Sunday, September 21, 2014

End of the line

Video from the march

May Day 1971

I was, of course, a child. But on that day my brothers and I went with our mother to Riverside Park, down by the famous Little Red Lighthouse under the George Washington Bridge. In my memory it sometimes looks like a movie about those days: Hippies were painting and singing, wearing tie-dye and there was a general groovy tone. One hippie gave me a big fat paint brush and told me to paint something on a big rock, but my mother said no: She thought it was against the whole point of the day to paint the rocks, but she was OK with us painting on the walkway, so that's what we did. I don't remember what I painted: Maybe a Yellow Submarine (I liked drawing those), or maybe a rainbow or something.

The hippies gave out a lot of stuff too, and one hippie gave me what appeared to be a hardboiled egg, which I brought home. Later that day, or maybe it was the next day, something horrible happened: The egg broke open and inside was a dead chic, it's dead eye closed. At the time we didn't understand it, and thought it was just a mistake of some sort. But years later I realized that that hippie thought he was handing me the future, and that a baby chic would bust out of that egg to symbolize life and everything else. He probably imagined that that's what happened.

And it did, of course, in a way symbolize the future: The hippie's world was not sustainable; It was a self-contained egg of culture and beliefs that should have hatched but never really did. My generation, the punk generation, looked back on a lot of that hippie stuff as nice enough but just not real and in denial of all the darkness were would have to work through.

But now, perhaps, today, there's the stirring of a new world after all. This stirring, perhaps, can stay alive because it includes a broad enough spectrum of peoples to be realistic about what it will take to change course. And we need, of course, to change course.

Times Square

live March

live climate changearch


Climate march

I'll try to post some photos live-ish from the march here in NYC today.

In the mean time, if you are so unfortunate as to get into a conversation with a climate change denier, just put the burden of proof on them: Ask them to prove how 40 billion tons of CO2 added to the atmosphere each year WON'T impact the climate.

Friday, September 19, 2014

Corporate Coffee pot

As I mentioned last week, some months back the unknown forces who manage the building and mundanities such as coffee on the floors changed the coffee packs to smaller ones, causing coffee so weak and tasteless as to be pointless, if not unpleasant to drink. And in response, of course, I and a number of others moved to dumping one-and-a-half to two packs into the coffee machine. I didn't even know anyone else was doing it (never mind a whole number of us) until the gal who manages such things for us caught me doing it and said, "So THAT'S why the coffee's been disappearing so quickly!" That's when I knew there had to be others because there's no way my additional half-a-pack twice a week could be noticeable. Later, of course, I saw some of the others that were doing the same so knew I was part of a little kick-it-back-up-a-notch coffee gang.

And since everyone was dumping in extra packs, the Building people changed the packs back to what we had before, but of course everyone's still dumping in one-and-a-half to two packs. So a sign has appeared over the coffee area pointing out the fact that the old, normal-sized packs are back so it's no longer necessary to use extra packs.

And thus, we have the common repeating motif in large companies such as banks: This obviously stupid decision to move to smaller packs in order to save money has probably cost a lot more money than it saved, while completely missing the point of why coffee drinkers drink coffee.

Back when I worked at Bellcore someone had the bright idea to program the copy machines to bill the cost of copies made directly to whatever project those copies were made for: You had to enter a project number into the copy machine or it would refuse to operate. Of course, the system was a terrible disaster and, I'd bet, there were plenty world-class engineers there that figured out how to make copies without entering project numbers. But it was said that whoever thought up the idea of entering the project numbers into the copier probably got a raise and promotion, while whoever thought of getting rid of the system also probably got a raise and promotion. It was often speculated that the same person who initiated the terrible system was the same person who removed it, and that he got a bonus both times.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

And might I say the coyotes were going apeshit?

Maybe there's more of them now, but for whatever reason, up in NH on the pond we could hear the high-pitched cry of coyotes almost every day, and sometimes a few times a day. And, on Wednesday morning, they were clearly in the woods behind the cabin, as opposed to simply being "far away" on the other side of the lake (where's there's a large stretch without any houses).

Should I care? Well, I actually kind of like having them around, though perhaps that's misguided. In Europe true blue out-of-control nature was far, far away. But in NH and Maine, it still feels like humans have carved small and temporary niches out of nature in which they reside. In other words, nature is dominant and humans try to fit in. I really like that feeling, and the coyotes make me feel it even more.

On the other hand, coyotes have moved into a variety of large American cities and have learned to become fairly invisible, and even nocturnal, living off of rats and mice and even pigeons or what have you. The are apparently common in Chicago, particularly down by the river. So in other words, perhaps coyotes represent a relationship to wildness and nature that is similar to pigeons or racoons: "Oh look at that pigeon we are out in nature". Nope.

Are they dangerous? I don't think that they are and they are apparently kind of shy. They don't want a fight. But they are large, larger than most dogs, and most certainly wild. So perhaps I'll need a shotgun for emergencies eventually. Dunno.

Hey...apparently, relatively nearby, a teenager was attacked by a Coyote who bopped it on the nose and drove it off. Here's something said by New Hampshire's Fish and Game guy:

"But if you are in a situation where you are outdoors near a coyote, shout at it, make sure it knows you’re a threat,” Tate advises. “If it comes at you, hit it hard on the head and snout."

Read the piece here. It is apparently the first time recorded of a coyote attacking a human in New Hampshire, and they suspect that the coyote was rabid.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Skinner's automat

Up in NH my old friend Mr URS helped me prepare the cabin for demolishment. While moving stuff, we of course caught up and also commiserated about some of the negative issues in our lives. Mr URS's main beef these days is his 20-something stepkids who contribute little or nothing financially while pretty much running amok in their parents' home. It occurred to us, however, that it might be possible to convert those adult children into income streams by pretty much putting coinslots on everything.

Of course, it would start with the washer-dryer (and they will regularly pull Mr URS still-drying clothes out of the dryer to get their own in there). The conversation would go something like this:

Adult Child: What the fuck! What are these coinslots on the washer and dryer?

Mr URS: You use those if you want to wash your clothes.

AC: Yeah, but what the FUCK are they doing there?

Mr URS: I put 'em there. Figure I'd spread the costs around a bit. Plus, when that machine goes it's not like you're going to volunteer to help pay for a new one.

AC: I can't deal with this right now. I'm hungry...


Mr URS: Thought you'd like some nice pumpkin pie.

AC: But it's behind a window with a coin slot! And it's FIVE DOLLARS!

Mr URS: It's good pie, though. I just baked it an hour ago. Remember, I had to haul all those ingredients up from town at the bottom of the mountain, and then of course it took me some work to actually bake the pie. You can drive down to town if you want to get something cheaper, but I don't think it's quite worth it.

AC: (Walks over to Mr URS's car) Hey. There's not enough gas to get to town.

Mr URS: Sure there is!

AC: No way. It's not even on empty, it's below. I'll never get down the mountain with this.

Mr URS: Oh, the gas isn't in the car it's in that gas-pump over there, and $5 a gallon.

AC: Five dollars! That's a ripoff!

Mr URS: Well, you can use your own car and your own gas. Probably better that way anyway.

AC: But I don't have my own car!

Mr URS: Oh yeah, true enough. Well, you could buy one.

AC: But I don't have any money!

Mr URS: Well, you could get a job.

AC: What? Fuck this. I don't need this kind of judgmentalism.

Mr URS: True. You can hike down the mountain right now, go get a job and refuse to stand for this any longer! That'll show me!

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Bear Pond, New Hampshire

Just for the heck of it, I thought I'd include a couple of photos of Bear Pond, in New Hampshire. Bear Pond is fairly obscure in that, first of all, there are no roads to Bear Pond per se: We drove several miles on ATV (All Terrain Vehicle) trails before encountering this barrier, afternwhich we had to hike:

Bear Pond itself is technically a reservoir, so no one lives on it and you're not allowed to swim or go boating in it.

Anyway, here's a couple of photos of the pond itself, which granted isn't super-interesting BUT, there are few if any photos of it on the internet that I could see.

This photo we took after hiking about 50% of the way around before turning around due to rain.

Thursday, September 04, 2014

Necessary deconstruction

Here in New Hampshire we spent yesterday searching through the attic of this delapidated cabin: Many of the items up there have been there since the 1970s, some go back even further. It's all the setritus of lives that are no more; Even the generation after them is largely gone.
One could, of course, attempt to retain "everything", but the weight of all that history is far too great and much of it is simply junk. Keeping even a significant fraction would prevent the future from really happening.
So in a way it feels kind of good to know it's been consciously dealt with and finished. I feel like I'm making a place for the  future that is cognizant of yet unencumbered by the past.

Friday, August 29, 2014

Today is, apparently, Charlie Parker's birthday. Parker was, of course, known as "Bird", and the famous jazz club Birdland was named after him. He revolutionized Jazz, of course, and you could argue that his ultra-fast, in-and-out tune-making also laid the basis for rock, which would emerge decades later.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Two women at work

Bureaucratic Tendencies
"Oh, so you're the one using up so much coffee!" she said. This surprised me slightly, because perhaps twice a week I will use one and a half packets of coffee in the coffee machine, and put the unused half packet in a cup for someone else to use for the next pot. It shouldn't make a measurable difference, but I didn't argue the point.
"Well, ever since the moved to the smaller packets the coffee tastes like dirty water, so I moved it up a bit." The corporate coffee machine is pre-programmed to deliver a specific amount of water, so using smaller packets will necessarily result in undrinkable coffee.
"Well, they're yelling at me because you're using too much coffee." This annoyed me slightly, in that this is one of those obvious things that you push back on: If you cut the amount of coffee per pack people will start using twice as many packs. But I do believe someone is probably giving her shit, so I say, "Send them to me and I'll yell at them." That's when she started explaining, "Well, they don't have to do this, you know. Other floors don't even have coffee." She's clearly missing the point. I say: "Have you tried this coffee with the smaller packs? It's almost undrinkable." Her reply? "No, I'm not a coffee drinker." This is when I get a little mad and ask her if she's ever worked anywhere else before, and that coffee may not be "required", it's pretty standard. And I also tell her that if they want to take away undrinkable coffee, they certainly can and I'll just get my own coffee machine. But the point is that if the coffee sucks so bad there's really no point. The word "Coffee" printed on the pack doesn't confer that pack magical powers over an entire pot of coffee, no matter what the size.

Funny enough, a couple days later I passed by and saw some new guy dumping in 2 whole packs so I laugh: "Those half packs really aren't cutting it, are they?" The guy shakes his head: "What are they thinking? They moved to smaller packs so we have to use more coffee."

The smoker girl may not theoretically be unattractive, and she enthusiastically gives me warm smiles and hellos. But her sallow smoker's complexion combined with a general and obvious unhealthiness come near to revolting in my minds' eye. I can't help it. She looks like Karmer in that Seinfeld episode where he takes up smoking a pipe.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

What's the problem with the middle east?

Simple: Incompatible geometry.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Goldfish playing Streetfighter

I'm thinking that this isn't quite what you imagined the future would be like: The movement of two live goldfish captured by a camera and then mapped to fight-motions in Streetfighter. (In other words, if you see Streetfighter below, that is a live battle occurring right now between those two goldfish in the tank.)
Watch live video from FishPlayStreetFighter on
Come to think of it, this is a far better future in our unimaginable technological present than I could have imagined.

Monday, August 18, 2014

The Chinese In-laws versus the dishwasher

Mainland Chinese folks, for some reason, don't like dishwashing machines very much. I don't really understand why, and either nobody is willing to tell me or they just don't know. But go to the home of most immigrants from mainland China (who came over, say, 10 or more years ago), and they will never use their dishwasher for anything but storing dishes and/or pots. They won't even know whether thing works or not.

A couple of nights ago I came home from somewhere or other, and the in-laws visitng from China were around. After grabbing something to eat I sought to load it directly into the dishwasher (see my recent "Advice for Slobs" piece if you don't know why), and--behold!--the dishwasher was filled with suspicious-looking dishes. Examining them they all appeared to be clean, but they were wet. Talking to the sister-in-law (who speaks zero English, so I had to fight through my own limitations in Chinese), it became apparent that she had washed the dishes in the sink and then loaded the clean dishes into the dishwasher, thereby neutralizing its dishwashing capability. And now, of course, I had to put my dirty dish or cup into the sink.

Very clearly, this sister-in-law hates that dishwasher and doesn't trust it.

Funny enough, my wife's niece once agreed to load our dishwasher and then start it, but she gave that task to her friend, who was actually born in the US though her parents weren't. When we came home there were soapsuds all over the floor right outside the dishwasher: It was apparent she had no idea how much dishwasher detergent to use nor where to put it, so she just squeezed the detergent bottle a few times directly into the dishwasher.

Lisa Gerrard...

...has a new album out. It looks cool.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Tatoo nation

30 years ago: Guys in prison, guys in the military, dock workers, guys on Harleys.

20 years ago: Deep alt.culture folks, artists, rock musicians, tatoo parlor workers...

10 years ago: Waitresses, writers, silicon valley/alley startup kids, medicinal marijuana dispensary workers...

Now: Doctors, lawyers, bankers, nuns, babies, politicians, used car salesmen

Friday, August 15, 2014

Descent out of Laughter

For a time he was in one of those states where you know you aren't awake, but you don't really know if you're asleep either. And then, we he was awake, he kept his eyes closed and let his mind wander around inside himself for a while: The aching, howling void, the pain and the depression were all gone.

And that's how he knew he was no longer alive.

If it were a hospital he'd feel the sluggishness of the drugs. But the drugs didn't exactly take away the howling void, it just made you not care about it. And even though he'd previously been addicted, that's not the same thing as really enjoying the drugs: He didn't. Not really. But that's why he knew he was in a very different place.

When he opened his eyes he was very obviously in the middle of a classic version of heaven: There were white clouds all around and he was (now) standing in front of an audience of angels, with white robes and wings and everything. And they were looking at him with what he could swear was anticipation, like at a standup gig or something.

And then he noticed: Behind the crowd of angels were the Pearly Gates. And they looked just you'd think they would, too. Kind of like the gates to a very large Estate in Atherton or maybe the North Shore of Long Island or something.

"Uh...hello..." he said.

The crowd of angels chuckled slightly. "Hello Robin!" one in the back shouted. He swore they were acting just like fans or something.

"So this is it, huh? So where's Hendrix?" This got laughter from the angels.

"Say something funny! Do your funny stuff!"

This he couldn't really comprehend: He'd just hung himself with a belt and now they wanted a show?

He felt...angry? Yes, angry. In heaven? How could that be? And yet in front of him were angels with smiling, googly audience-eyes, just like he'd hung himself to leave.

So he launched into a routine. In one of his classic comedy voices he said, "Boy, I bet if most people knew how easy it was to come up here they might off themselves like this!" He made a gun out of his fingers and pretended to shoot himself with a big, cartoonish gesture, and with the other hand mimed a big splatter of brains coming out of the other side of his head.

The angels laughed.

He then improvised all sorts of suicides and various kind of deaths to lead the deceased up to the pearly gates. All of these "jokes" got uproarious laughter from the angels.

So then he crescended into a description of his own death: "Well if you think that's funny here's what I did!" Whereupon he mimed hanging himself and stuck out his tongue and made big, googly eyes as the air was cut off to his mime-head.

The angels were in an uproar of hilarity, some of them even hitting the ground and rolling and pounding on the cloud-ground.

And that's when he stopped the act and screamed at the angels: "That's funny? You find that fucking funny? Stop laughing! STOP LAUGHING!" But the angels kept laughing and laughing and he kept screaming at them to stop.

That's when he fell over, on his side, and curled into a ball and heard all the laughing and laughing...

Somehow, the laughing transformed, and darkness grew around him and when he opened his eyes the angels had become demon/devil-things, all red and with pitchforks and they were laughing still.

And now he was on fire and in great physical pain and the laughing died away.

"Thank God", he said...even with the physical pain he didn't feel so bad inside anymore and, without the laughing, regarded this as something of an improvement, even if it wasn't ideal.

So he went with his position or moving didn't lessen the physical pain, but inside he could feel a sort of peace so he focused on that.

And then, somehow, he forgot about the pain.

And the pain and the flames were gone.

He was in a bright space. Not "white", but as if a giant stagelight were shining on him in a vast, dark space, but he could see nothing else.

You don't have to be funny anymore, if you don't want, said the light.


I never liked your jokes that much, Robin.

Really? Then why am I here?

You told your jokes to shut out the void, and people loved you for it. But you don't need to do that here. You don't have to be funny anymore, Robin, unless you really want to.

Really? Can I be sad?

You can be sad if you feel sad, Robin. And don't worry: It'll go away eventually.

Can I be angry?

You can be angry, Robin, and you can even let us know.

Oh, I would never do that!

But you can, Robin. You can come here and not be funny. And if you don't feel good that's OK.


Yes. Would you like to come here?

I think I would like that, thank you.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Single-use time machine

If I had a single-use time machine, I'd be tempted to go back a few days ago and pound on Robin Williams door: Robin, I'd say, You can hang yourself tomorrow if you must but today we shall ride.

Williams was an avid road-cyclist and cycling fan. I have little doubt he could drop me if he was even in reasonably good shape. But I figure that a good ride on that one fatefull day, could have maybe brought him through for a while. Maybe his fate was ultimately ineluctable, and one he had decided upon a while ago. But perhaps he could have had a few more years if only he could get through that day.

And what does it say to us, that he may have hung himself with a belt? He was very well-known and he knew this and knew that, ultimately, the world would know how he died. Was that belt a sort of statement? Look, I was laughing outside and entertaining all of you and making you laugh, but this was how I felt inside. Stop laughing, motherfuckers.

Monday, August 11, 2014

Robin Williams, 1951-2014W

As you probably have heard by now, the actor Robin Williams has died.

When Robin Williams first hit prime time in Mork from Ork, I hated him. I hated his comedy and his twitchy, stream-of-consciousness comedy, which I didn't find funny. When he'd be interviewed or do an appearance on, say, Johnny Carson, I'd quickly grow tired of him: His words seemed like a nervous tick. Did he ever shut up?

Over the years, however, I changed my mind completely about the man. No, I still never liked his comedy. But I slowly started to realize that his comedy was really a sort of defense mechanism for a sensitive soul. And sometimes, you'd see Robin Williams say something really from the heart and, when he realized he'd exposed something genuine and true in his feelings, he'd sometimes cover it up with jokes.

I guess my feelings about Robin Williams started to evolve with Good Morning Vietnam. No, I didn't care for his character's on-air jokes which were, of course, very Robin Williams-esque. Rather, the very real and dramatic character he portrayed off the air touched me as being very genuine.

Ah, and then came Fisher King. Actually, I didn't care for Jeff Bridges prior to that movie either, but his alcoholic main character was the only authentic alcoholic I've seen in a movie. And then Robin Williams' broken and delusional ex-professor real starts to worm its way into your heart. And something that Robin Williams brought to the role really makes it all so very raw and heartbreaking. He really made you care.

After that I really changed my mind about Robin Williams, and figured his comedy may have evolved during perhaps High School, as a way to get jocks laughing and allow his sensitive and truly artistic core to survive another day un-ass-kicked. (I have no idea if this was his life at any point.) But I saw underneath all those goddam jokes a really sincere and deeply artistic person.

It saddens me greatly, therefore, to learn a few minutes ago that he has died. The cause of death, for me, doesn't matter too much.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Looking for a girlfriend

Saw this on the corner of Bleecker and Bowery. Creepy and cute at the same time.

Michael Brook!

Michael Brook is one of those kinda cats that has been sneaking around the edges for years and years, making his own great music or else significantly good-ifying music with others. For instance, here he is with David Sylvian and Robert Fripp:

And here is with another musical heavyweight, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan (wait for the song to really get rolling and you'll hear Brook's wild guitar-sounds):

And I recently (well, a few minutes ago) discovered that he's put a lot of his music up for free download.
I actually saw Michael Brook play live once, with John Cale, Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison (yeah, the Velvet Underground guys).

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Wayne Shorter: "Aung Sang Su Kyi"

Why? Just because someone mentioned her on Facebook so I dug this out and it kicked my ass. If you're not familiar with Wayne Shorter, you may think that the odd, shy tone he achieves on the soprano is just some odd accident, but when you see him bend and twist those notes you might just realize that this is very near to the vanguard of what human beings are capable of, artistically.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Advice for slobs

Here at the Magic Lantern we do sometimes give out valuable advice, and this is one I've been meaning to write for a long time. If you are a regular reader and not a slob, you will probably have no interest in the veritable gold mine of valuable advice for slobs below. But if you ARE a slob, here is some expert advice.

The first thing to realize is that being a slob has a downside, which one might seek to mitigate: Being a slob is a lot of work. What? Are you crazy? I'm a slob precisely because I'm lazy! Au contrare, dear slob.

Consider your sink full of dishes: That represents a whole lot of extra work you're going to have to do. No it doesn't! Yes it does. Remember that, for any cup, bowl, spoon or fork you use, even most slobs will feel the need to use something clean. I haven't yet met the slob that will simply pull yesterday's dirty dish out of the sink and use it for today's food. That means that you are probably going to have to wash everything in that sink eventually. The work won't simply go away unless you die, but I'll respond to that possibility later.

Given that you WILL eventually have to wash everything in that sink, then why put those dishes there? They should be placed directly in the dishwasher so that you eliminate the unnecessary labor of placing the dish in the sink, pulling it out, and then placing it into the dishwasher. In other words, you are an imperfect slob, a veritable slave to daily chores, even if you thought you weren't. You're no slob at all!

There are, of course, two options. The first option is to just continue to remove the clean dishes out of the dishwasher whenever you need one. In special cases that can work: If you own fewer dishes than fill up a sink at any one time, then I'd like to back out my hasty comment above, accusing you of not being a slob at all. You are indeed a brave slob and I salute you.

HOWEVER, if you have more dishes than can be contained in a sink at any one time, then when the dishwasher completes its cycle and the dishes are clean, in order to reduce the amount of your labors then take those dishes out and put 'em on the shelves. After that, start loading the dishes directly into the dishwasher, thereby saving the hassle of digging them out of the sink, which can get quite gnarly.

But I don't have a place to put all those clean dishes, that's why this happens in the first place. Ah, that's an easy problem to solve, but the question is whether you are a brave and true slob or just a pretend wannabe slob. You're gonna have to man-up and have some slobby balls if you want to really be a slob. So here's the solution: Next time you do a load in the dishwasher, unload a subset of the dishes you are most like to use. Get some cups, plates, forks, spoons, etc... and put those away. Now take the dishes that don't have a place to go and throw them in the fuckin' garbage. Yeah, that's right. Take perfectly good dishes and throw them away. Look, are you a slob or a pussy? Get in there and throw those dishes out, because they are holding you back my friend: They are what's keeping you from transforming into a real slob. They're holding you back and you don't need them in your life anymore. Fuckit. (Yeah, if there's a significant other around that will give you unending shit about throwing away dishes, then put all those dishes into a garbage bag and stuff it into a closet somewhere. You can still regard yourself as something of a slob, albeit a lesser slob. That's OK.)

So now that you've gotten rid of those "overflow" dishes, from now on just load your dirty dishes directly into the dishwasher and close it tight, to keep the roaches from finding all those dirty dishes.

Of course, this pathway, or Tao of Slobdom, now places you into a category you will have to learn to deal with. And it's a challenge, don't get me wrong. But when people come over and see your "discipline" in loading dirty dishes directly into the dishwasher, they won't perceive you as a slob anymore. You're now a stealth slob. A ninja slob. This will give you certain advantages, as you will learn.

For instance, you will now have some nice emotional leverage with which to pry your significant other into taking on tasks that any self-respecting slob avoids at all costs, such as cleaning the toilet or mopping the floor. YOU did the dishes, so if they want chore X done well they can now do it themselves. See how this works? You are now a veritable king of your slobdom castle, in a hidden fortress that no one even knows exists!

There are, of course, plenty of other slob shortcuts, and now that your mind is free to understand the possibilities I'll leave it to you to sort them out. But here's one or two. Spilled a beer after a long day of work? Feel free to whip off your shirt and use it to sop up that beer. Now throw that shirt directly in the washing machine. No, don't bother starting the washing machine, let it wait for the other dirty clothes that will join it eventually (or if you really want hit the rinse button and then walk away).

As for the argument that putting the clean dishes away may cheat you into working more (ie, because you could put those dishes away and then God forbid right after that have a heart attack), I'd say that the amount of work you save via the method above will certainly be many times greater than the savings due to NOT doing the dishes right before you die. On the other hand, we could die tomorrow so you're just going to have to chance it.
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