Of Psychonaughts and Perspicuity

We’re in the middle of something and then bam, wow, watch out! Here comes something totally random. Ooh, just around the corner a long word that makes no sense, a portmanteau word is what they call it. He wishes so that he could have made up the word portmanteau because it is the near perfect word, but alas especially after Joyce he knows he is just another psychonaught on the way to perspicuity. Ah, c’mon, man, you say. Perspicuity? Really? And then you laugh and you go on your way and say mommy did you see, he said perspicuity and you’ve got your brownie points and so you’re all over a cheeseburger or something whatever you do at the fargo kantrowitz’z literary campsite sort of thing and all that, but anyway, the moral of the story is this: the fklc delivers some of the finest (see I’m trying to illustrate it to you) writing per se in the world today. The fklc is proud to present a whole plethora of writing plethorianations that will tan your hide. Find out more. For $14.95 you too can make all the difference in the world. Suport the fargo kantrowitz’z literary campsites fund for cool words that will never, ever matter to anyone) or something ike that. Gaaaawd!

 

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Published in: on September 18, 2019 at 11:24 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Make America Love Again – Joey Kantor

 

 

 

My mother was born again in 1973, the same year she opened a Bible store in Las Vegas where I grew up.  When Jesus’ love walloped my mother, boy, did it hit hard. I grew up with a mother who praised Jesus all day long and quite openly.

 

Hence, being eight years old at the time, I was introduced to the Christian religion. I was immediately saved, of course, and Jesus took the place of my “word” which was a part of the practice of transcendental meditation that my mother had been involved with just the year before.

 

It became Jesus Jesus Jesus. Jesus loved everybody. I mean everybody. He loved His enemies even. When people got mad at him for telling the truth they actually put Him on a cross, hung Him there to die, and He still asked God to forgive them. He had a lot of patience, this Jesus. So I followed Him too.

 

When I became a teenager in the early 1980s I occasionally attended a non-denominational church, Calvary Chapel, at Rancho and the freeway. I remember one day an associate pastor telling us something that just didn’t jibe with what I thought I knew about Jesus. He said that unless you became a born-again Christian, you were going to go to hell.

 

Think about it. You’re going along -love love love- when suddenly, boom, hate. Jesus would throw you into an oven! Okay. Now, did Jesus condemn other religions of other cultures? If so I must have missed it what with all of the talk about love. What about the good Samaritan? It just didn’t make sense. I later took a two-year Masters degree in mythology, other people’s religions really, to find an answer.

 

What I discovered was interesting. Time after time the religions that I studied said the same things that Jesus said but in different ways. I saw the game clearly. The loving God I had known wouldn’t be so stupid as to condemn everyone other than Christians just because they spoke a different language, had a different mythic vocabulary if you will. The heart was what mattered.

 

Along came 9-11 and then Iraq. It was a mad rush to war, and who was cheering it on the most? The right wing evangelical Christians. The swiftness with which they abandoned the command not to kill, but love only, was breathtaking and very sad.

 

Now, of course, we have Donald Trump. Eighty-one percent of evangelicals voted for him even though his actions, even before the election, were blatantly vile. The evangelical Christians wanted to acquire the worldly power that Jesus Christ himself would have vehemently disagreed was worth having. Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s…

 

Evangelicals have drunk the Trump Kool-Aid because it has been in Trump’s best interests to say and do whatever this sub-culture wants even if he has to lie.

 

I’ll stick with the loving God instead of this politically motivated facsimile of Christianity that feeds off of the notion of tough love. Love isn’t tough. Love is love.

 

Perhaps someday right wing evangelical Christians will once again embrace the idea that their worldly beings are nothing, that there is no greater thing to do than to give your very life for your brother, that you should give your enemy the shirt off of your back, that a real Christian cares for the “least of these,” that kindness is actually not weakness, as some would have you believe, that must be destroyed.

 

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just make America love again?

 

Outcast – Jed

Outcast-Jed

There is something that I know now but didn’t know most my whole life. You’ve got to control, to some degree, where you let your mind go. I remember the time when we were living in San Francisco and Moxy kicked me out of the house until I got clean. I was using so hard I wasn’t even thinking about what it was doing to Moxy.  I just stood there and it seemed like right out of the blue Moxy is mad at me in a way that was really important I recognize. I’d gone on and off of heroin and other hard drugs since I was fifteen years old. We’d been a band for almost two years by this time. She wasn’t no angel. She did a lot of coke on the road, but she always knew how to say no. What got her this time was the way I was handling myself around the women on the tour. I swore a thousand times to her that I would never cheat on her, but one time after a show there were these two girls. I didn’t know they were only sixteen. They looked about 26. We’re at the party afterward and these girls are hanging all over me the way they do when one of them, I guess it was a dare by the other one, rips off her shirt and pushes her tits right into my mouth. That’s a strange predicament to be in. When a man has got a nice pair of tits actually pushed into his mouth there is a big moment there for contemplation. A tit tastes good no matter whose chest they’re connnected to. I can’t say that I wasn’t pleasantly surprised, but I was just as much irritated because what if Moxy was looking. She wouldn’t understand. Which she didn’t. That girl just kept pressing her tits in my face and then tried to roll on top of me. I was like a rag doll. I didn’t know how to stop it. My first thought was that this wasn’t necessarily something that needed to be stopped because, like I said, it was quite nice.  But I got to my senses after a second or two. Maybe it was more like fifteen. I don’t think that I licked them at all, although I can’t be quite sure. Anyway, Moxy did see it all and I found out about it in the limo back to the hotel. She didn’t say a word to me until we got back to the hotel. She took a shower and got ready for bed. Then I did the same and was about to get into bed when she threw the pillow at me and just told me to go, that she didn’t want to see my tit-sucking face. Then she threw the alarm clock at me, but it was connected to the wall so it just fell to the ground. Next, since she wasn’t going to allow herself to fall victim to the same mistake again, she jumped out of bed and unplugged the lamp and chucked it at me. It would have hit me in the head had I not deflected it with my arm. She says “Go do your smack. Go suck some more titties. I don’t want to see you anymore.” I tried to reason with her, but it was impossible.

Everybody must have gone through that empty feeling when you think that you have blown the best thing of your life. It’s like the only feeling you’ve got, the only blood you’ve got in your body is just about an ounce and it’s sitting down there at the pit of your stomach.  I kept thinking “what did I do? What did I do?” I kept thinking that over and over again, going over and over what happened with that little slutty girl backstage. But it was too late. I was released. Cut free.  When I walked out of that hotel room I was in shock. Bewildered. I sat in the lobby waiting for a car rental for a half hour.  When I got it, a blue Mercury Topaz, I just started driving. It was two a.m. It was just me and the California coast and that’s the way it was for the next two weeks. Just me, my heroin, and later, an acoustic guitar bought in Santa Cruz.

This little trip was different than the second time that Moxy kicked me out of the house, many years later when we lived in the Village.  These two weeks were spent in a despair that I realize now went deeper than just Moxy kicking me out for an accident. I knew in my heart of hearts that she would come to understand the nature of my sexual accident if that’s what you can call it.  Whereas the second time I knew that the bullshit was over, that I’d gone too far in my insanity and my unbelief that Moxy would ever really leave me. That time she really did. To her core she did. This California trek was the journey of a man who didn’t know what hit him, a man in shock who believed that the end was at hand with the only girl he really ever loved. Yet, it was too unbelievable that these years would be negated by such a cause. But it seemed to be the case. For two weeks I wrestled with whether or not it was truly the case. When I believed it I would sink down into the recesses of my mind.  I sought refuge in the stupidest things. I let myself go crazy. I followed every thread of thought and allowed it to be the truth when in fact it was the wriggly nerve endings of a mind too fucked up over many years to know that a mind has its fair amount of peripheral bullshit.

I lost my cool. I built fantasies out of the stuff of my life. I freaked on colors. I had musical epiphanies. I spent three days outside of Santa Barbara singing into a long tunnel that went under the freeway.  There was not a single minute where I was not stoned. I went into bars with good music.  I’d sit there and look at the band and the girls, but they may as well have been elephants. The thought of a woman other than Moxy made me sadder than I already was. It was really just a shit time.

But the original point is that all of those whacked out thoughts along the coast pointed more to hell than heaven. If I hadn’t allowed hell into me through the needle I’m sure that I could have rested out Moxy’s anger at a Holiday Inn somewhere.  Instead, I let my fantasies take me down. I let it. I realized you’ve got to control your mind.

It’s just that when the only girl you love leaves you you feel like you are dead. The eyes don’t work. They see, but they do not care about anything that they see. It’s the same with your breath. You breathe, but it seems like bullshit too. Eating sucks too. The only thing that matters is flying away on those dreams which ultimately all point down. Ronnie James Dio was right.  When a woman becomes a witch you must hail her.  Moxy’s wrath was that of a woman with great strength, the darker side of Moxy’s persona that is hinted at, but never fully exposed.  Ultimately, her power is in leaving you knowing that she is the reason for everything good in your life. She becomes the embodiment of the good aspect that the witch inside of her now controls.  You have been banished. You may never, never, ever go home. The only way is down. Yeah, Dio was right.

One day I called her and she apologized, saying she overreacted. Have you ever had your life handed back to you?

 

Published in: on May 24, 2019 at 10:09 pm  Leave a Comment  

The Girls Rub Their Noses

 

Skid row poor. Beat down. Nothing but. Black. Wandering some, purple power. Lost souls. Of course you’d say that. Wanna know the real world? Can’t get away from it. Have to talk about it. Nobody wants to know the real world. It’s all bullshit. And you’re there whether you want to be or not.

In our world we see nothing but chain stores, fancy shops, people who did good, young people who walk down the street oblivious to us. The walls are harder for us. There’s much less hope. We see everything but there isn’t any beauty in it. We catch highs where we can because we know the Christian right would kill us either way with their chewing tobacco, their church going blondes and good jobs where they make upwards of 20 dollars an hour or more. We know all this as we ride our bikes or walk down the street or look for something to eat. Some of us have money. Some of us don’t. I’m talking about the socio-economic class of nothingville where the older guys sit around and think they’re involved, but they’re pushed aside because they’re too old to make new. We know what’s going down. How everything is based around sex and beauty. You see a young average looking guy walking with a beautiful blonde and you know he’s a lawyer and you understand something about the world in that everything fits together. Money and blondes and their kids and the way they think it’s supposed to be and the way that it is and how they’re walking on tightropes and dare not fall off. And all the girls rub their noses when you walk by. You don’t know why really except you’re ugly and dirty. It’s a natural reaction, but you get sick of seeing them always referring to snot whenever you’re around. When you were younger and more innocent they used to lick their lips when they saw you. They couldn’t help it. Now they rub their noses and they can’t help that either. Did the world change or did you? You think about this all the time. You figure it’s you then you know it’s you and eventually you drop out completely, stop looking into the doors of the bars and clubs because you know that the girls want someone who doesn’t stink and if there’s anything that you do its stink. You stink to high heaven as they say.

But it doesn’t have to be like this. You used to have a talent and you used to believe that there was something in the world for you because you had a talent, but that talent fell away when you saw that the people that the talent is for were fickle and meaningless and you’d wander away and pretty soon you didn’t care anymore. Without an audience there was no reason to have a talent. To have a talent for money was just as meaningless as having a talent for the people who just didn’t care. After awhile you stopped caring yourself. Stopped taking care of yourself until you walk down the street and it’s obvious, everybody knows and the girls rub their noses. The girls rub their noses.

Thought never ends. This is something you realize from your philosophical days before you realized that Camus was right that the only legitimate philosophical question was whether or not to kill yourself. Nothing matters out here. The world is pitted inside of a corporate monster. Architecture is the same. Its purpose regimented and intact. There is no store keeper, there is no love for you or anybody outside of money, but you don’t have that. There is no love. The world is a piece of shit and that’s as unpoetically truthful as you can get. You can’t gloss that up. People with their institutions and glass walls and revenue streams while you live outside of it all. You’re not clean enough to join them and the something inside of you that won’t mend won’t allow you to fill out a resume anyway. You know you would quit after a short while because you would feel like a slave and this form of meaninglessness is even more meaningless than simply walking around and seeing these places that provide jobs. You’re not a slave, but you don’t have money, but at least you are you and it is it, but the hunger and fear and bullshit of not having a job hurts and after awhile wears you down, but you still can’t go to the other side. It’s hell there.

Hate. Hate of yourself for every mistake you ever made, for every bridge you ever burned. Hate. Pure unadulterated hate. The eyes fall numb forward in the eye socket, not wanting to close, hating being open, but you got sleep last night so you’re awake. Doesn’t matter. Better to be asleep. Don’t have to be here if you’re asleep. Drugs are the only salvation for you in the city. Drugs lost s of drugs. As many drugs as possible. Because it steals the time before you have to die. It’s much grander than a 9 to 5. Drugs take the bite out of this American wasteland. It teaches you that you have an essence worthy of an emotion, even if the emotion is fake. You’ve got memory and you’ve got a little bit of hope when you’re on drugs because your mind takes you to places that you wouldn’t go otherwise. It at least takes you out of your depression or makes you forget about it. Everybody is on drugs. What the fuck do they expect? These Kentucky Fried Chicken corporate lords in St. Louis, Missouri or Chicago, Illinois or New York City sucking down their ten dollar martinis and chomping on their 50 dollar steaks as they think about who they’re going to fuck next or how their kids are doing. We don’t have kids around here. We are the kids. It doesn’t matter how old you are. If you are around here, of us, you are a kid. You were left out of adulthood. It just passed you by and you are a kid. Now kids can be ignored. The Christian right does a good job of that. They do their tough love on the kids and they don’t even know them personally. It’s all a scam for Jesus freaks to have more fifty dollar steaks and more kids. You see them in the glass windows eating two together sometimes three or four. They’re fashion conscious, they’re even liberal, want to see good come of the world, but they’re ordering those Tom Collins anyway and that special dish they heard about then they’re going to their little art functions and eat cheese and wine and then back to their lofts and watch television and maybe make love or read or do something intellectual, but the kids aren’t. They’re left to their own devices to die if need be. To be the representatives of the darker corners of society and everybody lets them, just watches them go. It’s ingrained in the society. It’s ingrained in the churches who blame and blame and blame so they won’t have to care. These churchies who back lil ______ in Washington because, and they won’t tell you this, they make shitloads more money through him than they do through more Christian-like democratic candidates. Money trumps the real Jesus every time. Shit. There is no meaning when Christians aren’t even Christians. Then it’s ludicrous. They should go  to churches that worship money instead of using this guy who was hung on a cross to do their business for them. It’s hypocritical and ultimately evil. If I were Jesus and I was with God I would be doing a lot of spitting out of my mouth with these “Christians.” It’s stupid how evil they are, how self-deceiving. I wonder if there are any real Christians out there. Maybe one or two, but I haven’t met them.

But smile! Everybody smile because if you don’t they’ll shoot you, at least lock you up. Try not to smile too much when you’re on drugs or a yuppie fuck will come after you and stick his nightstick up your ass. Jesus loves me this I know, for the bible tells me so…whatever happened to witnessing? There’s a question for you. They know they won’t make it very far with their modern philosophy of Jesus, the modern American Jesus who will kill you if you look at him funny. I don’t like this Jesus, in fact, I think that this Jesus is the Devil in disguise. Isn’t that odd, how the devil can impersonate Jesus? But he does. All things are turned around for me. Jesus is evil. Everything is weird. You’ve dropped everything that you had. All hope is gone and you realize you did it out of anger. You said enough things unthinkingly that you will never be able to return to an older part of your life ever again. The words were too strong, the impression made too great. Friends that fell away will never return and you know you can’t make new friends because you no longer care. Even words. I gotta go.

 

Published in: on March 23, 2019 at 5:17 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Love

Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love

Love?

Love!

Published in: on October 7, 2018 at 4:39 pm  Leave a Comment  

Excerpt from Babybirds

***

Buy the book here:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/display-product.ep?pGUID=2172740&mustExist=true

***

One of these bleak yet potent cracks in his usually peaceful, waking world one day appeared in his sleep. It happened in a dream, a nightmare really, and Bernard could not handle it. He had dreamed of a bird flying in a wide blue sky, a mountain far off in the distance. The bird and the mountain would rock back and forth together, sideways too, like a boat on the water. White clouds behind and in front and the bird would swerve and swoop, happy to be alive. It was a dream Bernard had had many times before, the flight of the bird. The freedom that it engendered in him, after he awoke, often would make him go quickly to see his father, even awaken him, to tell him about “the bird.” But he had never dreamed of the mountain before. It was a mountain he had seen on the other side of town. He knew about this mountain. He knew where it was. He had seen it before. It was a small mountain next to what is called Sunrise Mountain in the eastern part of the Las Vegas valley, which he had seen on his way to a picnic at Lake Mead some months before. The bird and the mountain were closely aligned in the dream, the clouds pillowed the bird so the bird seemed to gather great speed and could traverse great distances with very few flaps of its wings, much like anyone would dream of flying over the landscape, a totally unreal sort of flight that empowered him and made his heart feel full. The mountain would come closer with a turn of the bird’s wings and then would recede with another turn.

He watched the flight of the bird in his dream. The bird tilted and floated directly over the mountain until, suddenly, it stopped. There was no more fluid movement. The clouds froze, and far below was the top of the mountain, which slowly began to rise higher and higher and higher because the bird had gone into a free fall. Bernard kicked at his blankets and tried to make the bird flap its wings, but it would not. It would only fall as the mountain rose and rose and rose and Bernard’s heart beat faster and faster until it sped up, everything, like lightning, and the bird was falling past his eyes and down and the mountain rose and rose and instantly, suddenly, the bird fell through a strand of green scrub and hit the compacted dirt and rock of the mountain with a sound that sounded like a ball entering a baseball glove. The bird landed dead next to a tiny nest filled with baby birds who in unison screamed up at Bernard with a single voice so loud that Bernard opened up his eyes wide and let out a shriek of horror so intense that it could not escape his mouth, and the only sound in the room that you could hear during the height of the most horrible moment of his life was the sound of the ticking of the clock which read 3:34 in the morning.

Bernard flew out of bed and began to run around his room wildly. He then placed his hand upon his cheek and pushed himself in circles until he fell back on to the bed. His parakeets flitted around the cage and Bernard grabbed the cage and placed his face against it uttering “babybirdsbabybirdsbabybirdsbabybirds.” He wheeled around again and the thing that had him would not let him go. He shuffled crazily around the room for his pants, took off his pajama bottoms and left the top on, and put them on. He then found his Velcro strap tennis shoes and put them on without socks and went to the door and opened it wide when he suddenly stopped and decided he would not go to his father for help this time. He realized he hadn’t intended to for why would he have put on his clothes? He peaked around the corner of his door and looked down the hallway where his father’s room was. A grey light was emanating and he listened momentarily to the soft murmurings of a television set. He moved quietly in the opposite direction, unlocked the front door and slipped out into the cool early morning air and ran.

 

 

 

Published in: on June 6, 2018 at 6:51 pm  Leave a Comment  

There Are a Million Ways – Joey Kantor

there are a million ways

 

 

 

by joey kantor

 

 

 

space. the final frontier. space. the final frontier. oh no, not another one of those books where the Mac hunter welcomes you and belittles your sense of now. Well, then why don’t you get the popcorn. because i don’t have any money. well, do you think money grows on trees?  soon. soon. you will see why.

 

 

there are a million ways subtly and not so subtly to finally die into the arms of love and sheer bliss.  don’t worry too much about any little old one. another will come. you trust it and that too shall pass and lucky for you…it’s good. there are a million ways for all of us.

 

 

Published in: on December 29, 2016 at 11:12 pm  Leave a Comment  

The Brighter Side of Existentialism – a short, short story by Joey Kantor

The loneliness involved in being a writer. Sometimes I think being a writer is being a closer, always closing in on something until you can’t stand it anymore. A closer. Gonna close the deal. Yeah, right…

Sometimes you can’t write at all

it is always the shorter sentences which make the greater impact, but sometimes it is the long ones where you say fuck it. Punctuation, mostly punctuation is a way to make every fucking kid writer not be a writer but sell dope instead. Good writers out there too. It isn’t always the closing. Punctuation is part of the closing. The closing off from the process. The corruption of it even to the point of believing it is deserving of being “closed off”. Life. Love and happiness. The three things that we must remember when we write. Life love and happiness.

 

Fuck those great dead writers who were closed off completely. Celebrate the ones that knew better. The ones that lived a long time. But disappointment comes and the closing off is eventually inevitable. Better to stave off that lightlessness by being light. Being happy.

 

 

 

 

 

Published in: on December 16, 2016 at 6:49 am  Leave a Comment  

Letters Never Sent (Albert)

Letters Never Sent (Albert)

 

 

The danger of history

 

 

The danger in history is thinking that you have to ride it through to victory for your favorite teams, tribes, traditions, religions, sports, smiles, children, community, money, ad infinitum. Life!

 

And it’s not true.

 

We don’t have to make sure that our anscestors ultimately won. We won’t be bad children. Sometimes our anscestors were going about things all wrong. Our job is then to stop the madness of the generations doing the same thing over and over and over again. Like Steinbeck said, it’s all about moving along to someplace new. That’s what makes an American great.

 

Published in: on October 27, 2016 at 4:34 pm  Leave a Comment  

Luminos – Joey Kantor

Walk down here
forget about steps
a float down onto a cloud
you down here now
no there, no forward
come down here
and I will show you
where you are

All that no more
of course no more
how could it be
when your love is gone
and you, you, you
just you and you are
not enough

So where, what, how?
Now that love is gone?
Here, follow me
and I will show you
yes, that’s it, down now
float down, forget about
the step, no more steps

What space, huh?
What glorious white space
of the world of nothing
no wonder you can’t do
now you can only be
the ghost of the girl
somewhere out there
up there, but gone
definitely gone and so
you ask about what’s next

Next? What time now
that she’s gone and you
you you do not truly
believe in a next
but here now you are
alive, still you
look around and maybe
you’ll see something

Let’s do.
Let’s see. Look! Over there!
A cloud. A white cloud.
Let’s leap to it like it is love
come on, do do do
ah, feel that, down now
down we go on to this
cloud where we are
but there is no is

She entered the machine
and disappeared
she did not want your cloud
and your mind and your
thought and your you and
your you and your you

Ah mountains distant
perhaps there is ground there
let us go to them and see
ah, fly yes fly but where joy here
not here, at all, no joy in flight
until there, until on ground firm
ah here we are down down down
ah, a mirage, not a mountain
down down down on to another cloud

you thought you saw her there
but she was not there and you
you you must get used to her her her
not knowing you, seeing you, loving you
because otherwise you will disappear
move move move move move move

she holds all mystery
she talks into the ear of God
God loves her and you God
through her
all untrue, but true, no denying
the truth of untruth
when you believe it

let’s journey to the sea
ah krita, the rocky beach, the wind
her spirit flying amongst the other spirits
so full her heart, the sea and her home
no no no no no no no no
don’t fall away for fear
of your loss of God
she no more owns God than you

ah, but i see you don’t believe that
i can see. there! let’s go there.
another mountain. Athos!
there is the mystery.
There she runs like a wolf
free, untamable and you you you
no, let’s not go there
for you lose her there don’t you
or you think you do
but you don’t, well, only
if you think you do

Where else? Back up?
To the world again?
What are you there?
Are you not just a pair of eyes
and a flabby brain
with no understanding?
No not there.
There is no there for you
there anymore

We are together
seeking a happy ending
or just floating
yes, floating, wishing
never to come down
or go up again
wishing because even
our belief is waning

But there is her smile
And her limited promises
that she will see you again
but your heart is dead
because doubtful
because you think her heart
is dead, doubtful

Worship her then
Let her be what she is
Like a goddess
live with that until
she gives to you the right
to see her as she is
until then
take her as you see her
for she can be nothing else
and maybe God will whisper
into her ear.

Mortal mortal mortal you you you
The immortal whispers to her:
Do not turn away from him
Although blind and stupid
Do not turn away from him
For there is more to him than
you realize
The mortal carries a secret store
of mystery and knowledge
And he has seen you
Why not believe until you know?

There there there.
See? Her head turns slow.
An invisible power released
from between her honeyed lips
and she does not look away from
you you you
See? Is that what you came to see?
I think so.
We will take you back now.
Now, you must wait.

Published in: on October 22, 2016 at 3:19 pm  Leave a Comment  
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