NorwegianDJ's journal of personal growth


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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It’s not long after, that I am suddenly walking behind you in the forest. We set up our pillow fort and have our little talk. I tell you that this is the moment that I want to introduce you to changa – to DMT. We go on a few light ventures, and your world blows wide open as you realise that you are not crazy after all. All these beautiful little ideas of yours come from this dense place of infinite illusions. I’m looking at you as you flash at the speed of several avatars a second. You are made of pure, bittersweet magic and illusion. We find ourselves back on the ground and I see you behind your eyes for the first time. I’ve been looking for you for so long! Words can’t describe the confluence of joy and sadness I experience as you look back at me from the depths of your inner innocence.

The mist has faded and the sunrise is well in motion as we make our way back on the playa. We stumble over a fun little LSD workshop, and you put another four drops into my mouth. We go find him; your friend, now my friend. For an hour him and I talk about our conflict. The most consistent God that I’ve been able to praise in this life, is truth. I offer up what’s alive in me freely and compassionately, and I am always, without fail, rewarded for my bravery. We get on a really good vibe as I take ownership of my own actions and allow the full measure of my pain to come to the surface. It’s truly awful and wonderful, because these next few hours that the three of us spend together were the most safe and at home I felt the entire week. You stayed behind with me on the hill and did your best to comfort me as I again fell apart in front of you in a dark little room in the temple. You left me and went back to your camp and I am again abandoned. For a brief hour I wander the forest and I come back on top of the hill to look for you. I see you in the distance, the two of you, him sitting behind you. Getting closer and closer. I’m not allowed there with you. I’ve seen this whole process through with a perfection resonating on all levels, and here I am, ripped to pieces. I saunter back into the carnival and find the drums in front of me. I am brought back to the memory of last night’s ceremony as I start to slap them through my teary eyes. I alternate between hitting the drums in futility and falling deep into anguish. I am losing it. I am losing myself. My tears and wails and whimpers take me over as I feel hands on my feet and shoulders. Caring hands putting water to my lips, but their faces cannot hold space for me, so I drift back to the playa.

I can feel that I am just a hair’s breadth away from falling endlessly. I consider the potential of wandering deep into the forest, where I’ll scream and cry so much that at some point I finally won’t be able to tell the difference between my cries and laughter, my joy and my despair. But there he is, the giddy Swede. I run up to him and I say, “Wow!” “Ah, wow!” He says back to me. I ask if he has space for me. He hugs me and holds me tight and listens as I sob through my story. I land a little bit in his arms as he cries with me. “It’s so sad”, he says. It’s just so sad. There’s a yoga class happening in front of us, so I drag a mat on stage and join. On my elevated surface I follow my breath with curiosity deep into my body. In front of everyone I repeatedly lose track of what’s happening as I shake and heave and tremble as tears flow out of my eyes. My heart has been cut open and all the pain stored inside is streaming out. Afterwards, the teacher sits with me for a brief eternity. I try to take care of her, but she wilfully gives me her full unconditional attention. She has these beaming eyes that speak unequivocally: I am here and I love you. They fill with tears as I tell her my story. I can feel how she has breathed consciousness into her entire body as she clutches me tight to her chest. Oh dear lord, have mercy on me.

I find my friends by the lake and with them find both my feet and my joy. Back at camp, I make us dinner and blast a vibe on the speakers, with some pockets of crying in-between. I find myself shaking my hands all the time, unloading the excess energy. Eventually nightfall approaches and we head to the big burn. At least a thousand of us are gathered as we set fire to the enormous pyre of wood. Massive amounts of energy is pouring out of me and into the fire. Hundreds of naked bodies start running around the scorching flames. I leave all my clothes behind and join them all. Running and running and running, screaming and chanting. The flames are so intense that all the naked bodies turn to a blur.

My friends and I are at the spa by the lake. The energy I had dissipates and I can barely put one foot in front of the other, but as all hope is about to be lost, there’s she is: an angel! She found me and dominated me on the dance floor last year. She takes off my shoes, sits with me and gives me a foot bath, dries my feet with great care, and with love sends me off into the night. On my way back to camp I stumble into a gong-bath. I am greeted and I lay down. The host puts a few fingers on my breastbone and with force pins me down on the ground. Repeat after me, he says. “I am safe.” “I am home.” “I am whole.” It becomes my mantra as I start convulsing in tremendous grief. Tears split from my eyes as I spasm sporadically. “I love myself.” “Feel how good it feels to say it.” I feel the warmth emanating out from my chest as I repeat his words over and over. Suddenly my chest shoots up from the ground and I feel my heart breaking open. He leaves me as I lay there spasming under a blanket, eventually falling into a deep slumber.

The next morning we pick you up at your camp and start putting distance between this incredible world that we had built together, and back into civilisation and life as we know it. I am completely dysregulated as I am walking up and down the hill awaiting your presence. I feel like a hurt and betrayed animal as you plop into the seat next to me. You try to caress me, but I won’t respond or look at you. My whole body is tense and I can’t tell if I want to run, scream, fall into your lap, or push you out the window.

The unbearable lightness of your being took some getting used to. Eventually I softened into your lap, and in the midst of all my injustice and suffering, I allowed your love to hold me all the way home. We went to bed at different times and when you awoke you went to stay with him for two days. It was a tough transition in which I had to hold myself. You are not home, you’re with him, and I have no idea when you’ll return. It’s at times like these that my rejection sensitivity dysphoria and abandonment wounds kick into high-gear. I’m flooded by thoughts of you having fun together, touching each other, smiling at each other, caressing and dancing. It pulls these tears out from the depths of my being. I can’t quite figure them out. The feeling I get when I shudder and those tears start to flow, is that I am unworthy and will always be alone. Inadequate and unlovable. Life will always be too effortful and straining for me. I am too sensitive. I am too much and I can feel so intimately each and every memory of people turning their feet, gaze, and attention away from me. I breathe into my heart, and I relax and release. I’ve been down this road before and I don’t need to go through unnecessary suffering this time around.

You were up early and got into bed at some late hour. I awoke, took a drop of LSD, and went for a long walk by the lakes. By the time I came home I was more grounded, but I am still shocked to see your face in the living room. My serenity was readily exposed as a distant sadness in your presence, and I started crying within a minute. I am scared that you’ll move on without me and that we won’t be in each other’s lives anymore, and that time will do violence to our love. I just love being loved by you, and I miss you so much. My body yearns with such an intensity for the closeness of your body. To see myself reflected in your burning, innocent eyes. Now it is simply you that I see. I don’t want to spend the rest of our time together in sadness, I say. I want us to be happy and to laugh and to leave each other and look back in glee and gratitude. By now in this writing moment, the emotion has moved through me and I’m not able to capture how beautifully we touched ground again. We spent a few hours cleaning up together and moving about each other, talking, kissing, and holding. It is said that some things can only be healed in relationship, and this time that we got to spend together was so powerfully freeing. We got to be together in the wake of the storm that had passed through us, and we got to experience that our love was lighter and that the constraints on our togetherness had lifted. We are not good for each other; we should not be primary partners or perhaps even partners, but we have offered up so much of our truth to each other that our lives are forever intertwined. We have grown apart, together. And that, too, is so tenderly beautiful.

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Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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I can't stand these evenings, these nights.
I try to numb the grief, the self-defeat, and the loneliness.
Headache too strong to read a book. Will too weak to open up to adventure.
I slumber into the computer.
Sickness hit me hard start of last week. My forward-moving, sovereign energy was sucked out of me. I am left defeated in my pity.
It has been so nice, to clean up everything and to find parts of myself anew. To reach out to everyone close to me, waving my white flag in distress. To be busy and loved in those days where you haunted my nights. Then, nobody called out to me anymore.
I've just been eating ice cream.
I still haven't bought a single one. I've stolen them all. They're crazy expensive.
I'm almost done watching the new spider man. I realized I had to watch the Avengers movies first, so, here I am.
It's honestly been quite alright. Smoking weed and forgetting my late-night despair in the movies.

I just returned her to the world, you know? Not just that, I placed her into the perfect life. Perfect friends, perfect work, perfect partner.
In my contrast, I grieve.
It's a particular pain, to watch such a love up-close and to accept it.
Then to find the wisdom to let go of my resentment.
I just never saw that coming, you know? Her eyes are so innocent. She's the kindest person I've met.
I see how my boundaries were valid. How it was also right of me to not fully open up to her shadows.
I just thought that if I just opened my heart enough, because that's what changed my life; when someone did that for me.
If I didn't have my boundaries, she would've run over me like a wildfire.
It really was traumatic to come to terms with how she went from loving me to dehumanizing me.
Then again, it was never about me.


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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It's funny how time works.
How these emotions pass through us.
It's been a short while. Month and a half. 5 weeks.
How precious.

I took time to myself. I took care of myself. I fell through the floor. Stayed there for a little while. Sat up and had some meals on the floor. Just me. Brought the floor with me to my yoga classes. Cried. Cried and cried in yoga. I found strength in my community. I found that those with their eyes open came closer to me. Mourned with me and celebrated with me. We became dear to each other, so fast. I'm so glad I have that safe space. Nothing like a good ol' tear-drippin' downward-dog.

I've tended to myself well.
It's a process. I'm only just now facing my creative challenges. My companion Julia Cameron and I have some creative unblocking to do.
And it's exciting. Still, I am here, instead of there.

I went to several flea markets each weekend. I reinvented myself in her wake. I came of age under her vision. I found my style alongside her. Now I got to shed it all off and do it all on my own. It's been so empowering and healing to build my own little armour, garment by garment. I'm excited for what the future holds.

The pain faded. Events unfolded. Life picks you up and puts you down again.
Now, a new love?
Careful, intentional steps.
I find myself, devoted to someone that wants to be devoted to me.
Oh how loving it is to be together. I love discovering myself in her presence.
She extends her arms first. She steps into vulnerability. She holds the space.
She opens the conversations. She caresses me and pulls me close.
Holds me there. I melt in her arms as she puts her soul into her fingertips.
What will happen here? Where did you come from? Aren't you too young to have the world coursing through your veins?
Do you want to be the first one to break my heart, she asks me?
With such tender grace.
Back to the blueprint. I yield my power. Can I feel the truth? Can I be honest about what this is to me?
Not how does she make me feel, but: how do I feel about her?
I've never met someone that takes care of me. She prioritizes my safety; that I have a container to unfold into.
No push, and no pull. Just an invitation.
Where have you been all my life?
Who are we, to each other?
Is it natural? Do we enjoy it? Can we sustain it? Is it enough?
I want to go on this unlabelled journey with you.
I think I can love you.
I think I can be loved by you.
Amen. (Inshallah? Mashallah)
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Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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It was just last evening that we were sitting on the kitchen floor, huddled together.
I've never told anyone these things before.
The moment I told you, I burst out in tears.
They've been coming on hard the past two days. It's been a lot.

I didn't ever think I'd have a predator in my own home, at my own party, as my own friend.
And to see that I didn't take action sooner. That none of us really did anything about it.
I was scared for my life, but I never felt out of control.

You came to me yesterday.
We haven't seen each other in a week and a half. We're on the backlog and it is palpable.
We have to talk, is the sentence I saw when I woke up. What did I do? What did you do?
She must be pregnant. For two hours my mind was scattered all over that space.
I decided that I'd stay by her side. I feel so good about this girl.

You sent me a voice message.
When I heard the way your voice cracked, my world stopped.
I cancelled everything and we finally found each other again.
I can't believe we keep doing this. Every time we meet, we start out on fresh ground. There you are. Here I am. And then we touch. And we come apart, and we talk. And it's a little uneasy, and it's easy. We settle, together. And it's just so calm and fun.
I just keep on falling as you catch me.
I felt it in my chest. This conglomeration of emotions.
I am falling in love with you. You're falling into me.

I am scared.
You tell me about your boundaries. Your lack of a sense of self. How you morph and flow in response to the outside world, to me.
You're scared.
Scared of entering into an agreement built of expectations that you are not ready for.
What if you choose into the relationship, I say. We've talked it over and we're behaving the same as before. What will be different?
What if I don't set expectations, and you can decide for yourself what it means for you to be in a relationship, as we keep naturally unfolding as this person for each other?

I thought we were in trouble.
The pressure overflows and I finally start to cry as you hold me tight.
It's the weekend that has taken its toll.
I'm so disappointed, I say. We saw it happening and unfolding in front of us on Saturday.
My friend has substance abuse issues. She joined our beautiful congregation in taking MDMA together. But she got so drunk as well, so fast.
I don't have much to say about this, here.
We cried.

I came to her aid in the early morning hours. I claimed my bed and he started to carry her away with him.
I told him no, she's staying with me.
That's when she came to life. She started pointing to me and resisting.
He came over to me and started running his game. Gaslighting, manipulating, and aggressing.
He's got a triple black belt in Karate and he's got a lean 20 kilos on me as well as a fair few inches.
Before I went to have this confrontation I hid all the knives in the apartment.
I know him. I know his ways. I have him in the palm of my hand and I just need to ride out these energy waves.
It's taking a long time. Two hours total. In-between all the narcissism, he comes in for hugs that last minutes. I just stroke his back and keep him in my heart.
When I push back on him and stand my ground, he turns increasingly violent. I can see it in his eyes, the evil that wants to come out.
I knew if he decided to, there's nothing we could do about it.
Finally he's out the door and I let him know that he is not welcome and no longer my friend. He threatens me that I better not spread any fake rumours, and leaves.
I gather us together and we decompress, cry, and hold each other.

The following morning we rested and ate and laughed and smiled.
We had such an intimate, safe, and ecstatic weekend. What a band of misfits I've found myself with.
It's so precious, when we just allow each other and permit our own enjoyment.
These spaces must be closely guarded, and I am standing at the gate.

This week I am seeing one or two of them each day. They all want to see me. To relish in that space that we created together.
It's good to see myself reflected in their eyes. They see the work that I've done and they praise me, and they enjoy each other.
It's good to find company and solace again.
I can't believe I'm falling in love.


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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Hello world.
Been a moment.
I find that the things that I want to write, don't belong on a pseudonymous forum.
But then again, who am I without an audience?

It's been seven months since my last entry.
It's almost three years since I moved to Copenhagen.
It's been ten days since you asked me to be your boyfriend.

Last month I was in India. I think we were apart for 45 days.
Today you leave yourself, and I'll see you back here in a month, before we spend a brief month in Southern France.
I've moved apartments and I have this month of July to really dig into what it is that I want and how it is that I can make it come about.
My neck is worse than ever and I must bring it diligent attention and approach it in novel ways.

I'm coming to see that the very foundational interface that I experience the world through, is really just my own, and not some form of default experience.

It's just, I feel sad.
I've been keeping myself so occupied for the last three years.
I need to schedule more silence into my days.
I don't want to continue on with my lived experience.
It falls short. Life gets to be a celebration and a flow and a curious search. We're selling our souls for a pageant. And it's not particularly fulfilling.

It's just that I am starting to feel, quite intimately, just what is needed to step through into the next level.
The visceral ripping apart of my insides that I touch here and there.
It is absolutely brutal the emotions that I must let be and let go and accept and surrender to. It feels so much worse than death.
And it's great and it's awful, because that's where my life is dragging me.
Either, I stand my ground and look it in the eye; I orient myself towards it completely and with disciplined and diligent steps, I lean into it until I freefall to the other side.
Or, I make the easy choices. I don't question my doubt. I keep taking the same actions and having the same thoughts. My life loops as it batters me against the ground of being.

If you don't like the poetry, then go look somewhere else.
Ultimately, I try to remember just how lucky I am.
You're not supposed to get everything you wish for.
Sure, it may not come to you in the way that you expect, but life really becomes a show-reel when you orient yourself towards something greater than yourself.
It's just a weird experience, you know. To repeatedly get everything you wish for, and to keep finding yourself, the same.

Yet, I keep changing.
I've found my best friend, and a lover that matches me on just about every level imaginable. We are equals and opposites and we also completely overlap. It's all a go. Every single bit.
It's just a little silly that we get to have each other. The impression that she is the most amazing person I've met, and among the most beautiful, those are just big middle-fingers to all things good and bad in this world.
So, here I am.
A king.

A king, cleaning his room. Moving things in and out of storage. A king, going on a walk around the lakes and putting out the yoga mat, opening up the ashtanga pdf and wilfully following through. Swinging the kettlebell and sitting on the meditation cushion. Making food and dreaming of creative fulfilment. Rudimental and rigidly performing step after step on a ladder that doesn't exist, to become someone not worthy of envy. Breathing into my neck. Dancing and walking and running and falling.

Yesterday I was at a big community gathering.
I was autistic the whole time. I never came out of my shell.
But I was alright with that. I still found myself social and had many satisfying interactions and made some new connections. A few flirts and some new ideas.

It is the understanding that life, without the pain and suffering, doesn't reveal it's nuanced beauty. It turns grey and the game fails to be worth the candle. That's all. I fvcking love myself. I've looked around for a long long time, and I keep finding that there's no one I'd rather be. At the same time, I'm just so done. Just very melancholic, and I'm scared of what that's gonna do to me.
But what good is worry and fear and self-preoccupation? One rigid foot in front of the other; each gnocchi different than the last. Another sunset, and another sunrise.


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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"A letter to India"

You say I am too emotional.

Do you see on how many levels that hits?
What am I to do with that? I am trapped; I cannot respond.

Can I find words to describe how deep this traces?

Well, we can begin with that I am trapped.
How can I have a legitimate emotional reaction to such a statement?
I obviously agree with you. I don't necessarily enjoy my sensitivities. I don't enjoy that I get hurt so easily. I don't like how it lingers and that I am weak and that I ask for special treatment. I don't want that. I want to be larger than that and to be able to coexist with my hurt. I imagine me being with my hurt and still touching the heavens. Still remaining open and confident.
I find shame in my femininity. I often don't cry in front of you. On the phone. When you're in the room. I may step out for a little moment and have a quick release.

Maybe I buy into my emotions too much?
I think so. I've thought so for a long time.
I've always been told that I'm too sensitive. That my emotions are not legitimate. No one ever stood by my side and showed me how to regulate. When I regulated in my own way, I was told that my coping mechanisms were unproductive, and they were restricted. When I was happy, it didn't resonate. Seemingly only the mundane in me resonated. And now, I find myself mundane. I have learned to work with the mundane and to accept it, but I am terrified of the stagnant nature of it. It is death. It is the opposite of my emotions. Of my creativity. Of my life.

We can skip to the point.
You put yourself in a victim role and expect me to read the room and to come to your rescue.
When I fall short in this game, you blame me and I feel hurt.
Then you step into the rescuer role, because you can't stand to see me hurt.

It's just too bad that you don't like either of the roles you're playing.
That's very on the nose, but I had to get it out to find out what else is in here.

Let me be very clear.
There's a reason I'm putting pen to paper. I'm not going anywhere.
I will not forget you. I won't pluck you. Hopefully I'll put you back down whenever I do.
I could go on and on, but that's for another time.
I am here for us and I will keep showing up.
I hear you and I want to meet you where you are.
And you are so good, where you are.

I'm sorry that you haven't been allowed to express your hurt and your disagreement, your opinions and your wishes, your desires didn't come first, and you were often put in the path of fear and hurt.
Who I find when I meet with you, is my most favourite person I've ever met. My absolute most favourite, out of like, so many people. It's just a little bit crazy. You existing - maybe you will come to see just how fundamental your existence is to the beauty of how the world unfolds. At least, you will always be in the corner of my eye. Hanging out in one of my heart-doors.
Your beauty and your difficulty are two sides of the same coin. How can I ask for you to be different?

We're learning as we go.
I surely do think that there is something to adjusting ourselves towards each other.
I've always felt that part of loving someone is to understand them and to flow with that understanding.
And to that end, I believe that it is the consistent connection to our inner state that is our compass. It tells us how far we are willing to go at this moment. The middle way - you can feel when you step too far onto either side of it. Then it is our own responsibility to make adjustments to get ourselves back onto our path.

How willing are you to constantly consider how each and every single thing you do affects me?
Do you get tired of it? Do you need breaks? What happens when you run out of gas? When the pot starts to boil? How can you adjust before it happens? What can I do to be less of a burden?

How accepting can I be of being on the receiving end of your anger?
How big of an ask can I tolerate? How much pain can I hold, as I sculpt myself into something sweeter?
How long do I yield my own grievances?

I don't mind that you say stupid things. Well, I do. But let it be known that there is room for mistakes.
I'm not as good as you. At least that's what I find myself believing, that your heart is so ever-present. I only find myself inspired and in awe. Sometimes, though. Very rarely, the grief that you are suppressing comes out as anger. As indifference. Yeah, indifference. They say that the opposite of love is indifference. I get very scared and I suddenly feel how real it is. I want you to know that it belongs. It is slowly forging something robust inside of me, a groundless ground on which we can stand. On which we can love. I want this with you.

When you say that I am too emotional, I don't get to exist.
I'm having a hard time digging to the bottom of it, now that I am not in my despair.
You're very far away, and I am afraid that I am losing you as I fall short of myself every day.

I could be robust.
That attitude of yours certainly isn't gonna get me there, but I could be.
I could push things down. I could change the story in my head. I could be angry with you instead. I could put you down and trash you. I could really build myself strong and robust by pinning you to the ground. I wonder if I'd be enacting real damage onto our relationship if I did. I worry that you do.
But I could be robust.
I can stand more sturdy in the turbulence of my emotions. I don't have to feed them. I don't have to believe them or follow them. Worship them or endow them. What you do doesn't have to be my business. That's where we want to go, if you haven't realised. To love someone in such a way that they can be free. I know where I want to go.

You can have your eggs scrambled. The ginger can go. I can come to you and I can look out for you.
We can set boundaries and I can do it for you. You can tell me what you don't like. What you'd like more of. I want to see how much you can be. Maybe we take it too far in the other direction, and then we know.

Do you find hate for the roles you are playing?
Are you so cautious with me that you build resentment towards me?
Do you consider me so frail that you have to walk on eggshells around me?
How do you like it? The choices you make?
How do I play into it? How do I perpetuate it? How are we creating this together?
How long can you do this for? What needs to change? Can you ask for change?

I find it hard to exist in this unknown space. In this guessing game.
Don't get me wrong. Just like you were molded to please others, I am molded to sense others. I am at home in that space. It's my nature to drift in that quiet-zone. It is actually quite loud, if you pay attention. But it is hard to discern your own reality from someone else's, your own story from someone else's. It is full of interpersonal history and each avenue has its own texture that I can sense. Soft, spiky, hard, etc.
It is in each of these avenues that I find the difficulty with your statement.
But I can't seem to express it. Not now.

Maybe find yourself someone that isn't so emotional.
Someone that is masculine and confident and unrelenting. Someone that doesn't care what you do. Go, be free.
Find yourself someone that knows what they want and doesn't experience internal conflict. Someone that jumps on a surfboard and doesn't have a care in the world. Cuts open a papaya and loves you to the bone in their own inner security. Go, find them.
Get yourself a girl that you can treat however you want, and just takes it. Someone that reacts perfectly and adapts to each and every desire you have. Let her go.
Go find yourself a man that has forgotten who he really is. Go get lost for a while and dig yourself out. Go. Leave me.
Find yourself your person. Someone that reads your mind and stands their ground. Ruffles your feathers and screams with you. Find yourself someone that scares you. Take a leap and discover the world. I'll be here. I won't wait, but I won't leave.
Go **** them all. Claim your freedom. Take what you need and find yourself replenished. Watch me watch you. Take a peek back at me sometimes, to see what you really asked for when you said that I have too many emotions.
Go. Stay. Stay with me. I am yours and you are mine. Watch me bring down the heavens for us. Have you seen me yet? Where did you think we were going?

I hate you, too.
And that's part of it. That's just a part of it.
Seriously, go fly! Let me kiss you goodbye.
What I see in you, I aspire to live up to it every day.
And I have to fight myself not to hold you back.
Come here. Let's get real lost. What if we just forget who we are? Was it ever so important?
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