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October 23rd, 2013

01:22 pm: Culture Pop
Storytelling is the fabric of our society. From ancient civilizations to modern society, it's a global phenomenon we all have in common. Storytelling is a way to share our experiences for others to retell in an effort to find common ground. Great stories are embraced by the masses, because each person finds something in those stories that speaks to them. It's a beautiful thing, when we each come together to revel in those stories and share our own about why we love them. Great stories bring us together and help us better understand one another. Storytelling is the tool we use to create the tapestry of our lives together.

We don't always have time in our daily lives to recall and regale in these stories, but we enjoy remembering them. Those are stories we love for the way they made us feel, knowing we weren't the only ones affected in the same or similar way by those stories. We all know in our hearts that we have more in common than not, and stories are a way of reminding us of that. And we like to keep reminding ourselves of those stories. So what do we do to help us keep those stories close to our hearts? Yes they're things we'll hopefully always remember, but as human beings we appreciate physical manifestations or keepsakes to hold onto and help us remember more clearly. The answer is merchandise! Our love for these stories is so big that we have to express it beyond the simple joy of the stories themselves.

Our love for great stories is unconditional in a way. We celebrate the love and joy we have for these stories that we don't think twice about expressing that. That's a beautiful thing. Creators, authors and artisans, and everyone else involved in bringing those stories and their physical icons to us are working hard to make a living. When we buy the books and merchandise, we're helping them without a second thought. The need for money is an ugly truth, but we're not concerned with that when we're in love with the characters, the setting, the theme, the plot and whatever nuances we get from those stories. We just want to show our love for these stories and let people know how much we love them, because we know the love will be shared.

Merchandise brings us together in so many ways, especially merchandise with meaning like that related to stories. Our keepsakes and mementos as icons from great stories can serve as icebreakers to greater conversations and more storytelling. These things can remind us that we have something in common, when we're so focused on our differences. When we're not even thinking about those stories, our knick-knacks are there to say "hi, remember me" and we do and we smile. They're our items of joy we can have with us anywhere, things that can ensure we'll keep smiling throughout the day. These icons of our stories remind us that we're all human.

Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative

December 9th, 2011

02:58 pm: Buckle Up and Pay Attention to the Road
I'm not sure how long ago I wrote this, but I figured I'd post it as a journal entry:

My earliest memory is from when I was, probably, about three years old. My mom and I were leaving from somewhere, and she safely secured me in my car seat. She made sure to buckle my seat-belt, but neglected to do the same thing for herself. The next thing I knew was that we hit a truck. My mom was hurt badly, and I remember seeing her in the hospital. I was fine, and she healed. I never gave too much thought to it, but I suppose that's when I started to pay attention.

Though preschool and kindergarten are a blur, I learned quickly to read and write and I absorbed any experience to which I was exposed. By the time I was six years old, I was contemplating my existence and what lie beyond. Amidst this self-discovery, I happened upon an interest in girls and found my first girlfriend, Rebecca. At such a young age, I suppose it's easy to pass it off as "puppy love". However, I remember finding it more complicated than that. I really liked her and became jealous when I thought she stopped paying attention to me. That's about when I allowed myself to be distracted by other girls. I was a bit of a playground player, and lost track of what was really going on. I sort of let myself slip into oblivion. By the time I moved to Maryland, I was clueless.

When I was eight years old, my world changed. The kids weren't anything like what I was used to and the setting became lackluster, this world devoid of much of the beauty to which I was accustomed. The proverbial shit really hit the proverbial fan, when I was in my ninth year of life. I was teased and picked on to no end. My anger often got the better of me, and my academic performance floundered. This went on for years, but I somehow managed to continue to learn. Still, I was never really accepted and I couldn't quite bring myself to accepting this new world.

I remained somewhat of a social pariah for years, until the scene changed. I finally managed to find myself around others with whom I could relate. These new peers helped me to discover qualities and traits within myself that I either wasn't aware of or had forgotten existed. I realized that I wasn't entirely socially inept, and I once again found enjoyment in life. The following years ushered in for me something of a re-awakening. I started to find myself again. This lasted through to my early twenties.

It's difficult for me to pinpoint exactly when things started to become stale, but I remember 2002 was an interesting year. At twenty-five years of age, I found myself struggling against stagnation and getting older. I was no longer a kid, as much as I denied it. My frustration worsened my anger issues, but I kept denying that I had any fault or that anything was wrong. For years, I had sought enjoyment and distracted myself from responsibility. It all finally caught up to me about two years later when, in 2004, I got in trouble with the law. I was taken in for drunk driving, but it was really my temper to blame. I couldn't get a handle on it, and had significant trouble figuring out what to do with myself. My mother lost her patience with me and finally kicked me out of the house, circa 2006.

The last five or so years have been quite the growing experience. My life, socially and professionally, has been filled with false starts. I believe the key to my true awakening is in finding balance from all things past with what I know now to illuminate my future. I just need to make sure I don't allow myself to get too distracted, and be sure I continue to pay attention. I don't want to remember my life as an unfortunate accident!

Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic

December 8th, 2011

08:09 am: Life's Music
There is a rhythm to the world and somewhere along the road I dropped the beat, but I'm starting to feel it again!

Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative

December 6th, 2011

01:04 am: Time, the Lunatic
What an interesting week that was. I think the conflicting nature of the different things that happened have fucked up my physiology. Let's see, I was kept up from Sunday night through early Monday morning (this was November 27th and 28th) by my drunk roommate panicking about misplacing her cell phone. I finally went to sleep some time after eight a.m. When I woke up in the afternoon, I felt like crap and didn't get anything done. I just sort of bummed around the house, until that evening. I decided to get a coffee with espresso shots, and left the house. On the way, and about three minutes away from the coffee store, I got into a car accident. Due to Maryland state law and saving time by not contesting, it was faulted to me. Unemployed with little money, I called my dad for help. Now I was going to call him anyway to catch up, but it became different, becoming a call of necessity. Still, we had a pleasant conversation and he made me laugh.

Through the next couple of days, I still tried to talk via email to this girl I met online during an emotional break-down. It didn't pan out, and I pretty much hit a brick wall with her. The timing of this fall out was fairly impeccable, as someone else sent me a message on the dating site I'm using. I didn't have any expectations, and wasn't sure if I even wanted to try making friends again. So when she asked me how I was, I answered honestly. And to my mild surprise, she wrote back. Within a couple of days, we started chatting and she managed to get me out of my shell. After a few more chat sessions and a phone call or two, we set up a date to meet. It didn't end up happening, because we ended up meeting for coffee a day early. Something about her made me feel comfortable enough to meet an almost complete stranger spontaneously. It was quite enjoyable!

So, the car estimate at the body shop was done Wednesday, things hit a brick wall with the one girl by Thursday, and Friday and Saturday were spent hitting it off with this new girl who is, by all accounts so far, amazing! That brings us to Sunday (a little over yesterday). A fairly lazy day, I didn't do too much; watched Seven and read a little. That was when I got the text about meeting up. So, went to do that and eventually got a call from the roommate. She wanted to know where I was and if I was alone. So, I told her. She wasn't happy, just as I guessed. I just don't fully get it. I mean, I do get where she's coming from. I just don't get why my roommate who happens to be my best friend would be angry at me for making a new friend and liking someone. I don't know why she wouldn't be more supportive of me being happy. Oh, and I should mention that she got some very bad health news the Monday I got in the car accident. This emotional roller coaster is definitely taking a toll on my physically. My sleep's been messed up and I felt sick today. I just hope the rest of this current week flows by better.

Current Mood: weirdweird

November 18th, 2011

10:14 pm: It's On Speaker, While I Wait
To quote Whedon's mutant, "Grr, argh!" I am so sick and tired of being stuck. I've been unemployed since April twenty-third, now. I've had multiple interviews, but no-one wants to hire me. I know how bad my employment history looks, and I know I didn't shine in some of the interviews, but they weren't all bad and I'm sure it's clear that I want to succeed. I just don't get it. And as if that isn't frustrating enough, I've also been especially longing for companionship as of late. It's hard enough to find someone who really "gets me" even a little. Hell, my best friend has trouble understanding my behavior, motivations, and thought processes sometimes. I keep getting thrown for a loop. As soon as it looks like things are going relatively well, it just stops. I don't know how to deal with irregular communication. I have issues with the flow abruptly stopping. This has happened with several friends of mine. I'm beginning to feel like I'm not good enough for anything, when I know that's not true. I just need to be given the chance, but I don't think people have the courage to gamble that way. I mean, you have to take risks in life. Sure, they won't always pay off. But playing it safe or close to the vest all the time isn't going to gain you much. I should know, as I haven't taken enough risks in the past. For a long time, I was full of debilitating self-doubt and depression. I didn't like it, so I stopped. It took me a while, but I had to remember who I was and realize how important I am to myself. I won't let other people dictate that to me again. They just need to give me the opportunity to earn their trust. My life's been on hold for a while, but I refuse to hang up. I'll just keep waiting, until somebody answers!

Current Mood: frustratedfrustrated

October 1st, 2011

01:28 am: Finding Meaning in Losing
I'm not sure exactly what I want to say. I feel sick; sick to my stomach, sick to my head, and sick to my heart. I do my best to enjoy whatever good is going on day to day, when things are bad (and they have been for a while now). But being happy is stressful in itself, and to those around you that care. Always looking on the bright side means the pressure keeps building for something bad to happen. And instead of letting that pressure release in small steady increments, I just let it build and build until the seal couldn't handle it anymore. Now, I'm here feeling like crap and I can't cry. I don't deserve to anyway. I'm so stupid and blind; I can't see past my own bullshit sometimes. When did that happen? I can't remember. All I know now is that my life is currently FUBAR, I can't figure out how to fix it, and I (apparently) want to make sure I alienate the ones closest to me. I think part of me wants to call it quits, but I'm so frustrated with myself that I won't. I know I have some control in making things better, and I'm pissed off that I keep sabotaging myself. One would think that I'm purposely setting myself up to fail. Well this is as close to rock-bottom as I'd care to be, thank you. I've really got to get my shit and my act together. I'm not getting any younger, as much I wish I would. I just need to figure out for myself what in the hell is wrong with me!

Current Mood: depresseddepressed

August 29th, 2011

04:30 pm: Howl (I) by Allen Ginsberg
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blur floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,
Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,
with mother finally [astericked], and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

Current Mood: cynicalcynical

November 25th, 2010

06:19 pm: Turkeys Eating Turkey
So, it's another bloody Thanksgiving! This year, I am taking note of what I really am thankful for and keeping in mind that nothing is quite right. The world, especially America, needs a lot of work. And I have a lot of work to do, if I'm going to get my life on the correct path and make some sort of difference. I continue to fuck up, but manage to keep learning as I go along. I think the point I need to work to stay on is to keep doing. I tend to let things pile up to the point that I get overwhelmed and therefore unmotivated to do anything about the backlog. So, I'm thankful for the realizations I've made this year and for the bit of progress accomplished. I'm happy to keep in mind my faults and how far I still have to go. I don't want to become complacent again. I'm particularly thankful that I am not alone for Thanksgiving. I have a family of sorts to celebrate it with.

I hope we all keep in mind where Thanksgiving came from, and that we can change what it means to the world. There's a huge difference between the history and the ideal. I hope society works even more diligently towards the ideal of Thanksgiving and celebrates in its own way all year round. Things can be much worse and they will, if we don't realize who and what we are and that, in many ways, we are the same. I think it all depends on what kind of legacy we want to leave behind.

I will do my best to get the work I need to do completed, so that I may one day be counted among the pebbles that started the waves of change. I don't want to be forgotten, and I want my memory to count for something decent and productive. I promise to share more of myself with the world and hope the world accepts me for who I am.

Forgive my rambling in thought, but I needed to get this down somewhere.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative

November 22nd, 2010

03:27 am: Liquid Clarity
Well, the front passenger side tire is changed. Thank you mister Matt Howard! It had a slow leak that was manageable by giving it air on a somewhat weekly basis, but it was (obviously) worse this time. Because it's me, I'll go ahead and take this as a metaphor for some aspect of my life. I need to stop trying to fix what's broken and just switch it out for something better. As it turned out, we used an old tire I had kept as a spare. Which, of course, means that I already have what I need to fix my life. I just need to use it. I may not have a spare now, but I can worry about that later. I'll just do what I do without a net or some other safety device. Hell, I don't have health insurance. So, why not!

At least, I'm realizing my own reality. It's kind of like waking from a dream. Things are finally coming into focus and I'm realizing exactly where I am. I'm taking my frustration with a grain of salt. I mean, I won't be complaining as much unless I actually intend to do something about it.

I'm living on a broken disc. My life has played out the same way for ten or so years, because I haven't made any real effort to change it. It's by no means static. Things have changed quite a bit, but not by my power. And I do need to develop my power and take some control. I know what I can't control, but I also know that I should be able to control myself (in so many ways)! Plus, I'm getting tired of writing about the same thing on LJ. It's pretty much why I don't update regularly. I don't really have much else to say.

I feel, at different times, sad, pathetic, boring, or some combination of the three. Who wants to feel that way? Not I. I just need to find a way to stay motivated and get over the times I feel depressed. It's a bloody vicious circle, and that's not the kind of circle I like!

Current Mood: drunkdrunk

September 29th, 2010

06:25 pm: 12:01, Not Quite
Each year for the past ten years has seemed like a different chapter with a repetative theme. I feel like I'm trying different things, but it's really just the same thing I've been doing wrapped in a different package. I need to actually do something different now! I just can't keep struggling so hard like this with little to no reward. It isn't worth it and it's exhausting. I feel like I'll end up killing myself, if I continue doing the same thing over and over, it will lead to my death. That may be a tad over-dramatic, but I certainly don't feel like myself. I feel like I part of my soul is dying or atrophying. If I don't nurture this part of me, it will slough off. I'm going mad, and I need to get a hold of myself. My patience is vast but finite, and is constantly being tested. I'm just about out of give-a-fuck, and that's not like me. I need to hurry up and figure my mess out, and get a move on towards my future. Currently, it looks quite bleak. I'm just so tired.

Current Mood: exhaustedexhausted
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