Literature's Next Frontier


Flamingo

POETRY:

Names

by RoseKarma Quill-red

You can`t remember when you first started to hear it. It could have been the night of the rain storm or the morning after. But the way it flowed off his tonge was different. The E was filled with music and the R was scented with lavender. He greeted you the same, same nod, same firm lips to your forehead. Yet the greeting was different. Same tone different voice. You didn`t need to even ask. You had realized he had started to say your name the way you sang his.                                                                                                                      You can`t remember when you first started to hear it. It could have been that awuful blizard ar the night after. But the way it flowed off his tounge was different. There was no more music in each vowel and your slyables were left with only the dying scent of flowers. He greeted you the same, same nod, same firm lips to yur forehead. Yet the greeting was different. Same tone yet different voice. You didn`t even need to ask. You had realized he had stopped saying your name like you sang his.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Empty Or Full

by RoseKarma Quill-red

I`m not sure what is worse. Being empty or full. To be so full that your sides are bursting, that at any second your seams will split and all your saddness and hatred will spill out for the world to see. To be full to the point of pain. Wanting to let all your inner fullness out, but not knowing how to. Feeling as if everyone who walks by can see it spilling from your soul. Or to have nothing in you, your stomach and things arch inward trying to compensate for the emptyness in side. To not know how to react when you finally hear what you have been craving, bacuse you have closed your lid long ago.                                                                                                                                   I`m not sure what is worse. Being empty or full.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

The Time He Would Never Leave

by RoseKarma Quill-red

"You can close your eyes to the things you don't want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you don't want o feel"

~Johnny Depp

You can close your eyes at his retreating form. You can close your eyes when you see him in the hallways. You can close your eyes and block out the image of him and that woman. However no matter how hard you try, you can't close your heart. Each word he whispered in your ear, each gentil brush of his fingers against your cheek. Each and every time he told you he would never leave. It eats at your heart. The condridictions of his words and his actions will kill you slowly. Your weak heart will always bring up the way his eyes looked right passed you as he told you "we're over." with no emotion. As if he didn't care. The way he holds his new girl, as if she is the only thing that matters. The way he never held you. Your heart will take this new images and fight them against the old ones. But you already know what will happen. Those old happy memories are tainted and weak, filled with lies and missgivings. The new ones will kill them and your heart will be filled with saddness, yet no matter how hard you try to close your heart you can't. The heart dosn't want to close, it still hopes against all odds that he will come back. Come back and hold you like he holds that other woman. But you know he won`t. And it`s all your hearts fault for stealing your hope. You know he won`t come back because your heart won`t let you forget each and every lie, of the time he would never leave.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Yet

by RoseKarma Quill-red

Yet, people never appreciate the power of the word. I personally think is one of the most powerful words in the english language. It can evoke such saddness while at the same time brightens someones day.

"We haven't broken up, yet."

"We haven't got toghther, yet."

                                      See the difference,

"We haven't broken up."

We haven't got together."

                                      it's pretty big.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Secret Scars

by RoseKarma Quill-red

"The difference between,

being a child, 

and now,

is that your mum would tend to your cuts.

Now you do,

but only after,

you create them."

~unkown

It's sick, but it's true. When we were little we would scrap our knees and cry. We would get in a fight with little Suzy and cry. But our mommys would come kiss it better, make us cookies and tell us it's going to be alright. And it would be. Our knees would heal, and little Suzy would share her cookies with us at lunch tomorrow. Now we cut our wrists and smile. We find out little Suzy slept with our boyfriend and smile. But our moms aren't coming to make it better, because they don't know about it. Nobody is going to kiss it better and cookies you make yourself just don't taste as good. But we clean up ourselves up, wash away the blood and kiss it better ourselves. Our wrists won't heal as we keep cutting them, and little Suzy isn't about to share the boyfriend she took.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Remember To Forget

by RoseKarma Quill-red

How fuckin backhanded. While telling me to remember, you want me to forget. You can't have one with the other. That's what I think that saying is about. The irony. The irony of trying to remember to forget. It's one of those things. Like the day you fell in love with that boy. The boy with the messy dark hair and pretty light eyes. You could never tell what colour they were, just as you could never tell if they were really looking into your soul like you felt they could. No matter how hard you try you can't forget the way he spoke your name the day after you started dating. The way he said your name during your first time, or the way he said it the morning after over coffee. You can't forget the way he would grab your hand during a thunderstorm, because no matter how much he denies it, he's terrified of them. The way he would stroke your hair to help you fall asleep, after he would sneek into your room at night. Then kiss the top of your head before he left. Just like the way you can't foget the bags under his pretty eyes the day he told you "we need to talk". You can't forget the way he wouldn't meet your eyes when he told you, you were beautiful one last time. You can't forget the crack in his voice when he said he can't do this anymore. No matter how many times you tell yourself to remember to forget, you still can't forget those eyes. You still aren't sure what colour they are, but you are sure now they were looking into your soul.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Charcoal Heart

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

What have we done to this
Twists and turns
Memories that concave
People there smiling vanish

What in the hell did I do to deserve
You freezing just staying in a camouflage face

Why did you adjust your misplaced out if it attitude
Why do you hide behind mirrors

Turns in the road
People smiling appear
They Don camouflage faces

Why did you adjust your smile
Why did I deserve
The gaping memory

The scenes unfold
Puzzle-pieces that won't ever fit

Memories fold
Your face in a
1000 mirrors

Your eyes elongated
Stretching into the
infinity of its own Iris

Why didn't we go along with the ride
Something warned us it was time to stop
But against all better judgment
We flew in a Learjet to the sun

They greeted us on the landing strip
We've been waiting all this time
Now you're finally standing there
Please remove your oxygen

Why didn't we go along with the ride
's too late to know that something died
With leftover camouflage
Surveillance of the sky
Drones in an army of drone

Cloud busting the regular season
Laying pipelines across the sky
Take a picture with a negative
See what kind of things they do

Watch them in infrared
Watch how they watch you
Did you think they'd know all of this?

Watch how they watch you
Shopping and dining
Reclined on the couch
Remote in both hands

Stop shop and roll
Through
prefabricated faces

Shiny on the outside
But charcoal hearts inside

See what kind of things they do
You can roll set up as they go
You'll never fit in their system
To scoop up scenes and dreams and Blender them
Ice tea liberation
Some kind of weird drink that you have on a summer evening

You think you're talking to a silver surfer
But it's just the charcoal heart
Glowing in the dark

You think you found a lot of light
But it all just leads to the dark mess

He thought he found something good
But it really retracted quickly

like
Aliens with an animal sense
Tendrils eating out
their charcoal
Heart

Tendrils reaching out
their charcoal
Heart

 


Posted on: March 29 2014

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POETRY:

Whistling lollipop sounds of the transmigration

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

To watch some shows
To take it all in
Surrender to the depths of
Lollipop Stirring pots

Whistling sound
Wings cutting through the air
Here's one but solution
Lollipop
Imitation
Trans regurgitation

To take it all in
Have some fun with Doubt
Stirring lolli pot surrendering
the air

Watch some shows regurgitate
One solution
Lollipop Wings cutting the air

You get in
There Is a hole 
that is irritated with them

Whistling lollipop sounds of the transmigration

Signatory
Object
Holy entrance

The ritual of existence

Deliberating truth
Cut free from all bonds
The misery of prepackaged
Delusions
Insanity parted with the lollipop truth

Scores of innocence
Lost behind Cloyster shows

I'm Charterhouse Lollipop

Prepackaged celebrity status
Chowderheads
Deliberately correct
Signatory lollipop objects reveal

Doors of the innocent
Left open by the sequel
They're indented line by line
Write it down

For you won't forget it
Lasts but a little while

And before you know it
Filling the blank lollipop

Having a tradition of innocence
Surrender the sequel
Choose your own lollipop
Sequels are traditions

Savor that long
last lolly gagging cigarette
Lollipop of the smoker
Smoking a burning lollipop

 


Posted on: March 26 2014

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POETRY:

Gisselle

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

Flattering selfie's 
on her profile

The camera angles
designed to show
The best angles
at all times

She's on a mission
Selfie's for the masses
But time will reveal.
The trick photography
she uses

Flattering camera angles
Lord of the lip rings
She's brandishing trick photography

She shoots selfie's with a digital shotgun
She's on a mission for tricks

Designing camera angles
Cloning scenes
Recorded recordings

Traced by the centuries
Unmoved by time
Soaring through the firmament
Slaves to their own rocket
She designed the whole scene

You think you're an actor
But she's not having it
Most definitely your director
And you dance about like a puppet

What do you see
Turn out the night
Is the weather bad
For all the memories you had
Try to forget them
Try not to remember

And it will plague you though

It will play Gisselle

 


Posted on: March 26 2014

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POETRY:

Underneath the deck

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

Underneath the deck
By the bench
There's an old toolshed
Filled with tools
And the toiling of a fool

He writes about this
He's writing it now

About how
He takes his
time in Africa

Underneath the deck
in the wind
It Blows harder
by the minute

There's
Not a lot to say
anymore about it

My
Lazy flair

Freezing
Disdain

It Blows harder
by the minute

Alerted by
the ignorant
Just yesterday

With Moonlight
Comes
Ease of thought

Disease-free living
no need for
Hypodermic soul injections

Love chemicals applied liberally
Topical antidotes for
Tropical cesspools

no need for
Slaphappy Opera

Hypodermic songs
Feeding the sheep
so in come funky
Wrestling matches

With their passengers
Calculating thresholds
Readjusting for deflation
It Blows harder
by the minute

 


Posted on: March 22 2014

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POETRY:

As the walls came down, all was revealed to be inverted backwards

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

(Sounds of looseness)
Loose sounds 
reverberate across the nation
sonic nuclear attack
Hydrants that point out of speakers

I'm taking care of loose sounds
As the walls came down
Truth was revealed

There's little left 
of the electricity
That coursed through
the veins in the wall

Loose sounds
reverberate across the nation
sonic nuclear attack
Hydrants that point out of speakers

As the walls came down 
all was revealed 
to be inverted backwards

Little left of the electricity
In the veins that cannot
Connect to the brain
Lou sounds roll across the plane

You and your minion
Rathwell

Ride in the sky with the light
tumbling down
Stars unconnected
from the heavens

Drop down and bring your feet



 


Posted on: March 22 2014

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NON-FICTION:

Ciroc Love

by L.W. Soul Quill-red

 

12:55 at night the clock communicates the time to drift away,

It was a year three months ago that the bird left it's cage,

Since then this page has been stuck on repeat forever and a day,

The same song will play time and time again,

Like a rerun I can't escape each one more painful than the last,

The past hold plenty of tears for me to grasp,

So to recapture the lost years in these brown sugar eyes,

The ties that are missed are replicated with each sip,

At the tip of losing it all once more,

I'll drink you up then pour more until I see you,

I'll drink you up until I feel your touch,

I'll drink you up until I hear your voice in my ear,

I'll drown until you are around for me to cradle for life,

The hype of being without you is all lies,

The ties you and I left are still around,

Unfortunately they are bound to die unless I sip out of this cup,

With each shot I feel your presence growing near,

The weakening grip of heartache disappears when you are around,

I know this isn't real but this is better than being completely sober,

Even though this is drunken love,

The dove cries for his mate even though she is long gone,

One thing is for sure the illusion of your love is an elixir that I can't go without,

I know I can't afford to grow a dependence on the your luscious vibes,

Like a plant without water I'll die,

So while I miss you so this Ciroc Love is good enough to keep me going.....or so I think.

 


Posted on: March 22 2014

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POETRY:

Falling Venus

by L.W. Soul Quill-red

 

The skyfall of her unyielding fragrance leaves fragmented shards,

Shards of her broken will the will of her enchanting love,

The dove sits outside her window waiting for her,

But the daily commute of the love birds are to no avail,

The moon is her reflection of her undying beauty,

Though her new moon shows nothing to see,

Her song of romance is no longer sung to all,

Like the deaf ones we hear nothing,

Oh Venus how far you have fallen?

Her window seal remains shut nothing to enter or depart,

The tart cries of her soul keeps her in the dark,

Oh Venus how long will stay down?

The bellows of her aching heart resists the arrival of light,

Her pillow soaked in the oceans of tears,

She is complacent on the heyday of the past,

Her harp of emotions are silent covered in dust,

Oh Venus how long will you stay sheltered?

Does the traveling vibes of the heart grant no entry into your world,

Hurled into the hurricane of deceit,

The cold stare in her wholesome eyes keeps her mansion iced over,

Oh Venus hope still rings louder than Liberty bell,

Longing for a warm touch to sooth her dim soul,

The fire she desires cannot be found,

Oh Venus hold steadfast to your enchanting beauty,

For breakthrough is only but a touch away.


Posted on: March 22 2014

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NON-FICTION:

A tribute to my german friend

by B-ELLA Books Quill-purple

Ich bin eine Ratte, die in einem Baum lebt . Nur ein Scherz Ich liebe Iglus und Adler. Klar bin ich eine Ratte Dichter , uh huh uh huh. Ich bin hier, um Sie über alle Probleme meines Lebens sagen , ich brauche Beratung. Die Nummer eins , meine Ratte Kinder verformt. Sie sind langsam ein Absterben mein ein . Vielleicht meine Frau isst sie , während sie schlafen Spaziergänge. Wer weiß ! Wir sind Nagetiere sowieso. Wir haben nicht den Verbrecher das Leben zu wählen , entschied sich die Thug Life uns . Nummer zwei , hat meine Frau nicht meine Liebe zu schimmeln Graben Fuß zu schätzen wissen. Aber ich verstehe nicht , es ist so ansprechend. Mein Herz rast , wenn ich es sehe! Gott segne Weltkrieg zu bringen mich Graben Fuß . Problem Nummer 3, meine Zahnspange . Die Zweige immer abbrechen , habe ich drei Sätze von Klammern bislang Verschlucken. Meine Zähne sind so lang, ich benutze sie als Zuckerrohr und sie helfen mir Löcher zu graben . Eigentlich ist das Problem gelöst ist , meine Zähne sind ziemlich helpfu alles in allem . Letztes Problem , meine Frau ist nicht reich . Ich sollte heiraten jemand reich , der sich interessiert, wenn sie hässlich habe ! Meiner Frau immer hässlich wie auch immer, ist ihr Fell fallen aus wegen jungen Alter. Um es am Ende aus, ist meine Lieblingsbeschäftigung Yoga in den Schützengräben . Ich fühle mich sehr zen unter den Soldaten einander zu töten. Bin ich seltsam? Glaubst du, ich bin seltsam? Bin ich besessen ? Bitte helfen Sie . Ich brauche psychische Stabilität . Alle Antworten sind erwünscht. Übrigens , ich bin nicht wirklich eine Ratte. Es ist eine seltene multiple Persönlichkeitsstörung , wo ich wirklich glaube, ich bin ein kleines Nagetier . Danke.Die Ratte Leben hat mich gewählt .

 

Translatey

I am a rat who lives in a tree. Just kidding I love igloos and eagles. Sure, I 'm a rat poet , uh huh uh huh. I'm here to tell you about all the problems of my life , I need advice. Number one, my rat deformed children. They are slowly dying off my one . Maybe my wife eats them while they sleep walks. Who knows ! We are rodents anyway. We did not choose the thug life , the thug life chose us . Number two, has to know my wife does not get moldy my love digging to estimate distance. But I do not think it's so appealing. My heart races when I see it! God bless to bring World War I trench foot. Problem number 3, my braces . Always abort the branches , I have three sets of parentheses so far swallowed. My teeth are so long , I use them as sugar cane and they help me to dig holes. Actually, the problem is solved is , my teeth are pretty helpfu all in all. Last problem , my wife is not rich . I should marry someone rich who cares if she had ugly! My wife always ugly as ever , her fur fall out due to young age. To put it at the end, is my favorite thing Yoga in the trenches. I feel very zen to kill each other among the soldiers . Am I weird? Do you think I 'm weird? Am I obsessed ? Please help . I need mental stability. All answers are appreciated. By the way , I 'm not really a rat. It is a rare multiple personality disorder , where I really think I 'm a small rodent . Thank you.The rat life chose me .


Posted on: March 21 2014

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POETRY:

Rap" The Sly Life"

by B-ELLA Books Quill-purple

We're back

In black

Rappin up in the shack!

We're sly

goodbye

multiply two by pi

what do you get?

6. something

We don care

Cause we sly

Thug lyfe

Keep it real

Yolo swag

2 chainz!!

make that 3..

Aww we got the velcro

Did yo mama ever tell you not to talk to strangers that way?

Cause my mama told me that!

Werd

 

#winning

#gangsta

#2kewl

#weout

#jk

#wereback

 

- A

 


Posted on: March 21 2014

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POETRY:

A New Scene

by Ryan Carter Quill-orange

I think it's time for a new scene
Same movie, different screen 
If you know what I mean

New characters, same attitude 
People that understand lifes magnitude
And knows the meaning of gratitude

Or can I fast forward now 
To the end and I take my bow

To the time where all I hear is cheers
And my thoughts have never been more clear

I'm ready for a new scene
I'm ready for a new me


Posted on: March 20 2014

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POETRY:

Monophobia

by Ryan Carter Quill-orange

What makes you so afraid of the night

You're in the same place simply with no light

Are you afraid when you close your eyes

When you're telling the world brief goodbyes

Either way at the end of the day you're on your own

Or do you have a phobia of being alone

Maybe that's why you have to keep your phone

In a world with billions of people like you

You choose a lonely hell to go through

One that leads to only the one end

The one that your thoughts push you further than you can bend

It's time to give it up

Grab the glass of life and take a sup

So get out of your zone

And grow a backbone

Because nobody should make themselves live alone


Posted on: March 20 2014

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POETRY:

If You

by Ryan Carter Quill-orange

If you want something to play with here's my heart
If you don't need any light you can join me in the dark

If you need someone to talk to I'm here
If you're afraid of being alone I'll wash away your fear

If you need a best friend I'm closer than you think
If you're thirsty for love I'll be your drink

If you're blind I'll help you see
If you forgot who cares about you...it's me


Posted on: March 17 2014

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POETRY:

curious about the candles

by William Wakefield Quill-purple


She'd save a dead cat
From running through the house
Hair on fire right before
The guests arrive

Curious about the candles
Tearing through the house
tail on fire
Strange days are
burning the scenery

Guests arrive
what's that smell

 

 


Posted on: March 16 2014

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POETRY:

Amelia Earhart

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

You don't want

to be up there

the day they start
shooting them down 

abducted by aliens
planes full of people
waiting for
the phone to ring
get home

why the simulator?
did she realign the course

we wave goodbye to her
and
why the simulator?

did she
redesign
her heart?

You don't want

to be up there
the day they

shoot her down

 

 


Posted on: March 16 2014

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FICTION:

**i need help with a title and figuring out what could be wrong with her mentally**

by LillySkyWorks Quill-orange

She stared in the mirror at her reflection as she slowly did her makeup. She was irritated. Her thoughts were negative and it was as if she was having an argument with someone in her head. Someone who wasn't her. 

-Im irrtated, she thought. Stop it.

Are you? Im not. 

Her face changed and she started laughing.

-No, stop it. Im irritated. Her face went somber and she shook her head. 

I'm amused. She laughed again.

-Why cant I be normal? Whats wrong with me? She was overcame with a sense of despair. 

Yes, because you think everything is wrong with you. Youre fucking insane. Go kill youself. 

-Shut up. Im not talking to you. You dont exist. She brushed the hair out of her face and stared in the mirror. God Im so fat. 

I know you are. Youre obese and pathetic. Eating disorder? More like "eating disorder of fries"

-Thats cruel. Get out of my fucking head. Stop. She hit the wall in anger. "Fuck!" 

This is a really rough draft of the begining of something I could possibly write. 


Posted on: March 15 2014

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POETRY:

she was left alone

by LillySkyWorks Quill-orange

she is left alone to fight her thoughts

her depression creeping over her like 

water seeps over a body left in the water

left to float away.

she is left alone to ease her pain

her tear stained face ghost white,

metal friend by her side

blood dripping down her thigh.

she is left alone too many times 

her body found in the tub

stained pink over white,

metal friend by her side,

water creeping over her like her

depression once did

 

(open to suggestions on improvement) 


Posted on: March 13 2014

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5.0 / 5

POETRY:

its all over

by LillySkyWorks Quill-orange

I have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other,

I have a gun in my hand and

its

all

over

v.l


Posted on: March 13 2014

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NON-FICTION:

this is probably depressing

by LillySkyWorks Quill-orange

**this is written out of sheer boredom at four a.m. True story.**

I think about killing myself more than I think about what Im going to wear. This past year my life has been hell and the only thing Iv'e accomplished is failing. People keep telling me that I have to keep trying, I have to make an effort and things will get better, and I want them to. But I dont. I know that life isnt a constant, itll never be the same way forever, and I keep telling myself that suicide is perminitent and if I do it today I wont be here to see tomorrow and what if tomorrow is better? I have hope still that things will get better because life isnt a constant and it wont stay the same way forever. But Its been almost four years sience Ive written my first suicide note, and its been longer than that since my perverted cousin made me feel like I deserve all of the bad things in the world to come knocking on my door on the same day. 

I grew up in a trailer in a little town in Michigan. The corner store was the only store, and the ice cream shop, cemetery, and baseball field all shared a block. Houses were scattered here and there and the neighborhood wasnt very safe but nobody really messed with anyone else. My aunt and uncle lived across the road when I was just little, and I remember even then my cousin would take me behind the garage and mess around. I just dont remember when it started, and Im kind of glad but at the same time Im really irritated that I cant force myself to remember when it started. I remember that as I got older I resented my uncle and aunt, probably for being pill poppers who didnt take care of their three kids. 

Some nights I would lay in my bedroom and cry myself to sleep, throw my blankets and pillows on the floor and tell myself I was worthless and didnt deserve the roof over my head. My mom was a psycho bitch and still is. We had a lot of holes in our walls, from me and from her. I had anger issues, but I had a lot of issues. Haha, I still do. 


Posted on: March 13 2014

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POETRY:

Time

by Ryan Carter Quill-orange

Tick tock goes the clock

Time just drags by like a snail

Seconds feel like weeks


Posted on: March 12 2014

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