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DividedQuantum
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: Kurt]
#24207651 - 03/31/17 09:28 AM (6 years, 9 months ago) |
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It is from a compilation of his poetry called The Peacock and the Buffalo: The Poetry of Nietzsche. I do not know what its original source is; it may be from additional writings preserved after his death, I'm not sure. In all he wrote 275 poems, all of which are included in the book.
-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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sun child



Registered: 02/12/15
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I would bet a nickel they are both from Zarathustra....
Could be wrong but it feels that way.
-------------------- Innocent, Oldfield & Hegerland Julia Delaney, Bothy Band Rasta Girl, Sister Carol Genesis, Jorma K I Wish You Peace, Lawrence Laughing Do Your Thing, Moondog large . . music garden . . veryall peace them hiStarhouse - main Time Traveler's Guide
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DividedQuantum
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Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.
-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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once in a lifetime
sun child



Registered: 02/12/15
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o you beat me to it. . . I was going to post that one sometime 
I sure couldn't find where the Nietzsche came from after doing research... I came across these though:
“Around the inventors of new values the world revolves—invisibly it revolves”
‘It is the stillest words that bring on the storm. Thoughts that come on doves’ feet direct the world’
and it seems the poem is from -- Nietzsche, KSB 8, 597 - but I'm not sure what KSB refers to.
-------------------- Innocent, Oldfield & Hegerland Julia Delaney, Bothy Band Rasta Girl, Sister Carol Genesis, Jorma K I Wish You Peace, Lawrence Laughing Do Your Thing, Moondog large . . music garden . . veryall peace them hiStarhouse - main Time Traveler's Guide
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Kurt
Thinker, blinker, writer, typer.

Registered: 11/26/14
Posts: 1,688
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The Gay Science has a bit of Nietzsche's poetry in the front of it. He has more than 60 poems of this length...
If I recall, Beyond Good and Evil has a middle section of maxims and aphorisms, but they don't rhyme... And I don't think Thus Spake Zarathustra usually has a rhymes to it, but it definitely seem to have that biblical sermon on the mount flourish/irony, and of course, that famous question of "higher men" to it.
In the main part of Gay Science, I think what Nietzsche actually means by "Gay Science" as a whole could be considered as his reflection on poetry...
As I understand Nietzsche describes a poetry both as the coming of spring; something brought forth, sprouted, or gently shepherded, and yet also (remembering where we come from) in this same way, like a sick being coming of health, and observing this... since this sort of awareness and feeling is the only thing in and of human beings that really reflects and does sincere justice to the coming of vitality like of spring.
For Nietzsche, spring is a simile, like the possibility of coming back to some state of health, (with all the implied prior consequences of this) as the direct feeling of vitality and health coming forth. It is what he finds in rhythms of the seasons and times, celebrating the pagan festival of Saturnalia (a winter festival, or covering-over, a harshness, but also a celebration), with the spring, in direct synthesis. His conclusion? So far as one tends to makes direct syntheses like these, a "science" of these rhythms of life, anyone is faced also with the direct passing of life, in both cases TO the tragedies of life, and yet (somewhat irreconcilably) also TO what must be as well the parodies of a wanton spring, (which elsewhere he calls, the affirmative spirit...but here, spring).
At any rate... Could "Gay science", be Nietzsche's take on poetry? Of course I am sure what he says a little more mischeivous, and not to be pinned down, as Nietzsche generally is. Always, much better in his own words too, but I figure some of you guys might find this bit interesting.
Quote:
Preface 1
This book might need more than one preface; and in the end there would still be room for doubting whether someone who has not experienced something similar could, by means of prefaces, be brought doser to the experiences of this book.
It seems to be written in the language of the wind that brings a thaw: it contains high spirits, unrest, contradiction, and April weather, so that one is constantly reminded of winter's nearness as well as of the triumph over winter that is coming, must come, perhaps has already come ...Gratitude flows forth incessantly, as if that which was most unexpected had just happened - the gratitude of a convalescent - for recovery was what was most unexpected. 'Gay Science': this signifies the saturnalia of a mind that has patiently resisted a terrible, long pressure - patiently, severely, coldly, without yielding, but also without hope - and is now all of a sudden attacked by hope, by hope for health, by the intoxication of recovery.
Is it any wonder that in the process much that is unreasonable and foolish comes to light, much wanton tenderness, lavished even on problems that have a prickly hide, not made to be fondled and lured? This entire book is really nothing but an amusement after long privation and powerlessness, the jubilation of returning strength, of a reawakened faith in a tomorrow and a day after tomorrow, of a sudden sense and anticipation of a future, of impending adventures, of reopened seas, of goals that are permitted and believed in again.
How many and what sorts of things did not lie behind me then! This stretch of desert, exhaustion, loss of faith, icing-up in the midst of youth; this onset of dotage at the wrong time; this tyranny of pain surpassed still by the tyranny of a pride that refused the conclusions of pain - and conclusions are consolations; this radical seclusion as a self-defence against a pathologically clairvoyant contempt for humanity, this limitation in principle to what was bitter, harsh, painful to know, as prescribed by the nausea that had gradually developed from an incautious and excessively luxurious spiritual diet - one calls it romanticism - oh, who could reexperience all of this as I did?
But if anyone could, he would surely pardon even more than a bit of foolishness, exuberance, 'gay science' -for example, the handful of songs that have been added to the book this time, songs in which a poet makes fun of all poets in a manner that is hard to forgive. Alas, it is not only the poets and their beautiful 'lyrical sentiments' on whom this resurrected author has to vent his malice: who knows what kind of victim he is looking for, what kind of monster will stimulate him to pardon it? Incipit tragoedia, we read at the end of this suspiciously innocent hook. Beware! Something utterly wicked and mischievous is being announced here: incipit parodia, no doubt.
2
But let us leave Mr. Nietzsche: what is it to us that Mr Nietzsche has got well again? ... A psychologist knows few questions as attractive as that concerning the relation between health and philosophy; and should he himself become ill, he will bring all of his scientific curiosity into the illness. For assuming that one is a person, one necessarily also has the philosophy of that person; but here there is a considerable difference. In some, it is their weaknesses that philosophize; in others, their riches and strengths. The former need their philosophy, be it as a prop, a sedative, medicine, redemption, elevation, or self-alienation; for the latter, it is only a beautiful luxury, in the best case the voluptuousness of a triumphant gratitude that eventually has to inscribe itself in cosmic capital letters on the heaven of concepts. In the former, more common case, however, when it is distress that philosophizes, as in all sick thinkers - and perhaps sick thinkers are in the majority in the history of philosophy - what will become of the thought that is itself subjected to the pressure of illness?
This is the question that concerns the psychologist, and here an experiment is possible. Just like a traveller who resolves to wake up at a certain hour and then calmly gives himself up to sleep, so too we philosophers, should we become ill, temporarily surrender with body and soul to the illness - we shut our eyes to ourselves, as it were. And as the traveller knows that something is not asleep, something that will count the hours and wake him up, we, too, know that the decisive moment will find us awake, that something will then leap forward and catch the mind in the act, i.e. in its weakness or repentance or hardening or gloom, and whatever else the pathological states of the mind are called that on healthy days are opposed by the pride of the mind (for the old saying still holds: 'the proud mind, the peacock, and the horse are the three proudest animals on earth').
After such self questioning, self-temptation, one acquires a subtler eye for all philosophizing to date; one is better than before at guessing the involuntary detours, alleyways, resting places, and sunning places of thought to which suffering thinkers are led and misled on account of their suffering; one now knows where the sick body and its needs unconsciously urge, push, and lure the mind - towards sun, stillness, mildness, patience, medicine, halm in some sense.
Every philosophy that ranks peace above war, every ethic with a negative definition of happiness, every metaphysics and physics that knows some finale, a final state of some sort, every predominantly aesthetic or religious craving for some Apart, Beyond, Outside, Above, permits the question whether it was not illness that inspired the philosopher. The unconscious disguise of physiological needs under the cloaks of the objective, ideal, purely spiritual goes frighteningly far - and I have asked myself often enough whether, on a grand scale, philosophy has been no more than an interpretation of the body and a misunderstanding of the body.
Behind the highest value judgements that have hitherto guided the history of thought are concealed misunderstandings of the physical constitution of individuals or classes or even whole races. All those bold lunacies of metaphysics, especially answers to the question about the value of existence, may always be considered first of all as symptoms of certain bodies; and if such world affirmations or world negations lack altogether any grain of significance when measured scientifically, they give the historian and psychologist all the more valuable hints as symptoms of the body, of its success or failure, its fullness, power and highhandedness in history, or of its frustrations, fatigues, impoverishments, its premonitions of the end, its will to an end.
I am still waiting for a philosophical physician in the exceptional sense of the term - someone who has set himself the task of pursuing the problem of the total health of a people, time, race or of humanity - to summon the courage at last to push my suspicion to its limit and risk the proposition: what was at stake in all philosophizing hitherto was not at all 'truth' but rather something else - let us say health, future, growth, power, life ...
Apologies for the lengthy theoretical post; today a step back, I suppose I contemplate to pet the prickly porcupine though!
Edited by Kurt (04/01/17 11:29 AM)
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once in a lifetime
sun child



Registered: 02/12/15
Posts: 1,807
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: Kurt]
#24210421 - 04/01/17 10:03 AM (6 years, 9 months ago) |
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I never read Prefaces. They are appalling and offensive, as a rule..
But I read your post and it was really good.. No thoughts on KSB though?
-------------------- Innocent, Oldfield & Hegerland Julia Delaney, Bothy Band Rasta Girl, Sister Carol Genesis, Jorma K I Wish You Peace, Lawrence Laughing Do Your Thing, Moondog large . . music garden . . veryall peace them hiStarhouse - main Time Traveler's Guide
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Kurt
Thinker, blinker, writer, typer.

Registered: 11/26/14
Posts: 1,688
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Thanks; I am glad you got through some of the typos and could follow btw, (for which to DQ and the rest of the readers here I apologize). I posted on the run yesterday, which I always somewhat regret.
But anyway no, I don't know of KSB, but I gather it is some of Nietzsche's personal letters? What's your experience? Always good to come by other Nietzsche appreciators!
I should say, on that note I do not think I am actually Nietzschean, even while I appreciate him. Maybe I practice a bit of the gay science. There is a bit of a romantic in me, and I appreciate what he stands for, in the corpus of German idealists (being the last in my opinion). But unlike Nietzsche's genius, I am not principally against tempering the sensuousness of my response to the world, for the long haul, if only for my health, and so to say "going under" rather than over.
I get his response to any kind of aeceticism. The Buddha had the same principled response. Nietzsche was wrong about some things though, as I have seen, and I think this is where his sharpness, and intellectual insight (I sometimes think, unfortunately for him) always made up for any weakness he had, and balanced and tempered what he had to say if it was wrong.
But to the Nietzschean subtlety, of always biting into things, we know!Maybe he is one of the greatest writers to live. I personally think he didn't know where he could have found more balance and temperament for life, or balance for his own psyche, where he might have, but we appreciate it. I wonder, is it just me, or is there any doubt that Nietzsche ultimately ground himself down? If you have ever experienced any issue with health you can see these things...just like Nietzsche. It is not just a symptom...the world. It is not just an ill gotten metaphysics to deconstruct.
I was reading Gay Science again as I begin a garden project and actually as I recover a bit of health myself, a little more quietly. I'd be curious what your experience reading Nietzsche, this philosophical poet.
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once in a lifetime
sun child



Registered: 02/12/15
Posts: 1,807
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: Kurt]
#24210641 - 04/01/17 11:35 AM (6 years, 9 months ago) |
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. . .
. . .
hehe.
Sämtliche Briefe: Kritische Studienausgabe
too much Nietzsche is not at all good for the soul But a bit, some is always good of course.
-------------------- Innocent, Oldfield & Hegerland Julia Delaney, Bothy Band Rasta Girl, Sister Carol Genesis, Jorma K I Wish You Peace, Lawrence Laughing Do Your Thing, Moondog large . . music garden . . veryall peace them hiStarhouse - main Time Traveler's Guide
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Kurt
Thinker, blinker, writer, typer.

Registered: 11/26/14
Posts: 1,688
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As we all know, intoxicants can open doors.
Good to level out too
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graceful dragon
omni-love



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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: Kurt] 2
#24210672 - 04/01/17 11:47 AM (6 years, 9 months ago) |
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The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.
~
Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.
~
Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.
- Rabindranath Tagore
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graceful dragon
omni-love



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The Banyan Tree
O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond, have you forgotten the little child, like the birds that have nested in your branches and left you?
Do you not remember how he sat at the window and wondered at the tangle of your roots that plunged underground?
The women would come to fill their jars in the pond, and your huge black shadow would wriggle on the water like sleep struggling to wake up.
Sunlight danced on the ripple like restless tiny shuttles weaving golden tapestry.
Two ducks swam by the woody margin above their shadows, and the child would sit still and think.
He longed to be the wind and blow through your rustling branches, to be your shadow and legthen with the day on the water, to be a bird and perch on your topmost twig, and to float like those ducks among the weeds and shadows.
(same as above...)
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graceful dragon
omni-love



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THE SOURCE The sleep that flits on baby’s eyes –does anybody know from where it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss baby’s eyes. The smile that flickers on baby’s lips when he sleeps–does anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning –the smile that flickers on baby’s lips when he sleeps. The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby’s limbs –does anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of love–the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on baby’s limbs.
(same author)
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Kurt
Thinker, blinker, writer, typer.

Registered: 11/26/14
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Thanks for those...
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CaptainRedbeard
(mushroomdude)



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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: Kurt] 1
#24214646 - 04/03/17 06:33 AM (6 years, 9 months ago) |
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"How Doth the Little Crocodile" By Lewis Carroll
How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin How neatly spreads his claws And welcomes little fishes in With gently smiling jaws!
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take it easy dude, but - take it!
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SonicTitan


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We’re looking down on Wayne’s basement. Only that’s not Wayne’s basement. Isn’t that weird?
-------------------- "We are a way for the cosmos to know itself."
 
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head


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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: SonicTitan] 2
#24215371 - 04/03/17 01:30 PM (6 years, 9 months ago) |
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Dostoevsky
by Charles Bukowski
against the wall, the firing squad ready. then he got a reprieve. suppose they had shot Dostoevsky? before he wrote all that? I suppose it wouldn't have mattered not directly. there are billions of people who have never read him and never will. but as a young man I know that he got me through the factories, past the whores, lifted me high through the night and put me down in a better place. even while in the bar drinking with the other derelicts, I was glad they gave Dostoevsky a reprieve, it gave me one, allowed me to look directly at those rancid faces in my world, death pointing its finger, I held fast, an immaculate drunk sharing the stinking dark with my brothers.
-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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graceful dragon
omni-love



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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: Kurt]
#24216231 - 04/03/17 07:07 PM (6 years, 9 months ago) |
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Quote:
Kurt said: Thanks for those...
Yep
The other day I thought of creating a thread titled, 'Who wants to memorize Faust with me?' and the first line in the thread would probably be, 'Kurt, I'm thinking.'
Ah, but I didn't. Could have beens, could have beens.
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Kurt
Thinker, blinker, writer, typer.

Registered: 11/26/14
Posts: 1,688
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Haha that's pretty funny.
I think I really like the less anxious and even tempered stuff best in the long run. It feels better.
I've meant to look up on Rabindranath Tagore, so thanks for the reminder.
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akira_akuma
Φύσις κρύπτεσθαι ὕψιστος φιλεῖ


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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: Kurt] 1
#24217028 - 04/04/17 05:21 AM (6 years, 9 months ago) |
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SYLVIA PLATH
Ennui
Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe, designing futures where nothing will occur: cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning she will still predict no perils left to conquer. Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knight finds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheard of, while blasé princesses indict tilts at terror as downright absurd.
The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump, compelling hero’s dull career to crisis; and when insouciant angels play God’s trump, while bored arena crowds for once look eager, hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizes shall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger.
i'm eventually going to read all of these -- i didn't see this thread, and now that i did...oh yes....yesssssssss
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SoloTrip
Help Ever, Hurt Never



Registered: 12/30/14
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I, Nezahualcoyotl (1402-1472), ask this: Is it true one really lives on the earth? Not forever on earth, only a little while here. Though it be jade it falls apart, though it be gold it wears away, though it be quetzal plumage it is torn asunder. Not forever on earth, only a little while here.
I comprehend the secret, the hidden: O my lords!
Thus we are, we are mortal, men through and through, we all will have to go away, we all will have to die on earth. Like a painting, we will be erased. Like a flower, we will dry up here on earth. Like plumed vestments of the precious bird, that precious bird with the agile neck, we will come to an end... Think on this, my lords, eagles, and ocelots, though you be of jade, though you be of gold you also will go there, to the place of the fleshless. We will have to disappear, no one can remain.
I am intoxicated, I weep, I grieve, I think, I speak, within myself I discover this; indeed, I shall never die, indeed, I shall never disappear. There were there is no death, there were death is overcome, let me go there. Indeed I shall never die, indeed, I shall never disappear.
Nezahualcoyotl has found immortality in the form of his poems(flowers).
At last my heart knows it: I hear a song, I contemplate a flower... May they never fade!
My flowers will not come to an end, my songs will not come to an end, I, the singer, raise them up; they are scattered, they are bestowed. Even though flowers on earth may wither and yellow, they will be carried there, to the interior of the house of the bird with the golden feathers.
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Edited by SoloTrip (04/04/17 02:19 PM)
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