Grey and Blue

I lied:

I'm never done with you

Never finished, 
Never lost, 
Never not yours

Did I lie,
Or tell the truth,
A truth beyond my comprehension?

We've changed

I'm never not yours,
Yet, I belong to myself alone

You're never not mine,
Yet, you do as you wish, too

The complexity of truth is maddening:
Worlds beyond "true" and beyond "lies"

Paired mirrors, we are, 


Ever grey
Ever blue

I have cancer. Assistance needed, and love gratefully accepted.

It’s really hit me:


I woke to a dream that my cancer had spread to all parts of my body, and the doctors were conversing about what to do – meanwhile, I had been given, somehow, responsibility for tending to Amanda Palmer’s chest of pre-marriage items and I didn’t know what to do about them, either.

I interpret it all as:

I have cancer and I’m scared AF and I have so many important, artistic things to do –

And I have CANCER.

Yes, it’s thyroid cancer –

But, in case you haven’t done the research (and why would anyone unless you or someone you loved had it?), DOCTORS call it “the good cancer” because it’s easy for them to cut a bunch of things out and give you a radioactive (YES, like NUCLEAR!!) iodine that kills all of the thyroid cells and then they give more medicines…

But what about those of us (and there seem to be LOTS) who are super-sensitive to chemicals or who just don’t respond as they want us to respond to their inadequate, relatively-new thyroid replacement medications?

My life will be stolen from me, killed by medications.

I’m looking for an alternative. I need help – be it money for alternatives or information or money so I can look for information and alternatives.

In case you didn’t get it: I have cancer. And i have cancer after having been abused by my husband and my my son for twenty years.

I thought I was free – and instead, I have cancer.

I want to write books and help people with nonprofits. I want to love and travel and sail and share beautiful things with everyone —

But, instead?

I have cancer.

I’ll be 46 two days before Halloween 2020

And I have cancer.

If you can spare anything, please, please, please help. Share, like, share again, please.

Thank you for sharing this, liking it, for reaching out and loving me.

Thank you for your little donations or your big ones.

Thank you for your information

And thank you for reading.

I love you, truly – because most of what I am is love.

Please make donations to:


Eventually, you’ll know that I wrote this for you – though I’m publishing it because I’m not the only one in the world who needs, who deserves, who craves to be inspired by, reminded of, enlightened by an example such as you.

I just asked you the hardest questions ever about our budding relationship. I stated the hardest truths – unique to us, but not unique; and they may very well be the hardest truths we ever face.

It’s the second time today we’ve struggled through strong, heavy, deep emotions. Trudging through tidal waves in old rivers that promise to pull us under if we lose hold of each other, if we fail to keep aware, I led us this morning and again this evening.

It would be easier, of course, to slip into something comfortable and let the tide carry us away, swept on the surface of our emotions without ever diving beneath the rippling waves.

I’m not like that, though.

I don’t trust the way others live their romances, ignoring life and living, believing only what’s above the surface, pretending nothing exists beneath; then lying about where they’ve been when they delve into depths with other friends or lovers – or by themselves.

I’ve tried to lead men in this way before.

Countless times (very literally), I’ve been accused harshly for speaking the truth. Countless times, I’ve been hammered down for fearing, for feeling, for expressing my anxieties, my heartfelt wishes, my anguish-strained memories.

I was alone when you found me, this time, for a reason:

It never worked, before. I’ve countlessly been abandoned. I’ve endlessly been blamed, misunderstood, rejected.

It’s a lot, I know. Where once I was silent, afraid to speak a word about the rippling of my heart, reigned in the tidal waves of fears and tears and love and dreams because I was used to being beaten, I speak it all, given liberty to do so. I ask, still, rather than presuming. It speaks highly of… everything.

Not that any of that matters, now.

What matters is that you looked at your life, at our love, at the difficulties that lay ahead of us and, rather than hiding anymore, rather than accepting what is untenable, rather than asking that I accept something equally or more untenable, you took the lead.

You don’t know how proud I am of you for this, for what you did for me. For us. For you.

And you let me give this to you.

This, also, speaks highly of everything.

I know it’s not easy to face your truths. I know it’s not easy to change one’s life, to walk out into the unknown.

But you did it. You took that first step.

I’m so proud of you. As hard as it is, as deep as this hurts, I’m so proud of you for accepting responsibility for your life. For not evading anymore. For accepting yourself.

You’re not splintered anymore.

Splintered by Aisha Badru

They never taught us how to love
So we use our pain
To comfort us
And we never practice what we preach
Instead, we find
Someone else to teach

We try not to see with our eyes
We fill our plates
With dozens of lies
We try so hard to keep it in
We turn away
From what lies within

We are splintered
And we are rotten
Deep within the walls that we've forgotten
All the answers
To all our problems
Lie within the one who tries to dodge them

Ooooh, ooooh
Ooooh, ooooh

We're so afraid to be alone
So we hoard our pain
And call it home
They never taught us how to look inside
Only how to run and how to dry our eyes

We dig ourselves into a ditch
How many of us die
And pretend to live?
We stop the life from leakin' in
When we turn away
From what lies within

We are splintered
And we are rotten
Deep within the walls that we've forgotten
All the answers
To all our problems
Lie within the one who tries to dodge them

We are splintered
And we are rotten
Deep under the floorboards we've forgotten
But all the answers
To all our problems
Lie within the one who tries to dodge them

Ooooh, ooooh
Ooooh, ooooh

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Aisha Badru

The Beast in Me

Come to me, you wild beast,
You whirling storm of beauty
Battered, scarred, bruised and teased
You grew beyond majesty

Wide, cold skies weep for you
In pain, relief and sorrow
Rage rumbles, deep and true
No gods will reign tomorrow

Nor hold you trapped in caves
Where man’s faithless, dank pride grips
Where the ceaseless lie staves
Off a small apocalypse

Come, fly free, fly stronger
You’ve broken stone and cruel fate
Breed your courage longer
Your kind, for you, yet await

Quarter Crazy Marathon
Quarter 3 - 2020
Prompt 6 - 2pm EST

Prompt #6: Picture Prompt

No Pressure

(i remind myself)
is the key to Beauty

timed tests
and pressures
might create infinite
(but only over time)


(We must realize)
are the inevitable


There are bromides
for everything

Fences sat upon
in great uncertainty

As winds or breezes,
ice or snow
rain or sunshine fall

As the sense 
of infinite plausibility
wends round-and-round

A fence to guard
A carousel
A barrier for safety
or for holding back wishes?

Draw strength from
your uncertainty
embrace the miasmic

that wakes you
stalls you
shields you

and realize

in the exchange -
in the embrace -
in the reverse lifestyle
(from all you’ve been urged)


Quarter Crazy Marathon
Quarter 3 - 2020
Prompt 5 - 1pm EST

Prompt #5: Use at least 8 (or all) of the following words in your poem:
fence, uncertainty, devote, ice, draw, reverse, nonsense, exchange, infinite, relaxation, wind, bathtub, lifestyle, guitar, realize


Blue sand underfoot
Chilled children’s drinks drain away
Boiling crabs blush bright red

Quarter Crazy Marathon
Quarter 3 - 2020
Prompt 4 - 12pm EST

Prompt #4: Write a poem about blue sand and red crabs

**This prompt came from

Silver Linings

There were so many moments shared with you
Long walks through Montreal, Toronto, too
Night drives on cobbled streets in Buffalo
And never, then, did others know of you

I shirk to show the bruises, faded, old
And gone from view; so much I never told
‘A silver lining,’ ‘True Love Conquers’ - so
I lived, trusted your eyes of em’rald-gold

I trusted in your reason and your mind,
Expected love - but never love maligned
The whirlwind I became to remain free
Upheld, punished - still, through all, I was blind

A silver lining brightened every day
But not from you and that tumult’ous play
The brightness, love existed but in me
Your bitter words spawned with me dark affray

We should have parted, been no more than friends
If but we wished to find harmon’ous ends
Yet, all I have now is a memory
Devoid of hopes to, one day, make amends

With no way back, with truth, I move ahead
Peek back proves I, that silver lining led
And I, my own responsibility
Free from the man I wish I’d never wed

Quarter Crazy Marathon
Quarter 3 - 2020
Prompt 3 - 11am EST
Music Prompt - Response to 
My Silver Lining by First Aid Kit

Photo credit: Pexels Free Photos

A Sonnet in Pink

’Tis true, I never thought to think, to dream,
To find the words while crafting this, midstream;
And yet, t’was but one color that did seem
To reach, inspire, set my mind agleam:

Soft, cotton-candy clouds in summer skies;
The bright, exotic skin that dragons prize;
The flesh that lovers yearn to tantalize;
A sweet explosion calls to butterflies -

All wild, soft or misty gleam is theirs.
How can one dare to own, when the world shares,
When all of femininity are heirs,
When cyan, tangerine burst fiercer flares?

And still, I find I cannot double-think
The myriad, effluent hue of pink.
Quarter Crazy Marathon
Quarter 3 - August 15, 2020
Prompt 2 - 10am EST 
Write a Sonnet

Photo credit: Pexels Free Photos

numbers divided

five days ago
i wrote to you
wishing I’d hear from you

three weeks ago
you wrote to me
but, one word will never do

nine years ago
we scened but once
i fell so hard for you

eight years age-difference
seemed zero
there was none one could do

in all that time
and all these years
i never wished from you to part

and i will say
this honestly:
i couldn’t muster a fresh start

t'was hardly fair
to you or me -
what rules a lover’s heart?

when memories,
day-terrors shook,
took hold, our mind and lives we thwart

and dismay now
is lasting grief
so little left, have we to show

from years of love
of dreams dreamt well
shoved into corners, urged to grow

this madness left
of why we split
of i insisting that you’d go

was spawned of love
for, split we were
now, negative is all i know

Quarter Crazy Marathon
Quarter 3 – Saturday, August 15, 2020
Prompt 1 – 9am EST

Photo credit: Pexels Free Photos


We write; and it is not with a blind eye that we see ourselves, nor with deaf ears that we hear the cries of our hearts and souls – and those of others whom we love: mother, father, sister, brother, cousins, aunts and uncles, friends and strangers. We write; and we catch a glimpse into the emotions we already know, the pains and sorrows, the joys and fathomless depths of those around us whose lives swirl like dervishes that only barely brush our cheeks, that only briefly caress and embrace us. We write; and a moment lasts forever, every microsecond of emotion held within our bellies to nourish our lives forever, to nourish others who might read – or to upset the stomachs of the guilty who might recognize, in this, their wrongdoing.

We write; and the world exists.

For, there may be billions, trillions of truths – one for every moment that exists with prismatic possibilities; but all are lost to the depths of darkness unless we capture, for a moment, this.

And so, I write, am spurred to write; and understand, in this fuzzy state of emotion brought on by salty beer and sadness at the loss of one so great as The Great Gatsby’s Fitzgerald, why it is that he drank and felt this to be the only state in which greatness might be achieved:  For, it is hard, so often, to swallow the same truths that linger in our minds and memories as we recount for the world what it is we see.  They are painful truths, even the most beautiful.

For, if we were living, now, we would not write; and if we did not write, we would, somehow, cease to be.

Might Makes Wrong

Sociological systems are intriguing to explore, especially if one can fully immerse oneself in them. The danger, of course, is the pain and heartache one can experience, the trauma due to social behavior – which, if one has to actually physically immerse oneself, can result in physical trauma and possibly death.

Nonetheless, social experimentation can still be effective in closed groups within relatively-safe environments – such as the various MU*s available on the internet. Text-based, as they are, means that communication and interaction is slowed – which, for me, meant there was time to process more. And, if one is looking into a glass box with a bunch of ants – even if one has decided to join that little ant-farm – a slower pace means the mind can pick up more information.

I didn’t truly intend to make a social experiment out of this latest game that I recently left. It may have hurt less, been easier to leave if I had – but I likely wouldn’t have learned so much, as the focus of one’s mind, when one has firm agendas, tends to eliminate what information one has deemed unnecessary. However, when one is fighting for one’s life – real or imaginary, the mind picks up on so much more.

This one, like so many, had a monarchical political setting. Hierarchical in nature, there were high lords, princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, marches, counties, baronies and peasants – as well as other countries with their own levels of hierarchy.

The result was, looking back on it, inevitable: A strong struggle for power between the levels of hierarchy led to infighting, lies, manipulation, back-stabbing, sexual exploits and tensions created to weaken the political or social standing – and influence – of others. Many players, even OOC (out-of-character), devolved into bullies as their need to keep their characters high in the social standing of the game (and with staff members) became more important even than the loosely-maintained rules NOT to bully other players outside of the game environment. Promises and delivery of TS / ERP (Tiny Sex / Erotic Role Play) earned favors from staff members and other players, alike; and withdrawing such attention and affection could be extremely socially-damaging, no matter what the reasons – again, both IC (in-character) and OOC.

To be fair to staff: Having created a sandbox that – by its very nature – condones, supports and breeds social tensions and hostilities, it is extremely difficult to curb player tendencies to carry their hostilities to other players when not actively playing. Cliques and bands of players both consciously and, perhaps, accidentally would gang up on others both IC and OOC as the lines between reality and play blurred. Some are careful to actively express that IC was IC during hostile RP. Others most certainly derived enjoyment from destroying or hurting other characters – and players – in their search to be the top, best, most-feared, talented and/or perceived to be beloved.

Eventually, I had enough of being the kicking-dog of a certain portion of the group. I had, with my character, moved faster and farther with her “secret” than most; and players were complaining to staff. There was no malicious intent on my part; there was no cheating. I simply shared information – and was shared with, in kind. I simply trusted and was trusted, in kind.

This, of course, was contrary to the hostile nature of the game. I was breaking an unspoken rule (or rather, an accepted and oft-spoken OOC habit): I shared EVERYTHING. I was inclusive of everyone. I meant no harm to anyone; and my character was – while anxious because of her secret – never angry. It was more than an OOC choice; as a writer – and one who intensely values psychological consistency and logic even in illogical emotional behaviors, the fear my character had for those she loved – including the society she lived in – was greater than her need to hide herself. So, she shared. She invested in others and in protecting them through giving truth about what ill might come to her or because of her recently-remembered past associations.

I broke the code, you see; and this was threatening to those who had played for years longer than I. This became not only an issue for players jealous over this attention and hasty rise in one of the coveted spheres of influence (knowledge and secrets); but, because no one – not staff nor players nor characters – could actually stop this continued increase in my character’s depth of knowledge and influence because of it, my character became a threat to other PCs (player-characters). She simply became known to be a vital link, and the PC who had been known, previously, to be that vital link felt her hold on it slipping.

Not that this was true, necessarily; but people act in very strange ways when they feel their influence is being lost; when they feel they’re not the most important person.

I write stories. Bear this in mind; and I write stories of logical psychological and emotional responses. Yes, there were other responses possible – but I did not consider them, at the time; and there was no going back, once I had set upon a path. Some things cannot be mended without the help and consent of others.

The need of the PC – and perhaps the player – to be the top, single most needed and beloved heroine led her to corner and threaten my character in the presence of someone who would back her up, who would lie for her and belittle my character. One may wish to belittle this occurrence or say it’s “just a game” – but, whether it was a sandbox social environment or a real-life need to be the most important, it is a social environment with very real humans playing it from their very-real psychological perspectives. These aren’t psychologists toying with ideals or ideas; they’re common people who choose the motives of their characters. As such, the responses are very real, in many cases.

Someone told me, after I left the game, that leaving only gave strength to the other side; that, by leaving a situation I no longer wished to participate in, I had “lost the argument,” by default. In effect, what they were saying is: Might makes right.

Of course, we know this isn’t true.

What is true, though, is the overarching understanding that American forefathers, Aristotle and other philosophers have come to understand about the nature of political and social systems over thousands of years:

What is condoned and cultivated by a social and political structure – of any kind – breeds the mentality, the psychology and the behaviors of the people within it; and goodness is defined by effectiveness – so, if one wishes to create a harmonious whole, goodness is only yielded when that harmony is upheld, valued and defended.

Might doesn’t make right – unless the right are mighty. Social acceptance of a principle doesn’t make something right. It only makes it socially-accepted. And, in that world in which I played? There was no wish for balance or goodness. Even the staff, in the end, defended the hostilities – which says a lot for what is intended, the social structure being upheld and condoned.

There is a lot that can be understood about the effectiveness of a society to uphold, condone and cultivate peace, liberty, justice – simply by by looking at smaller fragments of that society. If the society as a whole is healthy, the fragments will be, by necessity and of a whole, healthy. If it is unhealthy – as we see in these recent riots throughout the United States, the evidence of that lack of health will be glaring – no matter how much it is accepted, dismissed or condoned.

Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.

John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton, first Baron Acton (1834-1902)


It came and went so quickly:

A storm that passed between,
Swept us up in a dream --
And, in a climactic scream,


Beautiful perfection
Existed for a moment,
Faltered into an abyss.

What a pity.

There's a mirror somewhere around,
When you want to look into it.



It came and went so quickly:

A storm that passed between,

Swept us up in a dream —

And, in a climactic scream,




Beautiful perfection existed for a moment,

Faltered into an abyss.

What a pity.

There’s a mirror somewhere around,

When you want to look into it.

Tumultuous Vibrance

Nothing grand was ever so achieved by waiting patiently, nor ever found its fulness in life completed alone.

Tumultuous vibrance is not the easiest way to live, but unruffled waters will never carry one to any destination.  This is what I’ve learned of sailing, of life, of love.

The flood of my emotions has caught up with me, bringing one upon another man to me: men I have loved before, for whom my heart will never cease to beat, of whom my memories never fade; and this, as yet another silent shism slices through me, brought again by my own actions, by the need to show in actions what lies silently beneath.

Because words can only reach so far, n’est pas?  Words sate only so much need.  And, in truth, the pursuit of happiness is a noble endeavor reachable only by daily effort, assessment and reassessment, by the integrity of words and deeds… not by waiting for something to someday slip upon your shores.

Nothing grand was ever achieved by waiting patiently, nor ever found its fulness in life completed alone.

An Open Letter to a Nigerian CatFisher

I’ve been thinking of you, this morning.

Since the day I found out you weren’t real, when I looked into the real doctor, I’ve been thinking of how to write to you – to the real you.

Underneath it all, there’s a real you. I’m sure I touched upon it – with my poetry, with my writing.

So, I’m writing to the real you, this time — although, truth be told, I was writing to the real you, all the time.

Though you weren’t you.

Except in your responses to me; in your responses to my poetry.

“Charmed by your writing,” you wrote to me. That, I believe.

So, here I am, writing to you — to the human in you.

I told you, that first day, that I was skeptical of you. My senses were accurate; you were deceiving me. I don’t know why.

I’m told, and there are ways to learn, to surmise what your purpose was. I’m just a humble writer; just a humble poetess. I’ve not money to give you; only time. Only my time, and my writing.

So, I’m writing to you — for myself, this time.

Let me be open with you, for I am open (and that, incidentally, is why you’ve not hurt me):

I love what is real… and it was the real in you that kept me intrigued, that suspended my time with you, that suspended my disbelief.

It will never make sense to me that people deceive — whatever the reason, be it for money, for love, for attention. I am too real, too honest, too guileless to want in my life anything but what is real…

Even if a sweet romance with some intriguing man is beautiful to me.

For better or for worse, reality is what draws me; and honesty is what gives me strength. For better or for worse, truth, not lies, captivate my mind; beg me to enter any relationship, for any reason, and hold me, bind me to anything.

Birdsong; wafting breezes; thundering planes roaring through the sky. Chills from cool mornings and the heat of the sun in warm afternoons beckon me to stay, to indulge, to brave all else that may call to me. Truthful conversations, real reactions: these things draw me from whatever else I may feel — and not because I wish for something to happen, but because something is happening. Something real is happening.

And I am not afraid of shifts in weather, of shifts in personality; but only, ever, does deceit eat away at such things, for deception is the death of anything.

So, I ask you this: Why deceive? Why continue a deceit, a ruse when it was clear that you had nothing to take from me, when I could give you nothing more than time, when so much of my writing was yours, already, to read?

It is curious to me, for it was you who was caught in a trap of reality… and I have certainly been accused — before, by others to whom I gave my reality — of spinning a web in which they became caught.

You thought yourself the spider, and I the fly; but truth shows a mirrored reality: that truth, not lies, not deceit binds people. And it is truth, reality, openness that keeps us, nourishes us, gives us life — and love.

I get tired of the secrets; they’re only good when they’re revealed, in any case.

I’m intriguing only because I’m real, open, honest, vulnerable; and my vulnerability keeps me safe because I choose to be vulnerable — but not unwisely so, not naively so.

Conscious vulnerability is the safest place in all the world… because in this act, alone, I can see best all that there is to see; because I can see others’ shields sparkling, and I can see where vulnerability remains. I can see it, and I choose to prod those spots gently… not to cause pain, as others might; but to give life, to encourage increased vulnerability — with me, if with no one else.

So, take from me this:

You have a choice to be real, to be vulnerable, as I have seen you to be. You have a choice to read and respond, or not to respond and remain in your dark secrets.

But I live in the freedom of life, and I can feel the breath of breezes touching me; while you and all of those who shield themselves — in others’ skins, as you tried with me, or behind the walls of their other fictions — feel only what slips beneath the seams of your various armors.

I am real. And that is honestly the most valuable thing I have… but you cannot have all of my reality, nor anyone’s (not even your own), if you do not remove your own armor first and step into your own reality.

I hope, for your own sake, that you abandon this fruitless cause that isolates you so deeply.


And the world is blue without your arms
And grey, without your mind;
It’s red, without your kisses, fine,
Refined by stalwart art

My mind creates a land of charms
With vibrant greens and gold
Despite the chill of winter’s cold,
Brown swallows dash and dart

Amidst white clouds and shining things,
A rainbow hangs above;
And sing a bird’s song, bright, of love,
Into this brand-new start

Come hither, where the church bell rings
With every passing hour
And bring to me a springtime flower,
And in my life, take part

And the world is blue without your arms
And grey, without your mind;
It’s red, without your kisses, fine,
Refined by stalwart art

My mind creates a land of charms
With vibrant greens and gold
Despite the chill of winter’s cold,
Brown swallows dash and dart

Amidst white clouds and shining things,
A rainbow hangs above;
And sing a bird’s song, bright, of love,
Into this brand-new start

Come hither, where the church bell rings
With every passing hour
And bring to me a springtime flower,
And in my life, take part

Into My World, A Shadow Falls

Into my world, anew, a darkness drew —
Fell, near burning fires, a shadow’s gaze
Upon my weary count'nance; and I knew:
This shadow's grip would claim me, all my days

And stole into my mind and heart, it's true;
Gave up to me the secrets of its ways;
And promised shining things: the morning's dew
Could never shine so bright, nor yield such praise

And still, my mind and heart were warmed anew,
A wav'ring shadow wandered in its plays
Until a darker threat ran its soul through:
Pure jealousy chilled the shadow to such craze

And madness, took the shadow's mind and blew
A word of banishment to me, did itself faze
When love eternal, promised I to you;
Retreated beyond life, into its haze —

But, what, pray tell, are gentle souls to do
When anger only turns a soul to blaze,
For shadows grow in strength and number too...
Obscure, oblique... This life is but a maze...

And I am lost, and all the shadows, too
Should I find on my skin thine sharpened blades
And I would find my skin turn tanned to blue
'Fore I would e'er journey to dark malaise

...Though shadow distantly, coldly withdrew,
Though shining heart is mine, my soul ablaze,
I find neither shadow nor I can yet undo
What binding tied our souls, those fateful days

Mine Is the Life and the Love

You all know it.

You all fear it.

You all want it.

You all can have it

In a moment
In a madness
In a sadness

Stilled by memories
Stilled by thoughts
Stilled by dreams

Yours is the life and the love of things
Lost to all but love of dreams
Realizing dreams of dreams of things

Open up your hands and see
Open up your hearts and dreams
Open up to everything

Fingers chilled on autumn nights
Deer and stars stand, silent, by
Life, intensity lives in mine

Ode to White

Tucked into nearly-nothingness
The fall of snow, I must profess -
Aside from chill that does repress
My eager heart and mind -

May be of Nature's best success
The purity does quite impress
With wafting swirls in great excess
Despite those quarantined

The color, fine, in evening dress
Is perfect as love's faithfulness,
Blended light made to coalesce
As none others less refined

For white, alone, cannot oppress
A canvas on which to express
Each step of life's minute progress -
With white, I am aligned.

Cascades of My Heart

Why ache, my heart
when love is come so quick?
Why fever's pitch?
Or are we both homesick?

And yet, the fire's heat melts
all this pain to shades
Of rainbowed beauty flooding
o'er the world, cascades

Of my heart, pulsing
with the long passage of time
And all I hope is:
I am yours, and you forever mine
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