"ditto" poems
He should feel what she actually feels.
To be ignored,
to assume things cos he gives motives,
to not explain things that he'd done,
and to be hurt like hell.
He'll chase her again
and she will definitely give him a hard time.
He should feel what it feels to be hurt.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
there are a hundred and fifty pokemon
but only one of you
you are the legendary love that i could never catch
i remember kissing your Meowth and it was beautiful and fierce
do you remember, darling, the way you Jinxed our stars
You Charmandered me, left my cheeks pink and rosy
Gave me an Electabuzz
The heat rose to my face every time we locked eyes
(i always was a bit Oddish)
I want to Pikachu when you don't think I'm looking, as you stroll through the crowds of your own thoughts
But you Rapidashed out of my life.
Is it Farfetch'd to wonder if you ever think of the Eeveening under the stars
When you said there was no Chansey that we could ever be together
Well
I remember
And I say
Ditto
to that.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
I've never done a challenge before, but I've been thinking on writing a poem about what kind of Pokemon I would be. I guess this would be more for the nerd-type people here. But I challenge others to write what kind of Pokemon they would be. Let me know if you accept so I can check it out.
If I Were A Pokemon....
I would be a Ditto.
I'm Ditto because I'm a different person depending on who I'm with.
I tend to transform into what others like.
I become what they want to see out of me.
Whether that means always joking around,
Being a little extra sad,
Talking "like a Christian",
Or talking like a "normal" person my age.
I will become whatever you want just to make you happy,
Because it doesn't matter who I really am.
I'm Ditto
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
Citrus trees, tomatoes, and fertile soil
Garliconiongingersoy
and ant spray
Contentment
Cigarettes and hate
Aqua Net
White school paste
Bitter slimy spinach
and blue ditto ink
Confusion
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Baseball glove
Mown grass
Fresh popcorn
Sadness
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cramped, stale cars
Claustrophobia and
Cat litter
Loneliness
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Petroleum
Locker Rooms
and Perfume
Indifference
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Smoggy skies
Salty beaches
Beer trucks at each end of the block
Love
And...
Blessed...
Divorce
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 3:13 PM UTC
I like slandering your makeshift forceps.
I hammer you down with watery *** and then spill
the remainder on the couch. Yarg! A diamond’s
worth at least a small intestine, and you
are worth whatever’s left over after night
has upended itself, poured sideways out of its
shellacked crawlspace, and turned the basement sour.
There are remnants of you in the park,
some red stain by the baseball field where,
if you’ll remember, you watched little leaguers
build teamwork, and faint splotches on tree bark
from your lactations which, if you’ll remember, happened
every morning. I whisper your godforsaken name
and am slapped in the head. The children cry
when I smile. I cry when the children smile. Good
heavens. I forbid you from not entering my corridor,
even as I set up a barricade. I like my water scalding,
my passion chilled, and I like you in easy-to-
swallow doses. I like you in my eggs.
Ditto the faucet, keyboard, the occasional lily,
but do not mess with my pearls. I mumble of apodictic
meadows while I sleep. What can I say?
I do not mumble of unclogging your bathtub,
which has a certain foul repute, and has grown
heavy and ugly with your hair, which is everywhere,
just as you are everywhere, and wherever, and so
********* hidden it’s not funny anymore, we stopped
looking some millennia ago, after scouring the drainpipes,
kicking down your doors, dissecting your mattress,
speculating about your burial site, etcetera, and even so
we have not been really looking all this time, have we,
just blaring your name through the speakers,
putting wrong numbers on our calling cards, leaving
uncooked meat out on the back porch as if you were
a raccoon, oh, or a lion, which you are not, or not
quite, though, as the books say, you have honey
in your stomach, and if you could but be
ripped open we would taste and see.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 8:21 PM UTC
SUMMER SUN
............................he walks the long beach
and is it's song
WARRIOR'S FIGHT
................muses from the cliff top
pondering "peace"
MOONLIGHT PEACE
...........................she is the mighty mistress
of the dance
DANCING BEAR
..................follows the swift stream
to its source
CREATION'S GLORY
...............awaits all the tribal youth
who want to learn
TOGETHER ALWAYS
........................watches all from
the council teepee
ah the tribe.....each one free!
no one named
TAX PAYER!
or
TEA BAG MAN!
or
STINKING ****** LIBERAL!
or
DITTO HEAD SHAM!
-----------
TRIBAL LOVE
not
TRIVIALITY
no
PATRIOTS!
just
YOU AND ME
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 10:28 AM UTC
Distressed, Dismayed
Disturbed, Disdain
Distant, Feeling Disconnected
Worlds Dislocated
Disgruntled, Disorganized,
Dismayed, Drained
Disarray Abounds
Dispersed into Nothingness
Dead, Ditto, Ditto
of Dance, Delight and Dreams
At the passing of my beloved
Death Draws Me In...
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
before existentialism, and nietzsche in mind, philosophy was written
or spoken of accepting the socratic rigidity of words,
the rigidity of words known through
the socratic method of inquiry:
the simplest of questions imposed on
the meaning of words; e.g. what is virtue?
but with existentialism this old method
of inquiry, the poised posing bewilderment
lost its quality, in that the new method of
inquiry was given to stress not a method
of questioning but that of ambiguity,
even though this new method that simply
said the reverse of what is virtue as
the preservation of a narrative: "virtue" concedes
many variations exampled true, e.g. -
this dittoing going against - previously said /
as above - became staged against
a brick wall - since this method, the existential
method of brushing aside inquiry and entering
the realm of ambiguity was already present -
the pluralism of meaning found in certain words;
it isn't a question whether red or blue can
be ambiguous, this allocation of noun
and quality is all too pervasive - so when
an ambiguity is allowed to exercise its stressor
posit - the word in question is allocated
a verb orientation in its exercise of use and example,
further diluted by the quantity and lack of example,
and ascribed contorting
adjectivity due to the dilution of meaning: with lessened
recognition of sought out qualification to sentence
an enzymic perfection of: banker and philanthropist,
priest and maximilian kolbe, poetry and lack of envy.
even though these examples are idealistic,
they provide the obvious ambiguity already apparent,
hence the double ambiguity of opposites, ideal opposites.
in shorthand - if socrates were to come
upon reading existentialism - his questions
regarding the virtues would be bound to free floating
terms in the ditto bubbles of flimsiness of non-inquiry -
bewildered by the number of prompts to question,
there would be no necessary ambiguity to many other
terms of inactivity - such as the previously mentioned
red and blue, dog and glue, but too many, it would seem,
should a strict belief in categorising virtue as a noun
but not a verb be kept - for categorisation of such nature
only provides a linear cascade without due action
or cared for imitation - ending with the only chance of virtue
chanced and seen as an unvirtuous person
doing crossword puzzles in silence - and already
virtue's opposite is engaged in defending itself
and justifying its ills by first forcing many synonyms to
cover it in ambiguity, and asserting itself as an adjective
within a noun framework blunt: virtue v. unvirtuous
will only confiscate siamese phonetic mingling to ease the definition;
i guess that's how rhyming was born, the opposite
of alphabetical ordering: a, aardvark the violet's blue
****** a doughnut with you.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
.university was such a bad idea... i'm starting to think... isn't university the place where only women and rapists are admission worthy?! forget the men... you're on your own!
gorgeous lisp...
Fionna
from Fraserburgh...
worked in
a nightclub to
pay for a mandolin,
and play her maggie may...
outside her window...
her sweetness imbue of
honey and the letter G
stumbling into a "stutter"....
and?
one detail...
she loved
queen's innuendo...
the ooh ooh bit
and the otherwise
Spanish rodrigo
in-between composer...
i left Edinburgh...
because my heart was
not into it...
my eyes were...
but in my heart...
i was not standing on
an island, but an iceberg...
too many English
private school educatde kids...
too much interconnected
meritocracy bargains...
said via grandfather earned
ditto position through
the connectivity of his, father's
father...
no...
i won't have that
******** hanging before
me like a carrot, while
i play the donkey...
sorry... no...
shouldn't have lied
about your mother being your sister,
and your grandmother being
your mother...
then?!
Leningrad would
have made sense!
thankfully?
it still doesn't!
and doubly thankful for it
that i am, in saying:
it, never, will!
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC
basic arithmetic in terms of punctuation, otherwise? simply the arithmetic of punctuation: what does (,) equal? what does (.) equal? what does (:) equal? what does (-) equal? what does (;) equal? come on, quick! quick! give me a number!
to think, is to not narrate,
much of what is regarded as
"thinking", simply becomes as art
of narration
that is sofa-bound, i.e. so comfortable
that it feels it has no inclination
toward the use of hands as ever
being idle, it simply replaces
hands with a tongue...
hence: idle speech,
hence political speech;
so if the "devil" has work for idle hands,
then "god" has work for the idle zunge
(tongue)...
but most people don't think,
because their thinkling is solely about
narrating,
their day-to-day...
and i appreciate this custom,
in the cognitive realm...
i really do...
how many jokes ushered into
the void of one's silence, neither whisphers,
nor hummings, nor whistling...
wiser still, essentially unchanged...
but heidegger's aphorism no. 285
really bothers me...
the reader looking into the narrator
given the existentialist inverted commas
(iberian inverted questioning
¿ ? that's the first step toward
an iberian existentialism)
said the third person,
with third party sources, the middle man,
the second person, and then the reader
of the writer's original testimony?
if northern existentialism (french / german...
the english were too reactionary, and
too easily bored by the continental drift)
encompasses the tool that's " "
then the iberian tool has to be the inverted
question mark, i.e. ¿ ?,
sitting comfortably? no? how about a wheelchair...
let me just break your legs and your spine.
but aphorism 285: "worldview",
"grounding", "configuring"...
i don't understand this allocation of ambiguity,
and an italic stress on da-sein / da-sein...
aren't all the three descriptive elements /
adjectives the purposive sentiments for
originating the concept of dasein?
i had to counter with an iberian existential tool...
after all i said, 'he said', "we said"...
it's a third party medium
of supposed ambiguity...
if there's a santa claus (satan's clause),
then there's pontius pilate's clause,
found in the existential tool of double-ditto " "
or as the english like to say: inverted commas;
or the ritual: of washing your hands clean
from passing the judgement...
they're citation marks to be honest, come on,
let's be pompous, they donned 19th top-hats
at ascot's horse races! who's fooling who?
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
following on with my current obsession with my tomato growing experiment, ive decided to look at books, and films, and any other related tomato themes, as follows:
The Tomatoes Of Wrath-Steinbeck
A Midsummer Night's Tomato-Shakespeare
Tomato And Juliet-Ditto
Frankentomato-Shelley
Alice in Tomatoland-Carrol
Night Of The Living Tomato-zombie horror!
E.T.- Extra Tomato!
Tomatoes And Prejudice-Austen
I Heard It On The Tomato Vine-Marvin Gaye
You're So Vine- Carly Simon
Summertime (and the living is tomato)-Ella Fitzgerald
LGBT-LGB+Tomato
BY Jemia de Tomatoville 😏🍅🍅🍅🦋💕🙄
any other suggested ideas welcome, as i may bring out a book on the subject (but thankfully, probably won't!) and will, or not, call it Tomato Wrong!
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:38 AM UTC
You have me stuck on
repeat playing this love
song all day long
each day I profess
my secrets in various
tunes describing
how magnificent you are
how special you are
how much you mean to me
I wonder if you will ever tire
of the continual song
until you recite back a melody
complimenting mine
mirroring my emotions
by simply saying ditto
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
now, ladies and gentlemen,
as you can plainly see
I am quite adroit and learned
and this lady quite occupied
I am, let me make it clear,
extremely preoccupied
keeping this lady warm and happy
as she in her turn does ditto for me
Now whether we please ourselves missionary
or front to front
is really no business of yours -
but it’s purely and ****** our business and pleasure
So, most lovely ladies and resourceful gentlemen
you must find yourself a different room each
and leave me to fiddle or ****** as I wish
O shame on you ladies -
do you not lure your men
far enough into your depths?
O shame on you men -
do you not come hard enough on your women?
go you now and find each a body
and go spiritual, ****** or *****
have no guilt, enjoy abandon
love as you wish -
but really, you busybodies,
it’s time for you to relinquish pretense of surprise
and depart from here, and
leave one body busy with the other
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:52 AM UTC
This feeling brings my face to show a slight red on the carmel surface
My eyes twitch and open and close rapidly
Who would have thought I would be nervous
You are not my first not even my second
but they were merely covers
you being my third are also my first in my mind
I can't foresee all that might come
The road might me bumpy
It might contain some curves real steep curves
Or it might be smooth as a baby's bottom
I don't know what I might feel
But I am willing to jump in
For I am that type of guy
Who goes ahead pluges head first ignoring the waring sign
I will be honest with you though
If what we have doesnt feel right to me I will say
and If I do feel like it should last forever ditto
For you deserve the truth no matter what
So as the days start to dwindle to when we can see each other agian
One feeling is all I have
I am Nervous
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
U no, eat sins two mee,
u guise knead
two loose wait
sew hear, aye woosh
two
offal ewe sum add vice
Ewe can star art
**** ditto menation
aunt u knead too exorcise
Moove eat, keep mooving
moove mulch; doe nut ****
down two mulch, move you’re *****
inn smell poorshuns
Ant walk two da shups
in stayed off you sing da carr
Dee impotent ding
hiss da wheel
four wear they’re’s
a wheel, they’re’s all weighs
a weigh
goad lick
loose wait
anne stain hell tea
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
.as i once explained the concept of a seasonal diet to a pair of english pensioners, citing the Essex strawberry harvest, counter the Spanish winter imports... certain graveyards, in winter, can unnecessarily compete with museums, stressed as focal points during summer.
who is here,
to, expect...
comfortable?
i sacrifice the
aspect of museum,
in order,
to find a second tier
of peace...
within the confines
of cemeteries'
exfoliation
of statues...
weathered,
slightly hidden...
in guise,
of half living, half dead...
yet all the more:
ever watchful,
that persistent...
prosecutor stature...
with death...
the sole "ambiguity"
of a...
jury;
a jury...
with a persona non grata?!
mon deus!
but one answer:
je suis mort!
since?
it is really hard.. to re-appreciate revisiting
museums at this point...
whatever the ancient in modern
terms focus for the pre-Byzantine
marble...
the open air extravaganza
of statues in a Slavic cemetery?
weathered, chiseled by a shyness?
teased out of existence?
primordial in a focus
of being haunted?!
well... museums have nothing to offer,
given this fleshed out
excavation.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC
Here, I wrote a bridal guide,
A rule book for future brides,
No matter if you're fair, fat and wide,
Or not, here's some dependable asides,
First, keep degrees and jobs up to date,
With some mates you can't relate,
You never know when the rats will turn,
To being a doormat, is what to spurn,
Keep some getaway money set aside,
This is important in a bridal guide,
Always update your roadside assist,
Without that, car bingles can get you miffed,
Ditto home and car insurance too,
Note these well, I say to brides like you,
Never take drugs if to Bali you roam,
Then you shall definitely not be coming home.
Herein, I wrote a bridal guide,
My rule book for future brides.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:23 AM UTC
My expression in verse and word.
It is my rock.
My salvation though I. Walked away when limbs were healed. Over the
Years. It sat in dusty corner like the forgotten bookcase.
Runway living. Reaching for the next thing distraction.
Social interaction has become a relic. As we wiggle and prance but
Speak less about truth. Face to face. Eye to eye.
Raise your hands out there if you hear me.
Look up from. The screen if you know. Ditto.
Pain is the great equalizer. Fatigue makes cowards of us all.the mighty has a date as well as the meek .
Nod your head if too weak to speak.
I swear. This coil.
This man-ifestation of struggle and toil.
Fear not. The bottom approaches with a rush. A sudden stop.
It is the anticpation that tingles and teases.
Breathlessly we glide.
My words are my blessing and damnation. Barbed and tipped with buffalo ****
Sweet as the sweetest nectar. Volatile and ******
Willful and recklessly they exit to strike and injure.caress. Convince.
My fathers legacy. Process of elimination.
Truth. Has gone wanting today
Never to return I fear. A vagabond.outcast.
A *****
The wellspring rustles and bubbles patiently not stagnant.
Time is of essence an essence. In essence. A dab or two behind each ear.and sodium pentothal. politicians fess up.
Money caves see sunlight in all corners the thief has absconded. The judge
Slinks down from his perch blood red hands clasped behind his back
There stands the summit. Still I must climb. Unknown the other side.
Will truth abide? there .Another expanse of lies and distortion.Trickeration says I.
a misty bog. Listen. Bagpipes ?. The leafless branch vibrates a siren song to the sod.
The shimmering pool in the parched desert of god.
I stagger foward now unaware. No I am past caring. The will still is there
A ghost. Soon soon.
No ?. No. A mirage
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
On the playgrounds of the future
Children will laugh and sing
And we’ll cross the bridge to real peace
Where the bells of sanity shall ring
Until then we’ll play the game
Which will all add up to naught
“It’s your fault, no, it’s theirs…”
Why some fail at what is taught.
We’ve been given new books and bosses
Numerous regs to do the job
But money flows to the burbs
Inner-cities fair game to rob
Touching the future may seem easy
From a point too far away
One could assume it’s all just ditto -
Then lunch - then math - then play
If this is your belief
You could not be further from the fact
That success is measured forward
As we have our students’ back
So forward we will plod
Secretly teaching to the mean
We will test, and test and test
From which all congress shall glean
Information in nice neat form
Of bars and charts sublime
Symbolic of teachers and students
Who have been sentenced to hard time
And the monied districts shall rule
Golden in and out
And the bootstraps will appear
Accusing all who doubt
Good will be the words to spread
And many who will eat them
The failures will be shown the straps
But for pity’s sake, don’t beat them
G. Davis-Feldman
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
We are all but sailors who drift upon love's seas
But one thing I can't seem to decipher is if the lighthouse is you or me
For this wretched tide tosses and turns me into a face in the crowd
And I pray to God that searchlight will turn on and finally single me out
For I am sick with love for you and seem to be obscured
Pondering on which of us is ill and which is the cure
And all I know is seasickness is making me yearn for home
And the open doors that are your arms let me know you're sick of being alone
So I will weather the storm clouds and the ever tossing sea
And I will look to you and know I'm the one for whom you're waiting
For when it comes down to star-struck hearts that finally choose to collide
It matters not on the infliction or remedy but that they're brought together in time
With this in mind I will fall in love with you and wrestle my way to the coast
So then you can see the days have been long and of my journey I will boast
And any treasure I find, whether lighthouse or sailor, is worth the world to me
But until then, if you seek me, my love, look outwards to sea
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
As militant Mullahs mutter and pray
And plan their Mosque near ground Zero
Protesters march and people say:
“This isn't right! They'll have to go.”
But let's demur and make no noise
No tears, no threats, no signs approve.
It would profane our civic faith
To tell the Mullah he must move.
The Towers’ fall brought harm and fear
Men reckon what that did and meant;
But building a “cultural Center” near
Though demonized, is innocent.
Dull couch potatoes of the Right
Those ditto heads who can't admit
Tolerance, cause it doth reprove
Those thoughts that have them in a snit.
But we, my love, are so refined
that we ourselves don't care one whit.
Let them build it, come what may
But build a brothel next to it.
Two buildings place there, cheek to cheek:
the Mosque and “Annie’s House of Pain”.
One dealing with things spiritual,
The other deals with things profane.
In both, salvation is for sale
It seems to me a perfect fit.
For do not both invoke God's name?
-and both, I fear, use whips a bit.
students at the Madrasah may
hear the cries of Joy next door
on her mattress, hard at play
While they use prayer mats on the floor.
.
Will they too prove as tolerant?
Live and let live, for now- they say
When they enforce Sharia law,
The folks next door will learn to pray.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 8:54 PM UTC
Thank you so very much All!!
<3<3:):)!!R
Your Welcome so very much,
I would think the reasons of the words,
and along with what is apparent at times,
Is in one form true to words and spirit spoken,
All the same that need and want so much...
So as this per X'actly the case hereby performed as demonstrated by,
Ears and eYe of Heart's instructional inner pathway already,
Ready for what;
Love is calling doing being need mete need;
Bingo Ditto Copy Roger dat ova n' ova
Glory Be Glory Showing
Sowing Growing
Ripening Seed
and IDK if you read my poems but;
Blessed More X-Mass All the More For All the More Can Be!!!
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/idk-if-you-read-much-my-poems-but/
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
Ì faccio 'o schiattamuorto 'e prufessione,
modestamente songo conosciuto
pè tutt'e ccase 'e dinto a stu rione,
peccheè quann'io manèo 'nu tavuto,
songo 'nu specialista 'e qualità.
Ì tengo mode, garbo e gentilezza.
'O muorto nmano a me pò stà sicuro,
ca nun ave 'nu sgarbo, 'na schifezza.
Io 'o tratto comme fosse 'nu criaturo
che dice 'o pate, mme voglio jì a cuccà.
E 'o co'cco luongo, stiso 'int"o spurtone,
oure si è viecchio pare n'angiulillo.
'O muorto nun ha età, è 'nu guaglione
ca s'è addurmuto placido e tranquillo
'nu suonno doce pè ll'eternità.
E 'o suonno eterno tene stu vantaggio,
ca si t'adduorme nun te scite maie.
Capisco, pè murì 'nce vò 'o curaggio;
ma quanno chella vene tu che ffaie?
Nn'a manne n'ata vota all'al di là?
Chella nun fa 'o viaggio inutilmente.
Chella nun se ne va maie avvacante.
Sì povero, sì ricco, sì putente,
'nfaccia a sti ccose chella fa a gnurante,
comme a 'nu sbirro che t'adda arrestà.
E si t'arresta nun ce stanno sante,
nun ce stanno raggione 'a fà presente;
te ll'aggio ditto, chella fa 'a gnurante...
'A chesta recchia, dice, io nun ce sento;
e si nun sente, tu ch'allucche a ffà?
'A morta, 'e vvote, 'e comme ll'amnistia
che libbera pè sempe 'a tutt'e guaie
a quaccheduno ca, parola mia,
'ncoppa a sta terra nun ha avuto maie
'nu poco 'e pace... 'na tranquillità.
E quante n'aggio visto 'e cose brutte:
'nu muorto ancora vivo dinto 'o lietto,
'na mugliera ca già teneva 'o llutto
appriparato dinto a nù cassetto,
aspettanno 'o mumento 'e s'o 'ngignà.
C'è quacche ricco ca rimane scritto:
" Io voglio un funerale 'e primma classe! ".
E 'ncapo a isso penza 'e fà 'o deritto:
" Così non mi confondo con la ***** ".
Ma 'o ssape, o no, ca 'e llire 'lasse ccà?!
'A morta è una, 'e mezze songhe tante
ca tene sempe pronta sta signora.
Però, 'a cchiù trista è " la morte ambulante "
che può truvà p'a strada a qualunq'ora
(comme se dice?... ) pè fatalità.
Ormai per me il trapasso è 'na pazziella;
è 'nu passaggio dal sonoro al muto.
E quanno s'è stutata 'a lampella
significa ca ll'opera è fernuta
e 'o primm'attore s'è ghiuto a cuccà.
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