
see them worship and abhor!
What tribe, these scars
dark medicine art
and who will bear his animus
when now he's old and new again?
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 11 7
Mature content
The God Of Landscape Timbers Says Not To Worry :iconspoems:spoems 14 13
Literature
caesura
Today, impermanence is 5 weeks of rain
and pine limbs spindling clear above the house
and things I’ve left underground:
a cavity in the storm
misplaced regality
a stark white coat.
How do we perish yet
still lounge eminently
sharpening the catalpa
pacing the gutters
impaling midnight
in our wanton monotone?
My jealous imperia do not ruin.
Innocence is never lost.
It grows back like phantom vertebrae
and rebuilds the animal.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 22 15
Literature
the lesson
Following the last communique
of any order
of anything,
we'll not find a posteriori death
no grand apocalypse
carried off in bits by ants
or hurtling beside us
like dark matter twins
nestled in our bullet blue capsules
fighting us for singular dimension.
Under stones, behind the clouds
sleeping in fire, circling in bodies
we'll turn over nothing in nothing
that doesn't lead the way to these:
Pioneering blossoms
of my judas tree;
unabashed
unrepentant
Mexican pink.
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 26 27
Literature
I would have you do this
Here.
this is your prayer
your mantra, your news.
I leave it as I found it, papering in the streets.
as godless a truth as you will know
it’s still a ghost of a dream
smaller than theories of infinite resolution.  
you will believe it because it has no industry
no acolytes or storefronts.
it’s not an embezzlement of fascination
or confabulation of missing histories.
you will not doubt its truth because your design is hollow
    the space inside your car
    the adventitious spine that vials through the weeds
    the ice of march on adam’s needle
    the ants, crickets, beetles under sandstone
    waiting in a music box for the catalysts to wake
    and split them out into the breen.
you will speak of your awareness
without knowing what inhabits it
    like a colour that doesn't hum
    or passing through a future forest
    of apparitions in bald park meadows
    a
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 27 15
Literature
While Driving in the Suburbs on Valentine's Day
I’m sure of nothing, no one;
we’ll never be ourselves.
Our lone device is left to searching
through bins and vessels
on drives and circles
one by one, houses upon houses
secreting pills and thoughts and air
behind their stealthy doors and bellies.
I stab into each of their ugly little anthems.
What is mine?
What is mine.
Windows caught on Christmas trees
pathologically white
the pale hypnosis of television
bleeding through curtains drawn to a slit.
What dares to go on living in there?
Dawn comes drunk and begging
shrill and shameless, undiscerning
‘till the string breaks high above the plains
‘till it’s engorged on everything
the hairline crack in a potted blue sage
the lip of the gutters haunted by cats.
Houses are holding things close to their lungs
moistened in darkness, a glorious sadness
that no one's allowed.  Left out!  We're left out
of unholy communions, distensions of time.
I've only the rumors to cradle my demons
and only your face, sw
:iconspoems:spoems
:iconspoems:spoems 25 25

Random from Poetry

Literature
Sequences
As the phlegmatic constructs of subconscious minds express themselves through dreams, the spectres of his emotions arose from a well inside of me of which I knew neither meaning, origin, nor bottom, (perhaps it was my "love" for him, if I knew to call it that) and the causes of his sorrow were made aware to me with the same chimeric tantalizing of labyrinth playgrounds and ships marooned at sea, and these glimpses of insuperable disappointment brought me not pain but the diaphanous memory of it, and I knew that I was dreaming and if I wished, I could awake, but I remained asleep, and similarly to a child who dreams of falling and awakens on the floor beside his bed, I was plummeting into emotional territory still unexplored during my waking hours, and when I lifted my eyes onto his I felt, finally, not with the vicissitudes of my heart nor with the frozen sequence of my logic, but with myself, my whole self, and I was honest, and I was living from within.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 9 26
Literature
Restraint
now they are free(
a fluid free
like a susurrus clapping free
with swollen ankles, they are free
& svelte, a New York paper & coffee free
taking over     the morning after gone laughing free
the freedom they know is a paradoxical free
an it's hard to get by, but I still believe free
a plastic & platonic, swimming in an eye free
of structure & salinity, what a relief, free
of the circuit they run never used to be free
but now it's a pointilist, particle free
room of four windows, no walls are free
to diminish them now, they are free
as a banging heart is free
)are you free too?
I'm free like you.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 16 21
Literature
auto
A breath crawls here, towards the beginning of hair and shoulder,
where collarbones flow over a slide of espresso and cinnamon
and swell over a swollen seacoast, resting on swimming, audible glands.
You wash the matter off and get to deep air; now,
run along now, run under rivers that continue alongside frothy eyelashes.
More light than life can stay. It can't reflect that it lives longer.
A moist and whispering returning drowns aboard a home
behind an electric company that conceals the words.
Don't believe for them. They are craven and overconfident
and they run fast. They always get away.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 14 19
Literature
that autumn wind
I saw you today. You were gathering pebbles
by the water's edge and I watched you,
thinking about how to approach you
in a way that would be comely,
that could make you smile,
appropriately, in such a way that
you would let me pass between your fingers
and sink into the river, for you had me
stoic and certain, taken into
the consonant sounds in your name
into the bends of your wrists into
your valley into your mind
and wind and I was
all hubris and moxie, having tasted freedom
before the hurricane hit, you dislodged me and like so
the pebbles fell from your bony hands
back into the water and I could have said something
to make you smile but instead I walked away.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 26 22
Literature
a poem about hipsters drinking tea
go where your humansong is a contagion of conversation that flutters in through iron
        windows and snatches the dusty, defenestrated voices
go where unmuttered comments unstuttered stitch together dresses scratch together
        stolen pens and coffee grounds are sleeping quickly
go to perpetuate your stereotypes all in one night—study and get stoned and eat three
        bowls of Easy Mac I haven't named my bowl yet, it's three a.m. on the quad and the
        swing is creaking
go where the Iliad bestows kisses on Libra who once copied great novels verbatim onto     
        seminar tables and made chai for me last Wednesday evening
go and decorate Blithewood with saxophone song and end each sentence with another form
     
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 55 67
Literature
quadrantids
you wake up early & the dawn tells
you what the neutrinos mean
and with a sickening crunch
your tarnished shade climbs to the underground,
the creationists' thinktank of pianosong & sorrow
where the lifeblood is a barricade
where the lethargy tastes fine & becomes addictive
where the children have cosmic dreams instead of memory
where you're with me like you were supposed to be
and all the collective setting suns
can't bring darkness upon the light you give me
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 19 21
Literature
The delivery
I attach feeling to color and fall in love with the weather
for it contains all beautiful things: symmetry and citrus,
the summers that become more and more opiatic as the chords
fall further away. I am never even there to pluck the strings.
My lover laughs melodically under his cotton blanket
and his skin tastes like plums and seltzer, the wrinkles in his smile
holding all the zip and fructose I need on these short days.
The telephone rings and it's my apostasy tempo allegro
returning me to memory's calderas, cloudy and dreamlike,
pressing me deeper into them and therefore sustaining them.
But I can subsist on photosynthesis; for so long that love
endures here, this is the only place I want to be.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 20 23
Literature
Couplet
this automation mechanism is only speculative;
life and death are two cosmic mutations
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 11 4
Literature
Banners
The people at the rally for the real hold banners;
the people have nets on their shoulders::
        a caricature, for sure.
I'm like a swottish floozy with a cup of chai for the falling.
I'm a feature of the landscape and skirmishes—disassociate fixation,
I'm an anti-heroine to yell into telling the honey-eyed hipsters where the swelling
        is.
The people at the rally are basically feeling, exercized into the amalgamated soup of meaning.
I want to be considered but
        ::I'm not ready to find out,
         I'm not ready to find out.
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs
:iconarchelyxs:archelyxs 9 4
Literature
Vacant
They have departed,
their intimacy dissolves,
leaving empty space.
They will celebrate nearness
in a more intimate place.
:iconAlecBell:AlecBell
:iconalecbell:AlecBell 18 24
Literature
Truth
I often dream
of being
nothing
dreams of
being me
:iconEremitik:Eremitik
:iconeremitik:Eremitik 18 58
16 by KwatzHeWrote 16 :iconkwatzhewrote:KwatzHeWrote 7 26
Literature
camino
i am full of war song sadness.
gathered to you in disguise i
am past you, i who lived beyond
the path, beside your route, your
avenue,
a roar on the moors,dwarfs my lonely
sigh
i am casting
myself upon the edges of those
lanes you touch
weary lover
i am a broken tourist low
with dissent, i can
travel no longer with only my
bones and conscience, even
if i am dismissed by you,
i would cross the hardened steppe,
to come upon the highest land
and trawl the eastern shore
for the sound of you in a moment
yes, how is it that you have thrown
yourself so far away from me,
what was it that compelled
you to become there,
even now
in the nightstillness i am
soaked up with longing,
perhaps i should not keep
my slow wander, perhaps i have
gone too far now, perhaps
i am forgotten in all too
dull a litany from one of your
thousands of ways through.
i extend my roots to you, across
however many shifting lines
it takes, i am spread so far i
bend like fire entangled in the bleak
wind, if you would only s
:iconcatfacer:catfacer
:iconcatfacer:catfacer 5 8
Mature content
I am found :iconcatfacer:catfacer 1 2
Literature
Portals, collected
Blue ones, grand ones with carved lintels, some open, welcoming,
others sealed, mere puzzle pieces in a calculus of abstract longing.
Ancient and new. Gates, sagging on rusted hopes, secret entrances
to hidden passageways, faerie doors and those bereft of magic.
It was not surprising to find them there, curated, accessible.
The words, too, contained multiple points of entry.
:iconEmmaSloane:EmmaSloane
:iconemmasloane:EmmaSloane 11 10
Literature
Earthchild
Ze spins,
and ze braids their
hair into chain-root-fronds
that sway down by their waist.
Ze dips, double, fingers are toes,
swirls, rises, sways like young trees,
collapses, butterfly in winter
fluttering vainly against the ground.
Ze thinks, breathes,
sits and waits for sunlight to pass over
and warm their bones.
Ze breathes and spins
at one with Earth.
:iconindiana-w:indiana-w
:iconindiana-w:indiana-w 2 12
my favorite dA poetry

Critiques

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critiques to do

Critiques I Promised To Do

I'm open for requested critiques - mainly free verse poetry, but I'll consider other forms. Please note me with a link or links to pieces you would like critiqued, and I will add them to the list.

NOTE: You do not need premium membership critique enabled on your piece.

matron by InkatMidnight

Little Submarines by ohara1901

Freediving by indiana-w

Name That Baby by xlntwtch

This, My Father Talk by TheGlassIris
Ghost by TheGlassIris
Portrait with Mourners and Childless Couple by TheGlassIris

remembering by ersatz-moon

Wasteland by Infractusgrace

Wings of Glass by Klei-Brandybear

space by Tomea

Rivalry by akkajess

House of Life Lessons by belcanto2

My sorrow by TheIcyGlaceon

A Year Spent With Delirious Wounds by Canis44

For Leyla by S1n7h

Human seasons by byronycal

Helpful Links

Holidays, DDs, and White Feature

Journal Entry: Sat Dec 19, 2015, 12:24 PM
For me, the holidays are always a time to reflect on the state of life and things.  I look on this past year, and in spite of whatever happenstance I might consider as negative, such as health issues or the general and seemingly unending malaise of the world, I am forced to conclude that it was, in fact, as good a year as I could want.  As joy often goes underreported, I’m here to say that good things did and do happen.  And they will continue to happen.

In the realm of DA, I received a DD feature on my poem Pertrichor spoems.deviantart.com/art/Petr… , thanks to LiliWrites .  Considering the recent changes to the site, I had hoped that DA would make daily deviations more prominent than they have been. My feedback to staff has always been that DDs are not an art filter or browse option, they are a feature. Don't make people dig for them, as that is really antithetical to the purpose of a feature.

I’m also closing in on 9 years on the site.  I look back at my art, the art of my DA friends and other artists I admire as well as the site as a whole, and I do notice the changes in all these aspects.  Here’s to the continuing evolution of our art and our spirits.

I hope everyone has a great holiday season.  If you prone to struggling emotionally during this time of year, Heidi has compiled a good list of hotlines that people can call to get help:
 




                                                                                             ~*~
                                                                     


And now for a white feature:




 
                                     
                                                       

 
 
088 by narva     11 by staceyclarkephoto



                                        
                                         


Victor 3 by NataliaCiobanu



White Lace by AgatkaAltModel   
                                                



 Dispersion by offermoord



K by RealKilroy   


Black and White Fluid Painting by Mark-Chadwick



                                          
                                          
     

his history by MartaSyrko



Pale by thefirebomb   



Sky Storm Sea by Senecal


                                                                                  



Marine by EmilySoto

     
                              
                                         




   golden river by KariLiimatainen



luna by ESPRIT-CONFUS



M by kakaoconad


Helena by EmilySoto




W-out 0392  '  spekker ' by W-out









Cheers.

shane

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Shane
Artist | Literature
United States


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Shane
Artist | Literature
United States

words cannot describe what i really am







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I'm the founder over at :iconword-smiths:.

Please join us there and share your literature with us.



I'm the founder at :iconthesimulacrum:

Dedicated to short verse.



I'm the founder at :iconmind-syndicate:.

Let's mesh.



I'm the founder at :iconvicious-verse:.

Integrate the shadow.



I'm the founder at :iconda-literature:.

All literature is welcome.



I'm an admin at :iconburdenedhearts:.

Uniting, supporting, surviving.



I'm an admin at :iconprosepoetry-elegance:.

For excellence in writing.

Stamps

Stamps

I've started a stamp collection. Because, that's what people do.

Stamp: thetaoofchaos by PoetryOD Nobody Likes a Writer by wildoats
I support BurdenedHearts by PoetryOD Read Poetry by LadyTieryn Word-Smiths signature... by Villenueve
Legalize Freedom by Swimmingferret Zen Stamp by st3ramone
Jack Kerouac stamp by reddartfrog Linux Stamp by aldessa spoems! Animation! by Chronokinetic-socks

Comments


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:iconspecialized666:
specialized666 Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Professional General Artist
Hi, have an awesome day :happybounce:
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:iconaway-with-knives:
aWay-with-knives Featured By Owner Jul 6, 2018  Student General Artist
I love you Shane, thanks for being there to inspire me. vents are cappileries; black holes and white holes are the feeders
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:iconbeeswingblue:
beeswingblue Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2017   Writer
Hi -- I haven't heard from you for many moons, and I hope that you are healthy and happy.  I've been worried. Much love to you. :heart:
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:iconrensknight:
RensKnight Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Hi...I used the "Send a Note" feature on dA-Literature to inquire about something group-related, but I am not sure that was the right place to ask my question.  Please let me know if I need to re-send it to you, or to someone else.  Thanks!
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:iconzpnn:
zpnn Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hi! Sorry, very late response, but Shane hasnt been online in two years so it is unlikely you'd get a reply from him.

Was your issue resolved through notes?
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:iconrensknight:
RensKnight Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
It looks like because of the admin rights issues there is no way to submit to the folder (religious works) that I have been told as a member to submit to.
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:iconzpnn:
zpnn Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Yeah, next time you try to submit comment in the comment section (of the submission request) and let us know. I'll have to manually move it over for now.
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:iconjade-pandora:
Jade-Pandora Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2017
Whoa!  Belated, Shane!:iconblushesplz:
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:iconcinnamoncandy:
Cinnamoncandy Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday!
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