ant ant ant ant ant five

July 7, 2013 § Leave a comment

Now available for the first time here the complete facsimile of the Spring 2002 issue of ant ant ant ant ant. Hiroaki Sato translates selections from Tomizawa Kakio’s Wolf in Heaven. D.A. Levy’s Secret Garden Mix. Samples from M. Kettner’s  Full Penny Jar. Jim Kacian’s The Slate Step Brightens. She Rouses Briefly And Says Dragonfly by Chris Gordon. All original design elements included:

http://en.calameo.com/read/002511545dd1f66feb5c4

CROW HAIKU

May 28, 2013 § 1 Comment

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with nowhere to go the crow goes

faking it so long what’s real to the crow

wasn’t a raven only a crow

paces when he should fly the crow

the crow’s cock his asshole they’re the same

stubbed your toe don’t you know the crow

the crow of beautiful filth he’s the king

peeling away the edges he winks the crow

the fox has a tattoo you know it’s the crow

killed his friends to get to your bed the crow

left his home to get to your bed the crow

the crow don’t believe a word he’s said

even in the movies the crow’s really dead

lies when he tells the truth the crow

tells the truth when he lies the crow

the crow the crow the crow oh no it’s the crow

his kitchen dirty his bathroom clean the crow

it’s not his fault it’s yours the crow

fountains in the gutter the crow is good to go

made a mistake can’t say no the crow

what your ass means to the crow you’ll never know

hey crow foxes some are smarter than others

what is real and what do you know ask the crow

he can’t stay away from witches the crow

your teacher that disappeared one day the crow

good with rhymes and taking flak the crow

getting low on what makes him go the crow

he cares he doesn’t care the crow he knows

his crazy shit real his real shit crazy the crow

the crow even Chris Gordon doesn’t really know

prefers tobacco to occasional snow the crow

has an invisible friend named Joe the crow

nothing in this message rhymes with crow

the crow he’s visible but blind in the snow

to the crow she says you don’t even know

yokes and fetters baubles to the crow

he’ll live the crow at least one more day

to stay alive his script full of jive the crow

the crow he’s hoping for two seventy five

you aren’t coming back too soon no the crow

what you both talked about I don’t know the crow

wants to go fast but always goes slow the crow

the crow the devil’s in the details you know

in your bed in the parking lot the crow

don’t know his filth is your joy the crow

underneath all the stupid joy is sorrow the crow

all it takes is one corner the crow

he’s got one more day than you the crow

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April 10, 2013

JACK GALMITZ ant ant ant ant ant 12

April 30, 2013 § Leave a comment

THE COINCIDENCE OF STARS

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Home an acorn on the floor
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Between the dust and the books a few deaths
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Amateur night

I sit on the stage

and imitate a stone

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In the crowd

I multiply

and divide

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Snowdrifts

The morning moon

is a fist

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Morning boiling milk overflowed
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A field of new grass so soft I hold my wake here
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Coins in my pocket

Watching seals

swim in circles

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The sky has cleared-

daily a darkness

spreads within me

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At the zoo

I describe to the monkies

the sky’s many blues

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Male parts and female parts am I a flower

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Where I’ve been I cannot say I’m him

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A chick

cracks open its shell-

the world rushes in

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Those clouds

War horses

at their hour

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Winter night

two men pass

without a sound

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The son of man returns fruit carts stacked

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Space junk who’s going to clean it up

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cars pass melting

in an empty wine bottle

a man’s reflections

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along the shore

a row of girls

all in white clothes

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Let’s find a shell

strip it

and make a bed

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We live in the dark the coincidence of stars

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traces of snow facing the morning moon

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She always remains

a step ahead

the marshlands of myself

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My face

was her face

in the beginning…

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Quattro cento face

the body a serpent

laying eggs

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oak leaves in the wind talking again

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gray matter, leaves, swept in a corner

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I cannot decide

which one I’d choose-

Caryatides

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Walking down the stairs

her bodies stir the sun

to be aware

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A prostitute

serves an acquaintance tea-

Sunday

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CROW HAIKU

April 5, 2013 § 1 Comment

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painted in a corner the crow licks the brushes

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the crow talks to ghosts with his hand in his pocket

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your daughter can pretend she doesn’t hear the crow

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no one knows where he sleeps the crow’s got no blanket

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after your war the crow sends a letter to his son

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you can kick him but you can’t kick the crow

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4:04:13

CROW HAIKU

March 27, 2013 § Leave a comment

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the crow often walks at angles

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the crow bites his tongue finds he has two

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under the crow’s feathers nobody knows his skin

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he gets itchy the crow grows hungry for blackberries

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who can take the crow talk to the seagulls

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the crow never sleeps but he makes you tired

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if the crow dances you better watch out

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at the station the crone always finds the crow

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he says maybe he really means no the crow

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3:25:13

2.14.13

February 18, 2013 § 3 Comments

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no

matter

what

I

fuck

up

the

daffodils

come

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(for John Martone)

VARIOUS ARTISTS ant ant ant ant ant three

July 11, 2012 § 1 Comment

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under butternut tree

ears of leaves

fondle light

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Guy R. Beining

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for a while

I look at my bike

without me

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the way

they fit

in her hand

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all of a sudden

the t.v.

doesn’t work

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Tom Clausen

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skidding petal bruises

on the concrete

rain like butter

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small creases in

your information filled with

anxious juices

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A. Daigu

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a few feet

from our feet

the ocean bottom starts

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snow flakes

no one will miss

melt in her hand

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Gary Hotham

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hairs

the many ants

amidst the grass

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hearing a car

that never comes

high pine wind

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Jim Kacian

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stray dog   window reflecting blue sky

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boldly staccato

fissures singing along

maps set aside

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city limits   bulrushes

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year of the pancreas

sandwich for dessert

theater seats upside-down

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M. Kettner

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my dealer says he’s

worried about me gives me

extra for free

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Xie Kitchin

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invited to feel

the stubble on her legs

autumn rain

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Shawn Lindsay

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pebble splash

all I hurl

sinks

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William M. Ramsey

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white blossoms

a fly brings their

beauty to me

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Edward J. Reilly

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In the phone booth

a little girl

talks to God.

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A man asks directions

hand over

his mouth.

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Alexis K. Rotella

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Thesaurus of whites

Moth of months circling itself

Idiot savant

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Dennis Saleh

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Wakened by someone scratching at the window it’s the rain again

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Hot night   a yellow-toothed moon gnaws at the screens

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Turning on the light I become someone alone in a house

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Sam Savage

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the Loki seed

pushed down in the grey folds

until you laugh

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Sean Winchester

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JIM WESTENHAVER ant ant ant ant ant 11

April 25, 2012 § Leave a comment

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empty tree the forest on the subway

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saving the pine cone a cup of tea on the toilet

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the raindrop knows the brow of the moon

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sperm whale sleeping losing weight on the couch

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substitute teacher the harbor seal riding a wave

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where is the shell the egg in the garbage can

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minding the cormorant writing on a piling

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soft petal the lake in the mood to grow

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say what the fence is the answer

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the space between she takes off her shoes

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ever since you know the drill flower

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at the very least the willow tree backdoor

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somewhere a leaf on the move in the city

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threading the needle she smiles at dawn

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tide flat in the alley dream

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rooftop flower the heron at dusk

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cooling down a hip a body of water

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the rain is upside down in the sink

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she knows the name seagull in flight

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ask me pine cone on the trail

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CHRIS GORDON lost & found times 41 (1998)

January 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

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thick hailstones in April I keep swallowing my tail

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all these lights they’re humming uncomfortable in every position

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no continuous skyline the relentless efficacy of breasts

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behind the buildings the lake obscured by fog downstairs they’re fighting

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balled up in the shower her wet dress the soughing darkness

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wood smoke in the warm afternoon the deaf woman talks to herself

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she whispers in another language the intermittent rumble of the elevator

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a blue door tied down to the top of a car the smell of cut grass

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not much to say there’s a helicopter

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The Martian Chronicles read over the phone unsteady hand-jobs

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too windy for a hat sheets of newspaper slap the chain-link fence

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dream hungry the call of a crow on the telephone pole

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saxophone practice upstairs the machine fills with water

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in the brief blue flash of the train’s light on the tunnel wall abhor

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slowing down you can smell yourself

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CHRIS GORDON ant ant ant ant ant five

January 24, 2012 § 1 Comment

SHE ROUSES BRIEFLY AND SAYS DRAGONFLY

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distance acquiesces to heat you tell the fly he’s ephemeral

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the vents are being replaced I touch your drink by mistake

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where the lines end and the absence begins an architecture or so

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abruptness of seed taking orders from the smaller machines

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I get on top of you they start playing a commercial

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an eye tuned to the scrape of a chair an ambulance

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milt of friction the ring where the ring keeps the light from her skin

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pea on the trajectory of a scratch I will be a Ghost Dance

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all along the tracks splintered shapes swelling in the rain

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we talk about our childhood TV shows as if they were festivals

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moon a tear made in the sky with a fingernail don’t answer the door

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in the dream I was Danae waiting for a drip from the ceiling

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that dark thing in the green of your eye next to the window that’s me

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tensile strength of thistle the outcome of serotonin and loophole

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where she points at the red flower I don’t see anything

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we both wind up in the fruit aisle one of the lights above blinks out

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tell me what we’ll do on a bench by the river when no one’s around

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soaking in a jar for three days the beans are pink and ready to split

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aren’t all prophesies self-fulfilling sugar written in Spanish

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the oven opens to the smell of sweet potatoes your panties

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her ringed fingers twitching she rouses briefly and says dragonfly

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an act of transcription closes the flower travel a violence

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we exhaust the five hundred gimmicks like metal eucalyptus leaves

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my face a trapdoor spider candy foil floats along the dark train floor

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Lyric Intervention painted over All Day I Dream About Sex

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all the slurring and none of the puncture no I said sects

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weeds as tall as roses what I threw out the window when we fought

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between the cars of the train her body turns from yellow to blue

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a plum seed flushed down the toilet they found the arctic’s melted

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if this were an espionage film we’d all be dead

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