"C’est si bon de désobéir. Ah! cela m’ennuie de vieillir !"* "Adieu poupée, adieu leçons Il va falloir fair’ des façons. Le mois prochain je serai vieille On m’appell’ra Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle ? On m’emmèn’ra danser au bal Je pourrai sans faire de mal Mettre du rouge et fair’ des choses, On me donn’ra des bouquets d’ roses. Ça m’ennuiera j’aim’ pas les fleurs Ni le rouge à lèvres. J’ai mal aux dents, j’ai mal au cœur Et j’ai la fièvre. Cette vie est triste à mourir Ah ! cela m’ennuie de vieillir."* * Robert Desnos, extraits de "Papier buvard" Adieu ma vie, je fais la belle Adieu ma vie et ses tracas Moi, je me tire pour toujours J'ai rencontré le grand amour Et je ne veux pas le mélanger à mon passé À mes ennuis de chaque jour Pour cette fois, vous ne m'aurez pas Adieu ma vie toute en dentelle À l'ombre de la tour Eiffel Adieu ma vie, je me retourne pas Je n'ai pas un seul regret pour toi Je ne t'aimais pas J'ai rencontré le grand amour Et je me tire à tout jamais Sans le moindre regret pour toi Adieu ma vie tracée d'avance Ce petit chemin qui va tout droit À moi les horizons immenses Respirer en ouvrant les bras Pouvoir chanter Aimer sans plus penser à rien Sans lendemain, sans aucun lien D'un jour à l'autre, tout comme ça vient Adieu ma vie, je fais la belle Adieu ma vie et ses tracas Moi, je me tire pour toujours J'ai rencontré le grand amour Et je ne veux pas, Le mélanger à mon passé À mes ennuis de chaque jour Pour cette fois, vous ne m'aurez pas ! Paroles et Musique: Cyrus Bassiak (Serge Rezvani) 1963 "Jeanne Moreau chante 12 chansons de Cyrus Bassiak" © Production Jacques Canetti autres interprètes: Serge Rezvani (2006), Helena Noguerra (2007) Elle avait des yeux, des yeux d'opale... Qui me fascinaient, qui me fascinaient
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... We talked of the end of the world, and then We'd sing a song an' then sing it again. We'd sit for an hour an' not say a word, And then these words would be heard: So long, it's been good to know yuh; So long, it's been good to know yuh; So long, it's been good to know yuh. This dusty old dust is a-gettin' my home, And I got to be driftin' along.... ("So long", Ramblin' Jack Elliott sings the songs of Woody Guthrie) Marianne: What are you doing? Ferdinarnd: [looking at the mirror] Looking at myself. Marianne: And what do you see? Ferdinand: The face of a man who's driving towards a cliff at 100 km/h. Marianne: [turns the mirror towards herself] I see a woman who is in love with the man who's driving towards a cliff at 100 km/h. Ferdinand: So let's kiss. PIERROT LE FOU, JEAN-LUC GODARD “IF THERE IS A GOD, GOD IS DISJUNCTION AND MADNESS.” Kathy Acker, Blood and Guts in High School “The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God's eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.” Meister Eckhart, Sermons of Meister Eckhart “That discourse one might call the poetry of transgression is also knowledge. He who transgresses not only breaks a rule. He goes somewhere that the others are not; and he knows something the others don’t know.” Georges Bataille, Story of the Eye “Laughing at the universe liberated my life. I escape its weight by laughing. I refuse any intellectual translations of this laughter, since my slavery would commence from that point on.” Georges Bataille, Guilty “I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen.” J.G. Ballard “I wanted to rub the human race in its own vomit, and force it to look in the mirror.”
J.G. Ballard, Crash “We're building prisons all over the world and calling them luxury condos.” J.G. Ballard, Cocaine Nights "Qu'est ce que je peux faire ? J'sais pas quoi faire ! Qu'est ce que je peux faire ? J'sais pas quoi faire ! Qu'est ce que je peux faire ? J'sais pas quoi faire !" Marianne in Pierrot le Fou, Jean-Luc Godard “the ragged skyline of the city resembled the disturbed encephalograph of an unresolved mental crisis.” J.G. Ballard “We live in a world ruled by fictions of every kind—mass merchandising, advertising, politics conducted as a branch of advertising, the instant translation of science and technology into popular imagery, the increasing blurring and intermingling of identities within the realm of consumer goods, the preempting of any free or original imaginative response to experience by the television screen. We live inside an enormous novel. For the writer in particular it is less and less necessary for him to invent the fictional content of his novel. The fiction is already there. The writer's task is to invent the reality.” J.G. Ballard, Crash "Après tout, je suis idiot, moi. Merde, merde !"
Ferdinand in Pierrot le Fou, Jean-Luc Godard “Wherever there is a filmmaker willing to confront commercialism, exploitation, pornography, technicalism, Cinema Novo will have a living cell. Wherever there is a filmmaker of any age or origin ready to put his films and his profession at the service of the crucial causes of his times, Cinema Novo will have a living cell”. Glauber Rocha (1939-1981) “A camera in the hand and an idea in the head”. That was the motto of Cinema Novo, a filmmaking movement of the 1950s and 60s that changed the face of Brazilian cinema for ever. And maybe the world too, as the new forms of making films combined neo-realism and new waves without any hesitation to revolutionise both movie theatres and entire peoples. This documentary essay, made by one of the sons of that revolution, explores one of the most important cultural and political movements in Latin America through its main authors. The result is a portrait of a generation of directors (Glauber Rocha, Nelson Pereira Dos Santos, Rui Guerra, Carlos Diegues...) who invented a new way of filmmaking by combining art, politics, condemnation and commitment with truth and aesthetic boldness. L’oeil D’or Prize for the Best Documentary in the Cannes Film Festival 2016. “Cinema Novo is a film about a generation – that of the 1950s and 60s – that created a new way of making films in Brazil. A new attitude that meant going out onto the streets to accompany the Brazilian people, taking ownership of new forms of language to formulate aesthetic and cultural questions on a new basis. What is the image of Brazil? What should be filmed, and how? These questions were reformulated based on a new political stance that blended art and the revolution. Cinema Novo created images for Brazil, and from Brazil, for the world.” Eryk Rocha, director of the film. God said it's all right... Sirens screaming Lap of luxury A show of violence Take off your mask i'm insane - fragments from "I'm insane", "Speak to the Wild", & "Androgynous Mind", by Thurston Moore/Sonic Youth protect your child from empty empire Souffle, beugle comme un fou
En pensant à Alain Jégou (1948-2013) Souffle, Vieil Ange, souffle, beugle comme un fou Souffle Je veux tout ça maintenant Ta chemise rouge, une vieille Chevrolet 36 Et une grande bouteille de vin de Tokay Souffle Je veux tout ça moi aussi Tes gestes existentiels, ton émoi, tes braillements Ta vraie vision secrète de l’éternité d’or Et bien d’autres choses encore Souffle, Vieil Ange, souffle, beugle comme un fou Souffle Je veux tout ça maintenant Flânocher, rouler sous les ponts Me payer du bon temps Souffle Je veux tout ça moi aussi Passer des journées à rêvasser Faire le con et ne me soucier de rien Ni de la dinguerie de la vie ni de ma misérable solitude Souffle Les lèvres collées sur le bec de ton saxophone Fais retentir tes notes, swingue avec nonchalance Une trille, un gargouillis Souffle Je veux tout ça moi aussi Tes quatre mesures, une mélodie cuivrée Un bêlement furieux Chante-moi ton chorus déchaîné Souffle, Vieil Ange, souffle, beugle comme un fou Souffle Je suis un dément amoureux de la vie Englouti par la nuit, je ne me soucie de rien Et je transcris les sons de mon esprit Souffle Le cœur joyeux, envoyé en l’air Mes yeux brillent, ah-ha ! Comme si c’était pour la première fois dans la pâle éternité Souffle, Vieil Ange, souffle, beugle comme un fou Souffle Sois-moi clément Il y a dans l’air l’exaltation du jazz Il y a de l’allégresse Un grand frisson dans le vent Souffle Je veux tout ça moi aussi Des signes prophétiques chuchotés Des visions, des vociférations Et un nouveau break sauvage Souffle Souffle tes notes dingues Souffle une mélodie mélancolique Souffle et rêve que la vie est un rêve Souffle et laisse le bon temps rouler O ange de la solitude Perché sur le bord de la route Vide et éveillé Torturé et incompris Dans ta transe, debout Insouciant et buvant de la bière Souffle Comme si rien n’était jamais arrivé Souffle, ange silencieux du printemps Souffle avec ardeur Souffle à l’instant même Souffle en marchant du côté ensoleillé de la rue Souffle en saluant les péniches et les autobus de mon vieux Paris Souffle dans le murmure incessant de la ville Souffle au fond d’un café où tu te caches pour pleurer Souffle parce qu’ils t’ont percé les mains et les pieds Souffle parce que le monde est une horreur sans fond Souffle devant le tombeau vide Souffle tes quatre mesures pour aller en paix dans le vent du printemps Souffle, Vieil Ange, souffle, beugle comme un fou Souffle Je veux tout ça maintenant Tes ailes ruisselantes Ton cœur joyeux et épuisé Souffle Je veux tout ça moi aussi Faire encore une grande virée M’agiter dans tous les sens Bondir et courir Et me réveiller une dernière fois les cheveux au vent au bord de la route. In memoriam Alain Jégou Sorti à tâtons dans la nuit tombante Ciel âpre et froid Triste Perdu dans le fracas le flot ininterrompu du monde Livré à ma solitude Assis dans la nuit décharnée Je reste Implorant la paix invisible L’instant le hasard notre bonne étoile La clé de notre jeunesse perdue L’oiseau qui donnait la sensation du bonheur Mirages miraculés sous la morsure des vents Bourlingueur de l’océan Il était comme le vent qui fait glisser l’écume Comme la pluie dans le cœur des nuages Comme la foudre Il a pris le cap Il est entré en silence dans le monde du rêve Il est entré au pays dont nul ne revient Projeté nu dans la lumière écrue Et maintenant qui hissera les voiles contre vents et marées ? Qui rugira le dernier poème acide sexe et rock and roll ? Qui franchira la passe Ouest pour se bâfrer de visions ? Qui rendra tous les poissons à l’océan ? Le cri de la mer dans les oreilles Et maintenant qui m’appellera frère ? Qui versera du vin pour me consoler ? Qui braillera avec moi à tue-tête sans se soucier du lendemain ? Qui m’accompagnera dans ma longue nuit ? Tous sanglots ravalés Je détourne la tête pour cacher mes larmes Je sais seulement qu’il est parti Je ne sais où (Les vers en italique sont extraits de « Une meurtrière dans l’éternité ») Bruno SOURDIN In love with your lips and in love with your belly's white warmth, 0 human - 0 animal "heavenly screwed little girl - in love with your crying's pure succulent salt of the heart - hot heart of the murderess " heart of the victim, whispering 'love' and whispering "please' - and the minor-thief's heart in my own hunting skin corresponds to your sexual lips of immaculate white - I would run my cool tongue in your mouth, eat your tears, taste your difficult washmachine beauty! My city envisions your breast beneath which is the heart that addresses itself, and the answers? definite crazy - and love! (fragment from RAY BREMSER's POEM OF MADNESS, 1965 - [POEMS OF MADNESS was originally published in 1965 by PAPER BOOK GALLERY and reprinted by WATER ROW PRESS, PO Box 438, Sudbury, MA 01776. These excerpts from POEMS OF MADNESS appears here with the permission of Jeffrey Weinberg, publisher of WATER ROW PRESS and literary executor of the poet's estate.] "Going to pay homage to a whore Put Bukowski’s face on Mount Rushmore" GOING TO MAKE POETRY AN INSTITUTION
Going to run for political office On a pledge to make poetry an institution Going to rattle the white mans power cage Show them the meaning of real rage The preacher man doubts evolution The con man doesn’t believe in revolution The priest has run out of absolution No more autographs no more forced laughs No more hanging around the zoo swapping Stories with gurus Going to smoke me some dope With my good friend the Pope Going to make love nice and slow Read me some Edgar Allen Poe Lose myself in the Jimmy Fallon show Going to make a cameo appearance On the late night show Play me some John Lee Hooker blues Going to penetrate a prerogative Bugger the cosmos Evolve evolution into a revolution Put anarchy on the stock market Nuke technology, outlaw e-mail Declare Da Da the official English language Going to hang religion from a tree Make John Brown the new National Anthem Turn outlaws into in-laws Landlords into donors Going to pay homage to a whore Put Bukowski’s face on Mount Rushmore Going to name a bus after Rosa Park Put a little nookie in every fortune cookie Expose Saint Nick as a chick with A twelve-inch dick Going to invite Trump’s old lady To ride through the streets of Chinatown In a see-through nightgown Going to sing a ballad with Lorca And a band of gypsies Stop off at the manager Have a long talk with the Lone Ranger Going to put an end to hemorrhoids Outlaw humanoids Going to offer a truce Bring back Lenny Bruce Make politicians ride the caboose Going to go back to school Erase the golden rule Going to feed a vulture Starve off mass culture Going to turn evolution into a revolution Make poetry an institution A.D. WINANS About the author: Allan Davis Winans (born January 12, 1936 in San Francisco, California), known as A. D. Winans, is an American poet, essayist, short story writer and publisher. Born in San Francisco, California, he returned home from Panama in 1958, after serving three years in the military. In 1962, he graduated from San Francisco State College. He made his home away from home in North Beach where he became friends with Beat poets like Bob Kaufman and Jack Micheline. He was the founder of Second Coming Press, a small press based in San Francisco that published books, poetry broadsides, a magazine, and anthologies. He edited Second Coming Magazine for seventeen years from 1972 to 1989. Winans became friends with Charles Bukowski, whose work he published. He also published Bukowski's then-girlfriend, Linda King. Other writers he published included Jack Micheline, Bob Kaufman, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Allen Ginsberg, Philip Levine, Josephine Miles, David Meltzer, Charles Plymell. etc. In 2002, he published his memoir, Holy Grail: Charles Bukowski & The Second Coming Revolution. A.D. Winans has had poetry, book reviews, and short stories published in over 2,000 magazines and anthologies. He has written 63 books of poetry, and two books of prose. A song poem of his was performed at Alice Tully Hall, New York City. In 2006, he was awarded a PEN National Josephine Miles Award for excellence in literature. In 2009 PEN Oakland presented him with a Lifetime Achievement Award. In 2015 he was a recipient of a Kathy Acker Award in poetry and publishing. His latest book, "San Francisco Poems" published by Little Red Tree Publishing, CT, includes an extended biography with many photographs, plus 99 poems, old and new. In 2016 he appeared in a documentary movie on the life of poet Bob Kaufman. The movie was premiered in April 2016 at the San Francisco International Movie Festival. On a distant shore, miles from land Stands the ebony totem in ebony sand A dream in a mist of grey... On a far distant shore... my book is closed, I read no more watching the fire dance, on the floor I've left my book, I've left my room please, please, baby lemonade...
I really love you and I mean you ...et d'invoquer mes dieux, le dieu Jazz par exemple... CLAUDE NOUGARO (1929-2004), C'est dit, Editions Gallimard, 2006 "With your moccasins of dark cloud, come to us... "My only world is sound... Oscillations, oscillations... Electronic evocations of sound's reality "You can see love waiting inside the velvet cave - excerpts from SILVER APPLES's lyrics "Come on take me for a ride Take me to the other side Come on take me for a ride Come on baby take my hand And we'll walk across the sand We'll go to places we ain't been See all the things that we ain't seen" - lyrics from "take me to the other side", Spacemen 3 THIRD BODY PARTS - cut-up I can see him leaving in a minute – luckily the past I remember – tense up in the dream – for sometime he touched his forehead – come under forever raised – they could walk with their heads high – Originally my land was red – the only thing left standing – who is stretched out sky I AM HERE Anyone no one to resemble I am without secrets – I sacrifice marvelous yet tragic not signs of life wealth a man memory Chile – what I saw is false sense of history – goes on in my head – the round mirror I never thought of going – of a son or daughter – I am understood by him – I could have heard my voice and a paternal language – of a common noun into my legend I did kick loud – Granny – come in Granny – human the caption –she smiles – I drank it in smack German don`t find out – and not mystery mysterious – It said put wings that’s what sadness there and delay time – his body remains his forehead his eyes my father – nay horizon and stockings for little legs – original structure – frequency they fall on me my phrase is gone rivers of distance of my body – sitting in the sun – a fine film of amber – a distant pleasure our very eyes – open sesame – that land – way sesame – soil down – there are birds that dive down – there are birds that go up and opposite of chance are reflected – I understood it – get down so great is our joy at de ask me if I like – we shall use today – I climbed mountains – we are sitting on beginning push back of our - mothers source – to the point I resemble angels eyes – recognize this music our transport motor nerves which will strike no ground – suddenly the earth is immense – continues to move if need be eternally and lawlessness About the author: Fork Burke is a poet currently living and writing in Switzerland - She received her BA in Creative Writing from The New School, New York, NY. Her poems have appeared in Hoezo Lepels?, PRAXILLA, Lyre Lyre, Unshod Quills, Caucasus ArtMag and Three Rooms Press publication Maintenant, as well as Le désir Live Radio Show for Art Basel 2012 – Basel Kunstmuseum Radio 2012 – 2012 Lyrics for BLOOD by Nick Porsche. Contributing poet at The First Brussels International Underground Poetry Festival – Her book Licking Glass is a book of poems, poetic essays and other images. Licking Glass is also included in the permanent collection of Poets House Library, NY, NY. Recordings include Fork Remixed – Which was among the winners of the Australian International Song Competition. Her latest Spoken Word recording is Durch die Blumen. Photo: Neal Cassady & Charles Plymell, 1963 SONG FOR NEAL CASSADY, BY CHARLES PLYMELL –For John Cassady Oh really really Neal his first love was the automobile Drove a ‘34 Ford with suicide doors and stick shift on the floor Draggin’ down main to Colfax Avenue Jumpin’ in the back seat boulevard kicked back watching asses in the rearview cruising past the high school Clock on the dash reading 10:18 past the neon diner last stop for Benzedrine and onward to another scene Chicks would rob a joint just to buy him food One hand on the wheel the other in her mood The blue-eyed kid and the wild-eyed bobby soxer California surfers Tarot card sharks and word shooters Found Ann-Marie in Frisco like a hurricane cock didn’t need the Sexual Freedom League Driving with white pills and pot but was really addicted to the wheel Came back to Old San Francisco Flower children all over the streets Carried star struck Ann-Marie in his arms the Denver Kid he never returns Traded her Chevrolet coupé for an old Pontiac Up the hills, down the curves gear it down, pump the brakes Old mother Ginsberg’s back seat drivin’ turning toward the Avalon Driving down Van Ness jumping parking meters One hand on the gearshift the other copping a feel One hand up her dress the other on the wheel Stole a car in Denver just to hear it peel just like drivin’ in the races Stole a car in Denver just to hear it squeal He moved so fast he had one foot in Cincinnati the other in Kalamazoo Women knew just what to do and all wanted him to be true Parked in front of Gough Street in a 50’s red and white Plymouth Fury Just back from seeing Kerouac, in a hurry patrol car in the mirror the old white and blacks Drove past someone with some little white pills heading into town He jumped in the driver’s seat and spun that Fury around. The roads were paved with powder all the way to Mexico and train tracks shined in the moon Did hard time for two reefers and came out smokin’ some boo First Road Warrior never knew what he did wrong CHARLES PLYMELL - from SOME MOTHER'S SON LIVING IN FEAR I’M ON THE EIFFEL TOWER DOING A BONG HIT REALITY CREEPS IN I’M SCARED SHIT IS THIS AN ANTENA FOR ANOTHER RACE GONNA COME TO EARTH TO TAKE OUR PLACE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN HAPPIN AROUND HERE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN I’M JUST LIVING IN MY FEAR THERE’S MEN IN BLACK SUITS DRIVING UNMARKED CARS SOLDIERS WITH BOOTS TATOOS AND SCARS CHECKING PASSPORTS AND YOUR PAPERS TOO THEY THINK SOME ONES HIDING OUT INSIDE OF ME AND YOU IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN HAPPIN AROUND HERE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN I’M JUST LIVING IN MY FEAR I‘M SO VILE, IM OUT OF STYLE, IM SINGLE FILE, I’M IN DENIAL ,I’M ON TRIAL , I’M SUICIDAL BUT IT AINT GONNA HAPPEN HAPPIN AROUND HERE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN I’M JUST LIVING IN MY FEAR VOICES ON THE LEFT AND VOICES ON THE RIGHT SO MANY VOICES I DON’T SLEEP AT NIGHT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO OR WHERE TO GO WITH ALL THIS MAD INFO BUT IT AINT GONNA HAPPEN HAPPIN AROUND HERE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN I’M JUST LIVING IN MY FEAR, * PICK UP THE PHONE ; FOR LOU REED INTO THE NIGHT WITH MY RADIO WITH A FLASH LIGHT HERE I GO FIND ME A SIGNAL TO TRANSCEND FIX ME UP A BROKEN FRIEND WRITE A POEM ABOUT LOVE AND FEAR IS ANYBODY OUT THERE? I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE SO PICK UP THE PHONE JUST A MOON BEAM AND A SATELITE THE RED ROOSTER LOOKING TO FIGHT PLAYING HOUSE AND COOKING YOUR MEALS FLYING AWAY TO SEE HOW IT FEELS I DON’T WANNA BE ALONE SO PICK UP THE PHONE GOTTA TALK TO SOMEONE ON THE WILD SIDE MY LOVE IS TRUE, TRUE AND TRIED ITS UP IN THE CLOUDS OUT OF MY MIND I’M CALLING YOU WITH MY LAST DIME I CAN SEE YOU LAUGHING I CAN SEE YOU SMILE INTEGRITY IS UP ON TRIAL THEY FOUND ANOTHER LIFE AND ITS UP ON MARS THEY HAVE CHAMPIAGN AND TITTY BARS WE CAN GET YOU ANYTHING YOU NEED YOU CAN EVEN BE LOU REED I DON’T WANNA BE ALONE PICK UP THE PHONE TROY HENRIKSEN About the author (via GALERIE W): Troy Henriksen is an American artist of Norwegian descent. His optimistic style, close to Free Figuration (Figuration Libre), plunges in the dream. Both his canvas and Plexiglas works reflect an imagination nourished by memories and aspirations. Cities; cars; personalities like Marylin, Rimbaud, Sitting Bull the Indian, Gandhi, James Dean, etc. Allegories : hearts, or the same personalities who are, in their own ways, symbols. Their common points : bright colours which make the life much more joyful. Troy is a true artist, who thinks about and interprets life, working mainly from his heart. He responds to current events with art. All the demons that had haunted Henriksen might have turned his painting dark and gloomy. But his canvases are quite the opposite – full of light. "In my opinion, being an artist means you have the ability to change problems into beauty, to encourage hope, to convince people it's possible to reach out to others and join hands," Henriksen continued. His taste for painting probably comes from his childhood as fisherman, from visions of the see. After 15 years as a commercial fisherman, Troy Henriksen has embarked on a new journey, a brilliant career in art His interest grows for painting history: Abstract Expressionism, Surrealism, Dadaism, Impressionism, and the Beat Generation, German expressionists and the Bauhaus. Troy discovers France through the book “le Petit Prince and Rimbaud. One day, he decided to come to Paris on a one-way ticket. That was in 1998. In Paris, Troy Henriksen painted in the street, on the banks of the Seine. Soon, he made a fateful encounter, with Eric Landau, head of Galerie W in Montmartre. His works have been snapped up by famous French entertainers [plastic artists, writers, musician, actors… like Arthur H and Gad Elmaleh]. Nearly one thousand of art collectors in France, Europe (Luxembourg, Belgium, United Kingdom, Italy…) and all over the world (China, United States of America, Canada) made enter Troy into their life. LEADBELLY BLUES LEADBELLY BLUES GET IN MY BONES I'm sick of old folks' tears and baby's groans. I'm choke full of this lion-eating Rome. I'm going where the eagle is going. Zero, America, I'm going home. I'll be where I hold my lover at night. My head's a hammer and my toes are stones. She's got a bed the color of a rose. Rain on the roof in the morning light. Leadbelly blues get in my bones. Rain on the roof in the morning light. |
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May 2018
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