Breaking through Memories into Desire
2017; Duke University Press; Volume: 26; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1215/10418385-3822412
ISSN1938-8020
Autores ResumoIt’s doubtful that Acker stayed at her parents’ apartment that February for very long, if she stayed there at all. She and Len Neufeld were no longer speaking, and—perhaps because she found his artistic crush on her awkward—she avoided seeing Jackson Mac Low. Bernadette Mayer and her then-boyfriend, the filmmaker Ed Bowes, were Acker’s closest ties to the poetry scene and the art world, so it’s likely she stayed at their place. On February 18, she and Mel Frielicher read with Ed Bowes and two other friends at a St. Marks Poetry Project Monday Night reading.The previous year Mayer and Bowes had made two videotapes, Sexless and matter, with Bowes’s unwieldy video camera. They lived in his loft at 74 Grand Street, one block south of Canal. To Mayer, the loft was depressing. Watching the long and static exterior shots of Lower Manhattan in Chantal Akerman’s News from Home offers a sense of how the neighborhood looked at the time: a wide, empty cobblestone street lined by vacant industrial buildings, debris blown to the curb. Mayer and Bowes were in the process of separating. Soon, Mayer would move to a friend’s St. Marks Place apartment, and it’s possible Acker stayed with her there.In any event, there’s no doubt that Acker met Alan Sondheim during those weeks through Mayer and Bowes. As Eleanor Antin’s Blood of a Poet had demonstrated a decade before, the New York art world was small: a series of Venn diagrams in which everyone was related, if not by marriage or blood, then by friendship and sex, and everyone knew everyone then. As Acker described it that year in a postcard to Ron Silliman, Endless meshes incest. Sondheim, then thirty-one, was a poet/musician who’d studied at Brown and worked with the poets Keith and Rosemary Waldrop. Teaching at RISD after completing his MA at Brown, Sondheim immersed himself in studies of phenomenology and quantum physics and soon established himself in New York as a promising conceptual artist. Three of his pieces—including the faux documentation of the assassination of Richard Nixon, and a diagrammatic display outlining “the general structure of the world”—were shown in the 1973 Paris Biennial. Sondheim knew Mayer and Bowes through his friendship with Vito Acconci, who’d been married to Bernadette’s sister, the artist Rosemary Mayer; in the late 1960s, Acconci and Bernadette Mayer produced the seminal 0-9 magazine.Early in 1974, Sondheim and his then-wife Beth Cannon were living in a loft near Fourteenth Street owned by Ed’s brother, Tom Bowes. Sondheim and Cannon were soon to divorce. When Bernadette Mayer moved out of 74 Grand Street, Cannon moved in with Ed Bowes. Around the same time, Rosemary Mayer and Sondheim became an on-again, off-again couple as well. Chronology here remains vague. As Sondheim writes in his remarkable, ongoing “autobiog.txt,” an intuitive account of recalled events that begins with the year of his birth: “Information as true as I can make it. Please back-channel any and all corrections. Certainly my memory may be faulty; there are spelling errors, errors of omission, distortions, repressions, sublimations; there are errors of remorse, errors of hallucination, of dream- or virtual worlds. No errors are intentional, none designed to be hurtful, vengeful, ‘setting the record straight.’ There are no records to set straight, there are recordings, they set nothing. There are no clues, no cues.”Sondheim heard Acker read that night at St. Marks and invited her over for dinner a day or two later. They stayed up most of the night and talked. Like Len Neufeld, Sondheim was five years older than her. Unlike Len Neufeld, he was confident in his work and enjoying some local—and in New York, local was all that mattered—acclaim. “At this point I thought myself well on the way to some sort of fame,” Sondheim writes in his “autobiog.txt.” “I felt stable artistically, although I was teetering in fact.” They didn’t fuck then, or maybe they did, but the next day, Acker flew back to San Francisco and thought and wrote about him on the plane. Peter Gordon was her friend, collaborator, brother, but a relationship with Alan Sondheim—or the idea of a relationship with Alan Sondheim—represented something she’d been craving: the kind of deeply challenging sexual, intellectual, psychological exchange that she’d glimpsed through her perfunctory encounter with Dan Graham, but then failed to attain. Sex was a channel, but sex alone didn’t always go very far.Writing to Sondheim the next day from San Francisco, she suggested they do a project together. It would be at once intimate and conceptual, a game played between equals. How close can we get to each other? she asked. Will we become each other? Concerning my friendship with Alan Sondheim . . . The last statement of course being dependent on your agreeing to want to work with me: I thought we could send each other as much information about ourselves as possible, not only then via tape, written, video but also overwriting, redoing (as in the tarantulas) etc. establishing complicated feedback relations. Her five-point argument for their still-vague collaboration was by turns girlishly goofy and incisive about recent art history and its limited stakes. Point 2: I like (don’t knowwhat word to use here but I’m sure it’s completely understandable) you; this gives me an opportunity to be with you. Point 3: I’ve never seen the intimacy Vito [Acconci] explores in his work explored in a real way as an occurrence between two people . . . and this fascinates me. And she was right: the “transgressions” of contemporary art at that time were confined to the realm of the body. In Fuses (1965), Carolee Schneeman filmed herself having sex with her then-partner James Tenney; in Vito Acconci’s 1972 Seedbed, the artist masturbated while gallery viewers walked over his body, concealed by a platform-bridge. But neither of these works, or others like it, began to describe the transactional nature of human relationships, described for a mass-market audience in Eric Berne’s 1964 book Games People Play.Sondheim replied by sending her a package of his work. She wrote him back right away. The prospective collaboration with Sondheim was the first artistic work to fully engage her since she’d finished the last Black Tarantula almost six months before. Consequently, her letter to him, written in real time over three days, expands to include almost everything that happens while it’s being composed. Memories and events dovetail and cascade with increasing intensity. Phone calls about out-of-state readings and a never-made, quasi-porn adaptation of The Black Tarantula (Deep Tarantula) interrupt and increase her excitement about this new connection to Sondheim. . . . I can’t separate this insane project I’m doing with you and all my other desires, I mean (. . . all events are so connected help) would you like to sleep with me . . .By the close of the letter she’d already begun making notes about their prospective collaboration, which would become an integral part of the final (and, finally, contentious) piece. After listening to a tape of Acconci’s Sleep, she composed a questionnaire:What do I feel about Alan?What do I feel for Alan?What do I think are Alan’s main characteristics?What do I think Alan’s doing in this work?How do I feel Alan’s work is changing me?How do I feel this work (concerned with Alan) is changing me?Do I love Alan (totally stupid ridiculous question but I refuse to take it out)?And as she writes, he calls: I couldn’t think what to say because you seemed to be speaking my words. I mean whatever the obvious dissimilarities . . . the similarities are strong & strange.The next day, February 28, the day that Tony Shafrazi spray-painted kill lies all on Picasso’s Guernica after Lt. William Calley, the perpetrator of the civilian massacre at My Lai, was released on bail, she received the news (god Phil just called up the Guernica’s been defaced how wonderful I’ll be back) and continued writing to Sondheim about her life history. She’d gotten up to the part about her high school romance with P. Adams Sitney.She realized this outpouring might seem a bit strange, but she couldn’t stop. I don’t know what to say. I now feel completely scared . . . understand i can’t tell anymore what has to do with what where the so understood stable boundaries are. . . .Sondheim’s interest in her—which seemed simple to him at the time, a matter of basic attraction—made Acker feel that she could and she must, tell him everything about her past/present life. She told him about her father’s disappearance, which she linked to her sexual adventures at a young age (“it was a way of getting some love”); her days at Lenox School and Brandeis University; her relationships with Bob Acker and Len Neufeld; her alliance with Peter Gordon. Perhaps most urgently, she wrote extensively about her distrust of monogamy—my feelings are . . . always too complex and I can’t stand breaking up with people—laying the groundwork for a possible relationship with him despite their other attachments. Like most human communication, Acker’s account of her life fluctuates between rigorous honesty and self-serving white lies. Traumatized by working in the sex show, I couldn’t hardly relate to men at all, didn’t sleep with any men besides Lenny . . . when at the end of the summer I said to him I didn’t want to sleep with him anymore. . . . That was tantamount to my having to move out of the house and, because I couldn’t afford to pay fixtures etc. for a new place plus was scared, away from New York.She leaves out the part about returning to Neufeld’s apartment with her new love, Peter Gordon. She wrote almost six thousand words. I mean in a way this is crazy and totally depending on our seeing each other for 12 hours, then nothing, so fantasies explode, but I’m more interested in my and your desire to open completely get rid of privacy explore that.Meanwhile, the tepid reception to the later Tarantulas that she’d complained of to Jackson Mac Low had started to shift. In a brief, formal reply to poet Ron Silliman’s request for a set of Black Tarantulas (written at the same time she was composing her letter to Sondheim) she reports that she has no more copies—there’s been an incredible run on them, but will send you Xeroxed copies in, whatever, two days at most when I can get to Berkeley to get cheap Xerox and stapler machine.Back to her letter to Sondheim:. . . I mean why should Peter be a problem to, straightly my loving you (I’m not saying hippie-wise O we all love one another wow) I am saying that I refuse to let structures of a society I didn’t pick to be born into determine how I relate to people, just because I love Peter and live with him is no reason that you and Peter can’t whatever anything, I don’t know, nothing’s happened yet. . . . o god do you understand at all I feel really close to you that’s why I’m fighting, she concludes. With it, she sends dozens of pages of old and new work.The new writing, dated March 1 and titled breaking through memories into desire, is captioned “Part III of long work.” Parts I and II are almost certainly the same text as the unpublished seventh installment of The Black Tarantula that she’d described in her January letter to Jackson Mac Low: a “pretty straight account of my life in November and December” that would “bore the shit out of anyone.” Her meeting with Sondheim has suddenly energized this old work, and part III begins, How close can I get to someone? Will we become each other concerning my friendship with Alan Sondheim.Audaciously, she continues: I know who Alan is: Alan is my father. He’d better be my perfect father: take care of me but not restrain me doing anything I want touch me softly with his hands and voice like everything I do. If Alan isn’t my perfect Father, I’ll turn away from him, unless he touches me again. I’ll attack him really hard tear him. I’ll make him shrivel into nothing. I have to think about myself . . .Reading this text in New York, Sondheim was taken aback, if not offended. Still, he was captivated. As he’d recall wryly three decades later, “[Kathy] placed me in the position of her father; I thought she was my soul mate.” He suggested they make a video together in which they’d “explore sexuality.” Eventually, they’d call it The Blue Tape. Within days, he arranged advance bookings for the still-hypothetical work and raised money among friends to buy her ticket back to New York.☾ ☾ ☾The London-based artist Anna-Maria Pinaka has recently written about a still-contentious genre of installation and video that she describes as “porno-graphing.” Marked by a “dirtiness” that transcends mere depictions of sex, “porno-graphing” imports real-life situations into public, exhibited work. The Blue Tape would unfold as a highly confrontational work. The fact that The Blue Tape has been exhibited more frequently in the past half decade than in the thirty years since it was made suggests that these questions of “dirtiness” have not been resolved.Still, it’s useful to read Blue Tape against the context of the artistic and media mores that prevailed in its time. As mentioned, in Seedbed (1972) Vito Acconci lay under a ramp in New York at the Sonnabend Gallery, masturbating and speaking his fantasies as viewers walked over him. As Jerry Salz writes of this work, “Acconci . . . masturbated eight hours a day while murmuring things like, ‘You’re pushing your cunt down on my mouth,’ or ‘You’re ramming your cock down my ass.’ In Seedbed, Acconci is the producer and receiver of the work’s pleasure. He is simultaneously public and private, making marks yet leaving little behind, and demonstrating ultra-awareness of his viewer while being in a semi-trance state.”Chris Burden’s 1971 Shoot performance famously consisted of the artist being shot in the arm at close range by an assistant; in TV Hijack (1972), he surprised his cable show host by holding a knife to her throat. The host, Phyllis Lutjean, refused to press charges. Later, she would decide that his action “taught her a lesson” about how her desire to anchor a show was driven by her own “ego and pride.”Meanwhile, pictures and participant-observer accounts of the new EST seminars, Synanon “games,” sensitivity training, and encounter groups appeared as a sign of the revisionist-hippy, postpolitical zeitgeist on TV, and in mass-market lifestyle and newsmagazines. The Synanon Organization would provide Philip K. Dick with an almost literal model for the dystopian New-Path in A Scanner Darkly, the facility to which its burnt-out protagonist Bob Arctor is consigned. Between the late 1960s and 1970s, Synanon staged seventy-two-hour marathon therapy “trips” at their Marin County and Oakland facilities that peaked when exhausted “trippers” broke down. “You will learn more about yourself, your fellow man, the world, the nature of reality than you would in four years. Let your ego go . . . let things happen to you,” preached the leader, Charles Dederich. “The game,” one survivor reported, “took on each Unbroken’s dirty rotten story with great brutality. The broken joined the attack. Some began to hallucinate.” Embraced by celebrities and widely accepted within the addiction and therapeutic communities, Synanon’s confrontational treatment was often state-mandated for youthful offenders in juvenile court. “If you keep people up long enough,” Dederich would later admit in a deposition, “you can make them believe anything.”Acker’s disclosures to Sondheim might seem shockingly brutal in the context of recent contemporary art. But compared to the ethos of the massively publicized human potential movement that flourished in the mid-1970s, they seem almost benign.☾ ☾ ☾A couple of weeks later, Acker arrived at Sondheim’s New York apartment just after—or perhaps just before—his wife Beth Cannon left. As Sondheim recalls: “The next day and next few days were terrible; we made the tapes—there were more than one—in the midst of the terror. Emily, who had been my student at RISD, filmed the materials on a EIAJ black-and-white Sony deck. . . . We pushed things as far as we could. I felt needy. I hated myself. I remember Kathy being suicidal, accidentally locked out of the flat when Emily and I took a break; she’d wanted to be alone. Neither of us were in great shape.”In the first scene of the fifty-four-minute Blue Tape, Acker sits on the floor, her back against a white-painted wall. Facing the camera front-on, she speaks to the viewer with calm gravitas, her deposition far more contained than the recent events she’s describing:I met Alan Sondheim when I was in New York about two or three weeks ago. I had dinner at his and Beth’s apartment the last night I was in New York and I ended up talking to Alan for about twelve hours. We talked mainly about certain gestural and mental similarities we had both noticed that existed between us. And at the end decided to do a piece together.At twenty-six, she looks like a young Emma Goldman. Her brown hair is shaved into a buzz cut. She wears round rimless glasses and a loose button-down shirt over a wifebeater. Her neck is wrapped tight in the kind of thick cotton scarf once sold in head shops with other Indian paraphernalia.Forgotten for more than two decades, The Blue Tape resurfaced in 2000. The filmmaker Tony Conrad, a friend and colleague of Sondheim’s who’d since moved to Buffalo, New York, had kept and restored it. As well as providing an early example of what Pinaka calls “porno-graphing,” The Blue Tape stands as a record of how Acker looked and conducted herself before she became, as Carolee Schneeman once put it, “her own configurated Kathy Acker.”The camera zooms closer in on her face as Sondheim, offscreen, reads aloud from her text, which has now become evidentiary, the source of a conflict to be played out between them during the next fifty minutes:And I received a work dated March 1st. Section from Part III of long work, Breaking Through Memory Into Desire. How close can I get to someone where we become each other, concerning my friendship with Alan Sondheim. Being human is too boring and difficult. Who wants to be human all the time. I’m sick of being rational and doing things right I’m becoming a cat. I sit in the bathtub, first Rich comes over afternoon, 1:30, wakes me up. We fuck two, two and a half times. He doesn’t come the third time because Peter calls. He’s coming home. We don’t have time.The camera zooms in on her face when he reaches the part where she identifies him as her father and threatens to make him shrivel into nothing if he fails in this role. Blinking intermittently, she sits very still with a determined, implacable gaze. He continues:How can anyone go from outside in, understand what is outside, except through him, herself. . . . But I am nothing. The universe is everything. I have to figure out how the universe works. TBT. . . . Alan, I don’t understand a lot of what you write. You understand everything I write. I understand you when you talk to me and I feel wonderful. . . . I don’t have to be a mother to you as I have to be to most people I know. I don’t want that, not now. . . . I don’t want anything but Alan’s hand on me. I want to know what’s happening.When he finishes reading, still on camera, she presents her defense:At that point what I was trying to do was I had begun using Alan as I would use an analyst to get to memories which were too painful for me to get to any other way. And I think what the issue is, and I think what we’ve decided, is that I agree with Alan that I was wrong to send him that material. In that way I was ripping him off because I was using him as, say, an analyst.However what the problem is here and what we’re trying to explore is whether I was right to use him at all. That is I feel that when I write I can do anything as long as I’m not viciously saying something about someone they don’t want said about them, for my purposes of exploration. However Alan feels that I was ripping him off because I was using him. And he felt that he was able to feel feelings for me. I gave him that opportunity as if I was truly feeling those feelings.From there, decorum breaks down and the sequence turns into a therapeutic bickering match. Still off camera, Sondheim struggles to process what exactly she’s asking of him: “I almost feel that what I should do since you have your father’s last name and at least his place of employment, is . . . go and find him. And come back to you a complete mimic. . . . And that I would then be able to say to you everything is okay.” “But that’s not what I want now.” “But then what do you want now? Because I think the change would be so deep in you. At least your crying on the phone . . . was almost as if something was forcing itself out, something you didn’t want to come to the surface at all.” She tells him she’s over it; he wonders if she can reverse her desires so fast, but she protests: “You’re telling me you know more about myself than I do. . . . It’s a question of authority.”Flummoxed by this, Sondheim protests, “You put things in a control situation so much of the time that I almost feel that I’m afraid of ordinary discourse.” He senses, correctly, she’s winning the game: a game that, till now, he did not understand. A philosopher/mathematician, Sondheim assumed he was there to “explore sexuality” with an interesting, forthcoming young woman. Thirty years later, he’d simply conclude: “I was more attracted to her than she was to me.” But in Blue Tape, he protests, “You . . . put me in a position of feeling—of saying that I’m controlling you, when in fact I’m doing nothing of the sort. . . . And so what happens is that you somehow gain the power that you’re saying you don’t have.” “Do you want to play my father now?” she asks provocatively.“Alan is not capable perhaps. Alan is a thirty-one-year old artist. Alan is not in a position simply to control or manipulate lives.”“That’s your decision about yourself.”“It’s very hard to know what are decisions about myself or what have been decided for me.”“When you say a statement like that, what I feel is that it puts me in a guilt situation.”“I did not say that to put you in a guilt situation! I had no inkling that that’s going to put you in a guilt situation. I’m not trying to attack you. I’m simply saying as your father, I would feel very safe. Because it would be my choice in the first place to leave you. And you’re a very powerful person at this point. And God knows if you’re powerful now, what you’re gonna be like in a couple of years. There’s gonna be hell to pay for anybody who gets in touch with you. You’re gonna burn people. You’re gonna kill people, baby, you really are.”Her face lights up for the first time since the tape started. She nods and smiles.In the next scene, the camera holds on her bare chest. She’s fondling her breasts as Sondheim softly reads excerpts and comments on his General Structure of the World, a three-hundred-page philosophical work:I want you to look to the left of the monitor and listen to me talk about the world. I want to talk about the world and I want to have you follow me. I want you to think that I’m a great artist. . . .One of the characteristics of the world is the grounding of its phenomenology in history. What does that mean? Can you follow what I mean? . . . Can you understand how long it took to write that sentence? Do you understand what intensity necessitates? . . .I am saying this, reading it from a page. I am concentrating on the page. I am paying no attention to the image on the screen. . . .Don’t look at the screen. Pay no attention to it. Listen to my voice. She’s drawing power away from me. I’ve got to take it back. I’ve got to convince you that the important thing is to pay attention to the world, to pay attention to the external world. . . .Cut to: Extreme close-up, his fingers massaging her vulva and clit, her voice offscreen:No, lower. Yeah. No, that’s too hard. Higher. No, no, no. There. Yeah, that’s okay. . . . That’s better. Oh that’s good. . . . No, no, no, keep going. Ow. Shit. Get closer to my clit. No, no, no, not there. Yeah, there. Oh that’s good.Cut back to: Acker, fully dressed as in the first scene, sitting against the brick wall and analyzing the power dynamics of their relationship:What is interesting to me [about the last section] is how that relates to my and Alan’s sexuality to the way we’ve been having sex the last two days. Because there’s a lot of discrepancy between the amount of pleasure we give each other. I’m able to give Alan a lot more pleasure than he’s able to give me. . . . And this enables me . . . to have more power over Alan. . . . I mean, one way in which I feel I have power in a relationship is that I can give Alan a great deal of sexual pleasure. And I often feel that men get their power over me by pleasing me a great deal, so I feel there’s a discrepancy there in our power.And then it’s his turn to speak in this Houellbecqian fugue of unhappiness. Appearing onscreen for the first time, running his hands through his halo-like Jewfro, he protests:I might as well say what I feel. . . . When I first met Kathy . . . I didn’t think that my relationship had anything to do at all with power. I never even thought of power . . . control. . . . And I find myself a little bit succumbing to what might be a control situation. That is, I obviously can’t sit on a chair next to Kathy and discuss mathematical hierarchies of transformations, which is what a large part of my present work is about. . . . Whereas it’s very easy to discuss sexuality, because it’s [a thing] we have in common. This automatically gives her a sense of power. And the fact that this for me is a public as well as a private domain, while for her it seems to be a public domain, is the second source of her power. . . . It seems to me that none of this tape has anything to do with a notion of togetherness, with me and Kathy being together. But more about the fact that we seem to be in a very unfortunate and unhappy situation, and trying desperately to get apart.After a short “commercial break,” he appears naked and sprawled on a mattress for the next fifteen minutes, struggling to speak about the hierarchy of transformations as she gives him a consummate blowjob: I wonder whether I’m going to come while I’m desperately trying to hold on to my language. . . . At the same time while I talk, I’m beginning to think that the words are sort of a defense. . . . And then he comes violently, loud and abandoned, and the scene ends.I can no longer use words such as love or fun, he says in a short denouement. And she adds: I feel extremely tired and sad. . . . I want to say that I’m scared . . . that you’ll take the power away from my work. But I’m . . . right now I’m beginning to hate the words I, my, I, my, I, my. I can’t think about my feelings.They showed the tape on March 18 at the St. Marks Poetry Project. Strangely, Len Neufeld’s name appears beside Sondheim’s on the schedule. Endless meshes incest. There was dead silence afterward. Vito Acconci was there. No one applauded or spoke, except for Jackson Mac Low, who told them he thought it was a very brave thing that you did.And then she returned to San Francisco. A couple of months later, she’d write to Bernadette Mayer: I just made this tape with Elly Antin in which we talk and since I hadn’t told her all about what happened with Alan Sondheim in NY I told her on tape, it was great, it was really nasty and it’s going to be played. . . . Elly’s going to take tape to NY to get played on WBAI so everyone will learn know what a shit Alan is I got my revenge.The Blue Tape played later at Yale, where everyone laughed. At RISD, they cried. “It depended on the first responder,” Sondheim writes in his “autobiog.txt.” “Everyone followed suit; everyone was on an emotional edge.” In 1977, it played at the Whitney. To Sondheim’s horror, his parents drove in from Wilkes-Barre Pennsylvania. “For them, the Whitney was a kind of validation.” “Worlds fall apart,” Sondheim wrote. “Over the years, the split with my parents widened; how could they have seen that tape without total collapse?“Bernadette didn’t speak to me again. I was with her sister for a while. Vito and I stopped speaking. Around 1977 I moved out of New York and around 1990 I moved back. A lot has happened since then.“I’d never been able to watch the tape; it was too painful,” he wrote in 2002. “It still is.”Acker never spoke or wrote about Blue Tape. In subsequent years, she became increasingly occupied with questions of interpersonal power, control, and the notion that sexuality formed the essence of selfhood. She died at age fifty. Would she have revised these views if she’d lived longer?☾ ☾ ☾I absolutely love to fuck, begins the first section of I Dreamt I Was a Nymphomaniac: Imagining. By the time she began this new six-part serial novella in June, her Black Tarantula mailing list had more than doubled. I’m 27 and I love to fuck. Sometimes with people I want to fuck; sometimes, and I can’t tell when but I remember these times, with anybody who’ll touch me. The first series had been a tremendous success in every respect but financially. People knew who she was now. As she wrote to Bernadette Mayer early that summer, “I went to this party where all these people said they knew my work . . . so I felt totally fantastic.” As she’d later reflect in a long interview conducted by Sylvere Lotringer in 1990, “When I was sending them out I had this community which I’ve never had since.”Back in San Francisco with Peter Gordon after the draining collaboration with Alan Sondheim, she realized she could continue her serial work, turning it into a personal praxis. She no longer wrote poems. She thought deeply about literary forms but she didn’t quite see herself yet as a “novelist.” As she’d eventually tell Lotringer, “I never thought I had i
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