>

2013/06/30

prevent _it

.


____________________________________Calling Miller to account

________-easy for this old coot to talk about being hungry
                                screw that is what i say being hungry is no fun.... and i doubt it loosens anything like even a cog, from the so-named system he refers to..









I want to prevent as many men as possible from pretending that they have to do this or that because they must earn a living. It is not true. One can starve to death- it is much better


. Every man who voluntarily starves to death jams another cog in the automatic process.

  Easy for Mister Miller to say this he did it by choice, after stuffing himself fat for years eating strudel and every other thing under the sun! he ate for decades and ate it all! he was a hog growing up in that fat Brooklyn german family with the endless fat food and the same goes for the women/ Miller  never loved women while young/he ate them alive/ and spat them out. it's all there in those books











— 
Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn


________________________Easy for Henry Miller to say ! Now that he's dead! hahaha

Did he reprieve himself?  I am not even sure of that. I liked him for years. I still do, and I think he was a blithe spirit but a nasty smart ass at times and not above cynicism or rancor.

His attack on James Joyce and Joyce's Ulysses  is one of the meanest hearted ones I ever read by anyone anywhere. Normally people don't attack Joyce, if they don't like him, they just don't read him. 

Anyhow, it was after reading that I got suspicious of this one man Capricorn Cancer Black Spring Nexus Plexus Rosy Crucifixion bantering BrooklynIte and his outrageous claims.

To attack Joyce is crazy at any time.  ,   because Joyce has made everything possible

    His work has opened and continues to open every door  , every word  every eye and ear.


Joyce's work , which consists of the whole range of genres , is an ever inviting stream a brook that suggests points, hints, promotes, winks,


_________________

2013/06/26

i feel

.


i feel that I am writing even when I am not writing. It's as if I am in a state of writing at all times, and so when I sit down to actually compose, it's a question of readiness.
Do you know what I mean? I am in a state of writing all the time, I am writing al the time, or if things are really cooking and I am tuned in, as if I was in a state of poetry at all times, so I when I sit down to compose, and for me, it's a fairly intensive state, and I write quite fast, at least at first, then re-working or doctoring as I see fit..

So that writing, and poetry is a state of mind too.  And I think that's why some poets come across more or less interestingly  to me. Others, the more so called professional types don't interest me. It's a culture, poetry is a culture too, you know, each poet bringing a culture and sensibility to it....



  it's probably why I lost my drive to perform or publish in the usual venues... the live ego the stink of the live ego trying to prove itself....
 an i went electronic  and there's not , i mean there's a similar thing that happens there   among people ...after all people are the same wherever either in front of you and face to face ..... but
                       i lost a taste for that.                   i just want to work       


Question: how about the readings you've done recently.

C.D. I told you everything that I write is fiction. how could a reading be anything but a fiction that I                emit? emot? those  poets, some good and interesting writers, who imagine themselves at the 'core' of a  'scene' are deluded and crazy. I saw one of them recently avideo that is, and it was startling ! PURe imitation a sort of bay version of another well known performer . Even the tone of voice! the whisper it was comical and shameful at the same time.


Not a moment of giving and originality.

On the       other hand I then later   saw  a video of the same artist doing a reading of  a                                 text
and because he did not try too hard to be someone else, i t was good    he was less  sick is what I mean to point out   less something that made him sick..  being good or bad in writing is a strange idea.. what is it to be good or bad?
                      i tend to think,           these           days,   that it means less sick


so to me the later or second video show  was  

I mean it was realer less someone else, I am not referring to content. 



.
.
.

do you prefer carrots to

  banana s to birds

        carrots to brains

desert island

     twenty questions

cookies to catches

hahhah
cache 'mon  ami' swirl off!



..



.













                                 e             v             e              n t  h        e      b l a      n          k        s p  a    c e  s   






.
                                          

rose twine

.

being  a writer of 'fictional' poems didn't get you any accolades
                  nor any positions
                       nor any lovers
            nor any money, of couse,
                             nor awesome friends inviting you to dinner

                    not an award

                                      but the delicate balance of your feet in  a spoon   ~


~


        
                  it got you death


                                         death

                                    aloneness
                                                        and rejection          

                abjection      

                banishment              declassification                             







                                                loneliness
           permanent              solitude     and the hatred of your contemporaries






                     what  a joke's it turned out                 to                 b               e


                              __________________--after all and even the rejectionists
                                                                      bitches
                     rejected you


                  a dead alcoholic poet        does better then you some days  


 it got you
   got you

  better

    you got



        but                        the delicate balance of your feet in  a spoon   ~


                                              a    rose twine


 and that's better than two

~
                                               

and


.




and things are slow as i traveled last year a lot more than i had foreseen. i have  a closer relation to , people i had not seen in Ireland. we went to Scotland way to the north, i blogged about. in England, Ireland, Scotland and wales, once you hear English spoken, with the greatness and variety , its wealth and richness o my,

                            welll most of what's called literature pales away 

 thousands speak the  a, a very hefty and ,  its inexplicable,

poetry, and its pretenses, becomes , well, silly, and laughable...


i also have a son and daughter  ... who'd i been out of touch with ... and it was only after i received my doctorate, and then went back to Ireland, and France did i  really return to               encounter things and people i'd let go of, and not actually really knew from my heart since the 70's in some caseS!


_____love is a god and a deity who  ,

  makes you come back

again    to see what's flesh and flesh your carnal bone, to so to speak

___________________

                                                              I know the american language a little and think there's a richness there too but the americans hate themselves so much


    a  om,

O and canada wel/l it
's  broken up country              --- with many langauges which have deteriorated into one english/french  which , i mean it all kind of in a suchandsuch manner sounds homogeneous  the accents and so on out and forth all gone

                        and native people'ss' langauges i dont know honestly but id suspect to bet they were stolen and lost

              my daughter speaks 5 languages she was educated in spain
  my son speaks i am sure, 6    hahah
i feel poor before them! i speak 3 at best and read my , well i read some latin and all    . anyhow, you

know these things               are             d                 o                   t                s 

                             i     n                  t             h               e             s               k              y



___________________________


question

__________________________________






        How’s  theyour book coming along?







it’s coming along slowly/ there’s near to 100,000 word at this time, and revising, editing etcetera may lessen and lengthen it!

____________________________


its re-write


and doctoring the bits














which book is it?




this 'll be the 12th published






__________________________________

third reading going to

________________________


going to backtrack to Minnesota St. Paul Minneapolis doing reading there then to see the world there old friends... long lost comrades , spoons, silver bridges....

____________________________________________

2013/06/20

two readings




Was in    _________________ here  _______________and there______________

          did   'readings '_                    _________________there __________________then  .

                                                                     It was fun ____________________________..







New York,

Indiana


 Colorado



                                                                                                                   California


___________________________________
 mapping reading

2013/06/18












'Crooked finger
=====================================

the crooked oranges of the one. she backed. of this was a wish
never too late to fell its wounding lies. a friend demonizes spending
her cash crops o n the weed to win. that's her politics. the politics
of oil. and police. how clever you'd bought into that. didn't you.
easy street's comfort and not a ballsy poet taking chances.

chancre easy rhymes & paying the extra weight for the
couple. destined to 'win' it s what you always wanted .

you must be pleased with yer self. now you can forget me.
 you _ change font?she 'i always was too much. wasn't he?'

______________WHo wrote that Mister? Mona's Jill on the bakery of time. Busting the prepositions , the metaphors, other side of turf and



==================


roi



roi de coeur / king of

 courtesy  /love

2013/06/17

____ rachel if you are reading this_________________


this reading series and poetry blog in california might interest you

                Poetry Flash




   __________________________

2013/06/16

.






 thanks for Mona, thanks for Fanny
and her banny
  banishment machine!


Mona its  COrnY!___I erased it all!


"so much at broom was yours
   it's still it's there
   you're breathing
   italics 'n more
    
 y our here 'n there'' and Jesus it is! it's terrible
moaning groaning, shuffling , mushing ,
evasion,
one good half-phrase 



                                                   


           i saw those  stanzas
                                                              like       as your hips
                                                    then think of all  others 
                                                                 you wiggled 
                                                           what beauty there was in that
                                                         there was beauty in that you pounding  at your                                                             'crisp' toed typewriter
                                                          was it   ?
                                                           you didn't write it out in  long hand 
                                                                                       i cried out/i'm sure
                                                         


                                                 was it a burning  laptop
                                                           humming brilliant as your thighs
                                       churning the descent  your  california seaside
                                                 strolls    
                                                              
                                        roar of night  wave after wave
                                     matching your lips
                                                                        those desirable kisses
                                                     taken between           
.

























it's still /it's there/


you're breathing


italics 'n more


y our here 'n there'






i see these stanzas


as your hips


and then think of all the other ones


you wiggled and


what beauty there was in that


line after line , night after night


pounding away your crisp typewriter


was it


you didn't write by hand did you


i cried out



was it a burning laptop


humming brilliant as your thighs


churning the walks your california seaside





roar of night wave after wave


matching your lips


those desirable kisses



taken between


.






















.



























2013/06/11

retake _each day


now
every day it gets bigger and
    swollen like  a   largesse unwilling to give away
     like your  tenderness this rhyme crept up  like  a legal term
about to grab a spotlight and hugging your neck your tousled hair





.  Now  that's not my kind of verse but I can see the call went out
       and you're alive not dead
  i can see you're responding

               like  a flag to the wind    .... so now perhaps I can reform my work again returning to what's known best as  joy  , comedy   ,   pleasure and laughter as it sings dong dong down its throat

O those easy days as you rang / and rang again
   it was crooked wood /corrosive as tongues on fire
     but your voice got to me

  speaking good California English

  and my lover came to you in the Knight

O wait   a knight to marry a horse
 ,

  curse  a purse,  kick a comma

tear down a  pun , strumming between knees your thigh
sssssssssss giving me a fantasm to marry

was  that legal turn of turncoat phrase pushed to far in all the gods you carry  ?

 Question mark Imagine me reading that with you in Redondo beach poetry cellar or whatever its called google maps

talisman of 

,

a mouth to a comma forgot

  retreat to the fictions as day grace speaking to a name makes a fortnight of forethrift


           Did I know you were coming?     Were you?
             the winter and spring 
                             humored the winter
              dampness

  a play taking a  song  yours
   the improvised genius


     of wolves and  a man walking  sideways in the rain beside a soccer field
   and the rain coming down

             life went by /like  a sabre-
     toothed tiger was it?

 a sabre-toothed tiger  chalking the blue ruins of a night
   pulling aces from your sleeve

                now if that was yours wouldn't you be pulling it together by now making a statement

but my characterswouldn't do that in person or in your bedroom
                           with those  300 ? or is it 250 thread count
   the  first time  ,  one of the first times we spoke you offered to send  some to me  ...


  such generosity confounded me  / made me disbelieving /it was all unreal

_______---  it was winter  and cold as a doctoral dissertation without a brief
   a brig sans prisoner
                      a fortunate favorite without a  body and  a lover to hold her hand
some maid by the pointed fingernails of her       perfume we spoke about your perfume
   and I said
                   and you said  , your voice  , O your voice I'll never forget


                                 from that one can't be sure who's you and who said what right?
cause who's who when it's like that 

 ~ some people might imagine i'm hard but /i'm not /
         i'm /just pierced with shells/
            of joy
  that's brought me


           

...

      
    

~moving between

..





i like moving between

i like moving between joyce and proust.

J and P.

(and naturally there’s lots of others too)

cause every writer is a rhizome and i am the burrow between! what hoa! It’s Monday, enjoy, till later, a tantôt.
 ha!~ it's tuesday and my (mine) (orbs my pearly glancers) are blurry


O those are pearls that were his eyes

but not the one at the eyeclinci she had daggers in her eyes but a  nice bucket seat ass
     and no sense of humor at all

    yet she was surprised

   but then the rain came with clouds of thunder yonder like a ball bearing going out of the mist









.



2013/06/08







.



  'over head '
                                (headland)

         the jets 'fly' if that's t he  word can't possibly describe the sound  |crashes thru body
                         smashes|      
       
                                       they fly back and forth


..
 they will never shut up with talking about and awards / i think its cause theyre obssessed at least americans are, obssessed with not starving, so they cant give on that, so making money after, becomes part  a  part of the gig / hanha maybe its cause they have no Medicare!

its a sick culture that is whence talking about becomes the dailly bread (no its deliberate typO) gotta eat


.

...'course

.




 i wrote your poems


  that's spoof? spurgeon?

   ni

no
  (russing a tunnel thru the eye what's acceptable)



I wrote your poems

 (no you don't mean yoiu wrote them for you) I wrote them Period.

..
Now go (backback) sleep




..

2013/06/07

| '_______'|

.



_______________________
| your fifth cigarette

|
|
| it's the rain     and  your lips
| fuller than ever    faraway
| that     i've never tasted
___________________




.


p.s .  taking the brim at g mail    d    o                    t            c                  o                          m


                                                                                 ________________________




every day

.

every day it gets bigger and
    swollen like  a   largesse unwilling to give away
     like your  tenderness this rhyme crept up  like  a legal term
about to grab a spotlight and hugging your neck your tousled hair





.  Now  that's not my kind of verse but I can see the call went out
       and you're alive not dead
  i can see you're responding

               like  a flag to the wind    .... so now perhaps I can reform my work again returning to what's known best as  joy  , comedy   ,   pleasure and laughter as it sings dong dong down its throat

O those easy days as you rang / and rang again
   it was crooked wood /corrosive as tongues on fire
     but your voice got to me

  speaking good California English

  and my lover came to you in the Knight

O wait   a knight to marry a horse
 ,

  curse  a purse,  kick a comma

tear down a  pun , strumming between knees your thigh
sssssssssss giving me a fantasm to marry

was  that legal turn of turncoat phrase pushed to far in all the gods you carry  ?

 Question mark Imagine me reading that with you in Redondo beach poetry cellar or whatever its called google maps

talisman of

,

a mouth to a comma forgot

  retreat to the fictions as day grace speaking to a name makes a fortnight of forethrift


           Did I know you were coming?     Were you?
             the winter and spring
                             humored the winter
              dampness

  a play taking a  song  yours
   the improvised genius


     of wolves and  a man walking  sideways in the rain beside a soccer field
   and the rain coming down

             life went by /like  a sabre-
     toothed tiger was it?

 a sabre-toothed tiger  chalking the blue ruins of a night
   pulling aces from your sleeve

                now if that was yours wouldn't you be pulling it together by now making a statement

but my characterswouldn't do that in person or in your bedroom
                           with those  300 ? or is it 250 thread count
   the  first time  ,  one of the first times we spoke you offered to send  some to me  ...


  such generosity confounded me  / made me disbelieving /it was all unreal

_______---  it was winter  and cold as a doctoral dissertation without a brief
   a brig sans prisoner
                      a fortunate favorite without a  body and  a lover to hold her hand
some maid by the pointed fingernails of her       perfume we spoke about your perfume
   and I said
                   and you said  , your voice  , O your voice I'll never forget


                                 from that one can't be sure who's you and who said what right?
cause who's who when it's like that

 ~ some people might imagine i'm hard but /i'm not /
         i'm /just pierced with shells/
            of joy
  that's brought me


          

...

      
    

2013/06/06



============================








  many           ,                        infinite,                           scrolled                     pages
    
                       thous and s                   of               artists                               ,






______




2013/06/05


Inline images 1

'________________

                

bissecta
Étant les formes, il est autant Elle, que l’amnésie, sa gestion.
Les âmes boutiquières se reconnaîtront, l’ayant déjà exploitée, cette unité multiple dont elles veulent tirer à tous prix quelques conforts calculés.
La maîtrise, le domaine, la marge bénéficiaire qui enchaîne ce qui se déroule pourtant jusqu’à l’autolyse.
Pour survivre, pour s’inscrire au sein de cette immortalité cancéreuse de ceux qui se croient eux, après la raillerie de l’inflation originelle.
Tu n’extrais de ce qui t’entoure que tes propres creux.
Excuses.
Supplications.
Dans le cochon, tout est bon.
La science intrinsèque, aphasique, aveugle d’Elle même et de celui titillant toujours le téton, beuglant sa maturité d’enfant gâté.
Mais il est aussi Elle.
A la limite du frisson, de la perception.
Et dans le cochon tout est bon !

        



=======================================

                         'ethersex'

 bissecta et  auddie




Ethersex”, le miroir d’une époque. (Travaux en binôme basés sur la transfiguration de la réalité plate de tout un chacun en phénomènes sexuels, et inversement). Par auddie et bissecta.



bissecta
“Ethersex, la masturbation des psychées castratrices et civilisatrices actuelles (Baise binomique balancée sur la giclée des constructions mentales de tous les pseudo egos, et retroussement).



auddie
Renée vivait sa passion des courses jusqu’à extinction de voix. Rarement gagnante elle persévérait, et faisait figure d’originale au bureau. Une originale peu dangereuse. Ce lundi-là, vers dix heures, elle rencontra Maxime, le technicien informatique de la boîte. Il avait toujours cet air envieux avec elle, élimant ses vieux discours plein d’assurance façon arrière salle des campus. Il la dégoûtait. Mais il était son allié, enfin, un allié aux airs venimeux. Immanquablement, la discussion alla droit au but:
- Alors, t’as misé sur “Demon” dans la troisième?
- Ouais, et j’ai perdu. Après j’ai gagné dans la quatrième.
- T’as vu le DRH aujourd’hui? On dirait qu’il va se transformer en toupie ?
- Ouais, nan.
- J’aime bien ton chemisier.
- Merci. Moi j’aime bien ta coupe hipster.
- hyp – quoi?
- Rien Maxime. Passes-moi le cendrier.



bissecta
Dans sa monomanie projetée sur la cavale des dadas, Renée défonçait le stade oral en beuglant des gargarismes orgasmiques. Looseuse salivante, elle se frottait la génitoire subliminale et souhaitait fouetter les croupes claires rebondissant sur ces pelouses obstinées, espérant engrosser le culte de sa personnalité pas assez léchée à son goût pour être à ses tortures quotidiennes rémunérées prises comme créatrices de quelques flocons de neiges mièvrement merveilleux. Une schizophrénie lancinante signalée ainsi par ses collègues étriqués. Le jour de cette lune là, au milieu du matin nauséeux, elle percuta sciemment ce geek de Maxime. L’Éros de ce dernier laissait gicler une faim de stupre à peine dissimulée par la cravache ré-éducative de forums formatés au savoir du tout contrôle, arrières pensées ricanantes des blagues d’oeudipe avec vos mères. Elle, se liquéfiait de cette obscénité trop intime à ne pas la chavirer comme une chienne qu’elle camouflait sous ses airs de princesse congelée. Cependant, ce maxime était le bon animus à chevaucher, aussi bon qu’une morphine copine à l’obsession tendrement toxique. Et il fallait bien chevaucher ce shoot. L’échange verbal qui s’y éjacula toucha sa cible:
-Alors tu t’es mise le démon bien profond dans ton troisième trou ?
-Oh oui! Et je me suis faite éclater au quatrième.
-Le maître a-t-il exigé ta soumission aujourd’hui ? N’est-il pas la girouette de ses fantasmes à tête chercheuse ?
-Oui, et non, tu sais que j’aime ça.
-Moi, ce sont tes seins qui gonflent là sous le tissu que je kiffe.
-Laisse moi glousser! Quant à moi je suis addict de ta crinière bestiale à mouiller.
-Crinière bestiale trop mouillée ?
-Laisse tomber Maxime mais donne moi…



                                                                           Texte complet ici

 ---------------------------------------ethersex|f4 editions

' Estelle au vent

Tu villégiatures le vol- Tu brigandages virtuelle- Tu mottes l'instant des bosquets- Tu matronymes le quidam au néant- Tu vous tout jouir- Tu pénombres- Tu humides à sourire- Tu kyrielles, claire, ces culbutes aqueuses- Tu merles l'âme- Tu de justesse treilles une conscience tangible par reflets- Tu aubépines d'opale- Tu humus les sens- Tu sérénites mon magma- Tu hydromêles l'artère pôlaire- Tu cavernes l'avenir à braiser avec un narcisse tatoué sous les paupières-Tu jus l'usufruit en extase- Tu paysages voluptueuse- Tu muses- Tu adeptes des peaux- Tu démones- Tu chiennes céleste- Tu harpes la marche orageuse- Tu pandémises nos cernes déconcentrées à l'illimité- Tu verdures polissonne- Tu talentes tout- Tu vagues et creuses jouissive- Tu cardinales suave sans carte- Tu ons légendaire- Tu définitives ainsi quelques egos- Tu ne m'as pas mangée parce que tu es ma mère-

 bissecta


   bissecta

' Bissecta Matinale Pascal Nyiri


Bissecta Matinale 

Orphéothèse


the  

Orphéothèse  texts and vides by the french artist and poet  bissecta


are moved to DadaDuffy

                                              -------------Bissecta was a contributing member of takingthebrim------------------------------------

Projet en danse de Noeso et textes de Noeso et bissecta sur l'Orphéothèse

Ethersex

“Ethersex”, le miroir d’une époque. (Travaux en binôme basés sur la transfiguration de la réalité plate de tout un chacun en phénomènes sexuels, et inversement). Par auddie et bissecta.







.




    ~ the two gentlemen of veron   ~A   `.

Enter SPEED
SPEED
Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?
PROTEUS
But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.
SPEED
                                          Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.
PROTEUS
Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,
An if the shepherd be a while away.
SPEED
You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then,
and I a sheep?
PROTEUS
I do.
SPEED
Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.
PROTEUS
A silly answer and fitting well a sheep.
SPEED
This proves me still a sheep.
PROTEUS
True; and thy master a shepherd.
SPEED
Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.
PROTEUS
It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.
SPEED
The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the
shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks
not me: therefore I am no sheep.


          PROTEUS
                          The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the
shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for
                             wages followest thy master; thy master for wages
follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep.
SPEED
Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'
PROTEUS
But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?
SPEED
Ay sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her,
a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a
lost mutton, nothing for my labour.
PROTEUS
Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.
SPEED
If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.
                                                             

                                                   PROTEUS
Nay: in that you are astray, 'twere best pound you.
SPEED
Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for
carrying your letter.
PROTEUS
You mistake; I mean the pound,--a pinfold.
SPEED
                     From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,
'                                    Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to
                                                                                              your lover.
PROTEUS
                                      But what said she?
SPEED
[First nodding] Ay.
                                                                                    PROTEUS
Nod--Ay--why, that's noddy.
SPEED
You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you ask
                                            me if she did nod; and I say, 'Ay.'
PROTEUS
                                 And that set together is noddy.
SPEED
                       Now you have taken the pains to set it together,
                                                                           take it for your pains.
                     PROTEUS
                                                                   No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.
                          SPEED
Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.
PROTEUS
Why sir, how do you bear with me?
SPEED
Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing
but the word 'noddy' for my pains.
PROTEUS
Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.
SPEED
And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.
PROTEUS
Come come, open the matter in brief: what said she?
SPEED
                                                     Open your purse, that the money and the matter may
be both at once delivered.
                                          PROTEUS
Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?
                                                                         SPEED
Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.
PROTEUS
Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?
SPEED
Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no,
                             not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter:
and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I
fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your
mind. Give her no token but stones; for she's as
hard as steel.
PROTEUS
What said she? nothing?
SPEED
No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To
testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned
me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your
letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master.
PROTEUS
Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,
Which cannot perish having thee aboard,
Being destined to a drier death on shore.
Exit SPEED
I must go send some better messenger:
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post.
Exit


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