Rest in Peace

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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby Cordelia » Thu Jan 10, 2019 12:03 pm

^^^Thanks for that SLAD. For me, he defined charisma; eyes stayed on him, whenever/however he appeared.

Lessons for Better Understanding Charisma.

What made David Bowie charismatic? Consistent with research on personal charisma, Bowie had an extraordinary ability to convey emotions to others, not just the spontaneous expression of feelings, but a controlled “acting” ability to display emotions on cue. It’s no wonder he was drawn to acting, because he had the ability. But more than just being a good emotional communicator, David Bowie had presence – a sense of savoir-faire – that allowed him to be at ease on stage, in film, and during interviews. Articulate, exuding confidence, poised – these are also the elements of personal charisma. ... avid-bowie

The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung

We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby Grizzly » Thu Jan 10, 2019 1:50 pm

Above the above ^^^

While I appreciate Bowie as well as the next person, He's a Bodhisattva in his owe right.

Nothing touches me more than the post by JR about,Erik Olin Wright, and on his imminent demise. His ability to not only, know about it, but to pithily,,entertain it, contemplate it, write about it, and ultimately come to resolution about it, is in my eyes, ZEN as fuck.

A shadow edge is never on the edge, The time to contemplate the ending is before the ending

~Deng Ming 365 Dao

How many of us get to do that, let alone sit with it.

If Barthes can forgive me, “What the public wants is the image of passion Justice, not passion Justice itself.”
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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby JackRiddler » Fri Jan 25, 2019 8:35 am

Clarifying my final weeks
Journal entry by Erik Olin Wright — Jan 18, 2019

Yesterday, I had a bone marrow biopsy to see if there were any prospects at all of a rejuvenation of my bone marrow. Alas, there is not. My bone marrow is virtually empty and what cells are there are to a significant extent blasts. Dr. Michaelis told me that even if we were to wipe out the remaining blasts, I would be far too weak to even attempt another transplant. A transplant is off the table, and a transplant was always the only prospect for a cure. The only thing that's keeping me alive right now are blood transfusions of red blood cells and platelets. All of my platelets and all of my red blood cells come from donors, from ordinary blood donations. Unfortunately, the way this disease works is that gradually my liver especially, to use Dr. Michaelis' expression, chews up these transfusions, and you get increasingly less benefit from any given unit of blood. And at some point, no benefit whatsoever. You get a unit of blood, but your hemoglobin will not rise. And when that happens, you basically cannot sustain life any longer. So the scenario is basically when you approach that period--it doesn't happen abruptly, it happens over the course of days and weeks--you sleep more and more, your body is getting less and less oxygen, 15 hours a day, 18, 20, 24; you're not in a coma, you can be roused, have sweet words of love, maybe even more extended human communication than that. But then eventually you just begin to sleep all the time and, I assume, fade away. That would be the AML equivalent to dying in your sleep. You just, at one point, sleep 24 hours a day and don't wake up. But there are other potential scenarios as well. I have two infections, both of which could kill me, and those could blossom out of control and kill me one day to the next, blindsided. The doctors are doing everything they can to manage the infections and I feel my fevers are under control and that basically that's not likely to be the way that I die. But who knows. Maybe I'll be surprised. Marcia will update everybody when the time comes.

So, dear friends, what we've known for a while is in fact the case. I have a very limited time left in this marvelous form of stardust which I've been talking about over the past few months. I don't feel any dread. I want to assure you that I don't feel fear about this. It seems very petty to complain about the eventual dissipation of my stardust back into the stardust of the cosmos after having lived 72 years in this extraordinary form of existence that very few molecules in the entire universe get to experience. Indeed, to even use the word experience with respect to my stardust is amazing. Atoms don't have experiences. They're just stuff. That's all I really am is stuff. But stuff so complexly organized across several thresholds of stuff-complexity, that it's able to reflect upon its stuff-ness and what an extraordinary thing it has been to be alive and aware that it's alive and aware that it's aware that it's alive. And from that complexity comes the love and beauty and meaning that constitutes the life I've lived. And to top it off, I'm in this massively privileged corner of this human stuff that's managed against all odds to not live a life of fear and suffering from the cruelties of our civilization, that has never felt the fear of hunger, the fear of bodily insecurity in my neighborhoods, that has had the resources to raise my wonderful family, my children, in an environment where I think they too have felt physical security and the basic things you need to flourish. So there you have it. I am among the most advantaged, privileged, call it what you will, stardust in this immensely enormous universe for 72 years. And so it will end. But I knew that, at least from age 6. This is a few years earlier than I'd hoped, but no complaints. No complaints. And I suppose, to carry on this reverie a little bit longer, I suppose to top it all off, sometime in my late teens to early twenties, I decided to take advantage of this extraordinary privilege that I had, not to live a life of self-indulgence but to create meaning for myself and others by trying to make the world a better place. The particular way in which I did this of course is historically bounded by the intellectual currents and turmoil of the late 60s and early 70s. I don't think that means it should be thought of as merely an effect of that historical moment. I think my dogged attempt to revitalize the Marxist tradition and make it more deeply relevant to social justice and social transformation today is grounded in a scientifically valid understanding of how the world actually works. But without being embedded in a social milieu where those ideas were debated and linked in both sensible and misguided ways to social movements, I would never have been able to pursue this particular set of ideas. But I was enabled, and it's made for an incredibly meaningful and intellectually exciting personal life. So no complaints. I will die in a few weeks, fulfilled. Not happy that I'm dying, but deeply happy with the life I've lived, and the life I've been able to share with all of you.

One final thought on this meandering theme: in November of 2015, I was hit broadside by a car while biking. It would have taken very little change in what actually happened to turn this from a significant injury into a death, from one moment to the next I could be here and gone. People sometimes speculate on what's the best way to die: suddenly or in your sleep, bang you're dead; or drawn out over an extended period of time. For me the answer is unequivocal: the death I'm having is the death I would choose. but there's one other little nuance of this way of dying that I didn't really understand beforehand. Often when people talk in a medical context about dying, when the context is the kind of death I'm dying, drawn out, people talk about the trade off between quality of life and extension of life. Well, what I've come to realize is that when you're really sick, when the pain of your illness takes over your life, or even when, as was the case last night I had uncontrollable and really hurtful coughing that kept me up most of the night, when you're no longer in your body in a comfortable way, that's not just a question of quality of life, that is a question of life. Five weeks of living the way I felt last night when I was coughing uncontrollably is not just some trade off with two weeks of living without it. Five weeks of living like that is not living. So I've told the doctors that from here on out, my priority really is comfort. Not being drugged so that I'm loopy and just feeling physically comfortable, I want to be mentally comfortable too. I want to connect and be able to continue writing this blog til the end. But my priority is to be present. And then let the length be what it is. It will end soon, hopefully it will last as long as possible, but only in the context of being truly alive.

Erik Olin Wright (February 9, 1947 – January 23, 2019) was an American analytical Marxist sociologist, specializing in social stratification, and in egalitarian alternative futures to capitalism. He was known for diverging from classical Marxism in his breakdown of the working class into subgroups of diversely held power and therefore varying degrees of class consciousness. Wright introduced novel concepts to adapt to this change of perspective including deep democracy and interstitial revolution.
We meet at the borders of our being, we dream something of each others reality. - Harvey of R.I.

To Justice my maker from on high did incline:
I am by virtue of its might divine,
The highest Wisdom and the first Love.

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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby streeb » Mon Mar 25, 2019 11:32 am

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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby Iamwhomiam » Tue Jul 23, 2019 6:32 pm

Paul Krassner, Anarchist, Prankster and a Yippies Founder, Dies at 87

Paul Krassner, right, in 1969 with, from left, Ed Sanders of the rock group the Fugs and Abbie Hoffman. Mr. Krassner helped start the Yippie movement and was the founder of The Realist magazine.CreditCreditThe New York Times

By Joseph Berger

July 21, 2019

He was a prankster, a master of the put-on that thumbed its nose at what he saw as a stuffy and blundering political establishment.

And as much as anyone else, Paul Krassner epitomized a strain of anarchic 1960s activism — one that became identified with the Yippies as they nominated a pig for president and rained dollar bills onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Along with Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin and a few others, Mr. Krassner helped found that group.

He was the founder and editor of The Realist, among the earliest underground humor magazines, one that was known for outlandish and raunchy cartoons and iconoclastic political and social commentary. Its contributors included Norman Mailer, Jules Feiffer, Terry Southern, Joseph Heller, Mort Sahl, Edward Sorel and Robert Grossman. With some very long breaks, it endured into the 21st century.

Yet so naturally irreverent was Mr. Krassner that when People magazine labeled him the “father of the underground press,” he demanded a paternity test.

In all, he helped propagate a certain absurdist sensibility that encouraged people like the cartoonists R. Crumb and Art Spiegelman and the comedian George Carlin to be more daring in mocking the insanities and hypocrisies of war, politics and much of modern life.

Mr. Krassner died on Sunday at his home in Desert Hot Springs, Calif., his daughter, Holly Krassner Dawson, said. He was 87. She did not give a cause, but said he had been in hospice care.

Mr. Krassner was writing freelance pieces for Mad magazine in 1958 when he realized that there was no equivalent satirical publication for adults; Mad, he could see, was largely targeted at teenagers. So he started The Realist out of the Mad offices, and it began regular monthly publication. By 1967 its circulation had peaked at 100,000.

“I had no role models and no competition, just an open field mined with taboos waiting to be exploded,” Mr. Krassner wrote in his autobiography.

The magazine’s most famous cartoon was one, drawn in 1967 by the Mad artist Wally Wood, of an orgy featuring Snow White, Donald Duck and a bevy of Disney characters enjoying a variety of sexual positions. (Mickey Mouse is shown shooting heroin.) Later, digitally colored by a former Disney artist, it became a hot-selling poster that supplied Mr. Krassner with modest royalties into old age.
Editors’ Picks
65 Migrants Were Picked Up at Sea. Then the Politics Began.

The Realist’s most famous article was one Mr. Krassner wrote portraying Lyndon B. Johnson as sexually penetrating a bullet wound in John F. Kennedy’s neck while accompanying the assassinated president’s body back to Washington on Air Force One. The headline of the article was “The Parts That Were Left Out of the Kennedy Book,” and it claimed — falsely — to be material that had been removed from William Manchester’s book “The Death of a President.”

“People across the country believed — if only for a moment — that an act of presidential necrophilia had taken place,” Mr. Krassner told an interviewer in 1995. “The imagery was so shocking, it broke through the notion that the war in Vietnam was being conducted by sane men.”

Avery Corman, the author of “Kramer vs. Kramer” and other books, whose first essays appeared in The Realist, called Mr. Krassner “a cultural pioneer.”

“The pieces he wrote himself and the material written by others were saying to people that what we’re told by the establishment and the media may not be true, may be distorted, and at that time that was not an accepted idea,” Mr. Corman said in a 2016 interview. “For young people trying to dope out what the world was like, being a Realist reader was a way of distinguishing yourself: ‘I’m not gullible, I’m skeptical.’”

By the 1970s, The Realist was struggling financially and being published more haphazardly; for years it did not come out at all. In the mid-1980s it was revived as a newsletter. It ceased publication in 2001.

Mr. Krassner was also the keeper of the legacy of one of his mentors, Lenny Bruce. He edited Bruce’s autobiography, “How to Talk Dirty and Influence People” (1965), and was nominated for a Grammy Award for his 5,000-word liner notes to a collection of Bruce’s nightclub routines, “Let the Buyer Beware.”

Mr. Krassner in 2009. He once said: “It’s strange to be 70 and still identify with a youth movement. But I’d rather identify with evolution than stagnation.” CreditEric Reed/Associated Press

Encouraged by Bruce, Mr. Krassner often took to the stage, delivering comic monologues at nightclubs like the Village Gate. He and his East Village friends also dreamed up pieces of public tomfoolery.

In one, in 1968, a group of 60 hippies chose to turn the tables on tourists streaming into the East Village to gape at its scruffy, longhaired denizens. With cameras dangling from their necks, the hippies hired a Greyhound bus for a sightseeing tour of the tidy middle-class neighborhoods of Queens.

In 1967, Mr. Krassner, Hoffman and friends formed an organization to meld hippies and earnest political types. Mr. Krassner dreamed up the name Youth International Party — Yippie for short.

Their theatrical shenanigans included streaming to Washington to “levitate” the Pentagon and organizing a nighttime “yip-in” at Grand Central Terminal to celebrate spring; it drew some 3,000 revelers, prompting nightstick-swinging police officers to charge the crowd and arrest 17 as protesters yelled “Fascists!” The press seemed transfixed by their antics.

“It was mutual manipulation,” Mr. Krassner said, reflecting on his life in an interview for this obituary in 2016. “We gave them good stories and sound bites, and they gave us free publicity.”

In August 1968, the group made its way to the Democratic National Convention in Chicago and held a festival that, along with antiwar protests, prompted another police charge, this one bloodier. Television cameras caught what a national commission was to term “a police riot.” Hoffman and Rubin were among those convicted of crossing state lines to incite a riot, though those convictions were reversed on appeal. Mr. Krassner was named an unindicted co-conspirator.

Paul Krassner was born on April 9, 1932, in Brooklyn, the second of three children. His father, Michael, was a printing compositor for The Long Island Star-Journal who had a cynical streak and, according to his son, worried about efforts by government and business “to manipulate the human mind.” His mother, Ida, who had immigrated as an infant from Russia, was a legal secretary and instilled in him the maxim “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Paul was a violin prodigy, playing a Vivaldi concerto at Carnegie Hall when he was 6, but he gave up practicing regularly because he found his instructor too controlling. Still, he traced his bent for humor to that Carnegie Hall recital. When in midperformance he tried to soothe an itch in his left leg by scratching it with his right foot, the audience burst out laughing, and he realized he loved that sound more than the applause for his playing.

He was bar mitzvahed, but, he said, the atomic bombing of Hiroshima had already persuaded him to identify as an atheist. He attended the Baruch campus of City College, though he dropped out three credits short of a degree, disappointing his parents.

“They had learned by then that I was a rebel,” he said.

He was already earning money working for The Independent, a newspaper run by the anti-censorship crusader Lyle Stuart. It turned out that Mr. Stuart was also the business manager of Mad, and Mr. Krassner began writing humor pieces for it.

Mr. Stuart also gave him a list of subscribers to a small progressive magazine that was closing down, and Mr. Krassner managed to persuade 600 of those readers to buy his satirical replacement, The Realist.

An interview in the magazine with a doctor who performed abortions at a time when they were illegal led to Mr. Krassner’s first foray into serious activism. After receiving calls from women seeking information about how they, too, could obtain abortions, he set up a service to refer pregnant women to qualified doctors. He was subpoenaed by two different district attorneys but never prosecuted.

With the decline and demise of The Realist, Mr. Krassner had to scratch out a living, and eventually Social Security checks were a mainstay. He wrote columns for magazines like High Times and Adult Video News and blogs for The Huffington Post (now HuffPost). He served a short stint as publisher of Hustler. In 1994 he published a memoir, “Confessions of a Raving Unconfined Nut: Misadventures in the Counter-Culture,” which he later updated, and he also produced three collections of reminiscences about people’s experiences with marijuana, hallucinogenic mushrooms and other drugs.

Mr. Krassner’s first marriage, to Jeanne Johnson, ended in divorce. In addition to his daughter, from his first marriage, his survivors include his wife, Nancy Cain; a brother, George, and one grandchild.

In 2003, Mr. Krassner joined with others surviving Yippies to form a speakers bureau, charging several thousand dollars for talks to college audiences.

“This is the antiwar equivalent of a veterans’ group,” Mr. Krassner told The New York Times. “It’s strange to be 70 and still identify with a youth movement. But I’d rather identify with evolution than stagnation."

Correction: July 23, 2019
An earlier version of this obituary referred incorrectly to Mr. Krassner’s association with Ken Kesey. While he knew Mr. Kesey, he did not join Mr. Kesey and the Merry Pranksters on their bus trip across America.

Neil Vigdor contributed reporting.

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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby liminalOyster » Tue Jul 23, 2019 10:06 pm

RIP Krassner. I'm very glad Ed Sanders is still with us.
"It's not rocket surgery." - Elvis
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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby Cordelia » Wed Jul 24, 2019 4:11 pm

Rutger Hauer, ‘Blade Runner’ Co-Star, Dies at 75

Rutger Hauer, the versatile Dutch leading man of the ’70s who went on star in the 1982 “Blade Runner” as Roy Batty, died July 19 at his home in the Netherlands after a short illness. He was 75.

Hauer’s agent, Steve Kenis, confirmed the news and said that Hauer’s funeral was held Wednesday.

His most cherished performance came in a film that was a resounding flop on its original release. In 1982, he portrayed the murderous yet soulful Roy Batty, leader of a gang of outlaw replicants, opposite Harrison Ford in Ridley Scott’s sci-fi noir opus “Blade Runner.” The picture became a widely influential cult favorite, and Batty proved to be Hauer’s most indelible role.

More recently, he appeared in a pair of 2005 films: as Cardinal Roark in “Sin City,” and as the corporate villain who Bruce Wayne discovers is running the Wayne Corp. in Christopher Nolan’s “Batman Begins.”

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The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung

We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby 82_28 » Wed Jul 24, 2019 5:52 pm

Rutger Hauer dead: Tributes pour in as he dies in same year as Blade Runner character

He played replicant Roy Batty in the sci-fi epic, which was set in 2019 and featured his death.

One fan wrote: "Roy Batty, Rutger Hauer's iconic personage in Blade Runner, also died in 2019. R.I.P." ... s-18770597
There is no me. There is no you. There is all. There is no you. There is no me. And that is all. A profound acceptance of an enormous pageantry. A haunting certainty that the unifying principle of this universe is love. -- Propagandhi
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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby liminalOyster » Wed Aug 07, 2019 11:42 pm


Silver Jews’ David Berman Dead at 52
Indie-rock great recently released debut album of new project Purple Mountains, his first release since disbanding Silver Jews in 2008

David Berman, the indie-rock singer-songwriter behind Silver Jews and Purple Mountains, has died at the age of 52.

David Berman, the singer-songwriter best known for leading the long-running, critically acclaimed indie band Silver Jews, died Wednesday at the age of 52. Drag City, the Chicago record label that released all of the group’s albums dating back to 1994’s Starlite Walker, confirmed the musician’s death. The label did not immediately reveal the cause of death.

“We couldn’t be more sorry to tell you this. David Berman passed away earlier today,” the label wrote in a statement. “A great friend and one of the most inspiring individuals we’ve ever known is gone. Rest easy, David.”

Berman formed Silver Jews in 1989 with Stephen Malkmus and another future Pavement member, Bob Nastanovich. While the group contained a perpetually rotating cast of musicians, Berman remained at the center throughout their entire run. Starting with Starlite Walker, the group released six acclaimed albums, including 1996’s The Natural Bridge, 2001’s Bright Flight, and 2005’s Tanglewood Numbers. The band released their last album, 2008’s Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea, before Berman retired from making music. Of 1998’s American Water, Rolling Stone‘s Rob Sheffield wrote, “It’s torture to pick just one highlight from such a flawless album.”

For much of his career, the reclusive, enigmatic Berman didn’t do interviews or tour. However, in 2004, newly sober after battling drug addiction, he decided to hit the road in support of 2005’s Tanglewood Numbers. He toured again following the release of 2008’s Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea. His depression, which he referred to as “treatment-resistant depression” per The Ringer, had also led to a suicide attempt.

“I guess I am moving over to another category. Screenwriting or Muckraking,” Berman wrote on Drag City’s message board before his final Silver Jews show in 2009. “I’ve got to move on. Can’t be like all the careerists doncha know. I’m forty two and I know what to do. I’m a writer, see? … I always said we would stop before we got bad. If I continue to record I might accidentally write the answer song to [R.E.M.’s] ‘Shiny Happy People.'”

Berman also revealed “my gravest secret. Worse than suicide, worse than crack addiction”: His father, former lobbyist Richard Berman. The two had been estranged for years over the elder’s ties to the gun and alcohol industry. “A couple of years ago I demanded he stop his work. Close down his company or I would sever our relationship. He refused. He has just gotten worse. More evil. More powerful,” Berman wrote.

“My heart was constantly on fire for justice. I could find no relief,” he added. “This winter, I decided that the SJs were too small of a force to ever come close to undoing a millionth of all the harm he has caused. To you and everyone you know … Previously I thought, through songs and poems and drawings, I could find and build a refuge away from his world. But there is the matter of Justice. And I’ll tell you it’s not just a metaphor. The desire for it actually burns. It hurts. There needs to be something more. I’ll see what that might be.”

Berman returned to music in 2018 to co-produce avant-garde musician Yonatan Gat’s album Universalists before releasing “All My Happiness Is Gone,” the first single as Purple Mountains released in May. A full-length Purple Mountains LP, his first album in 11 years, was released in July. “What follows is a uniquely grizzly breakup album, depressed but resiliently clinging to a desire to see what possibilities might lurk past the next heartache,” wrote Rolling Stone‘s Jon Dolan. “It’s emotionally bare-knuckled.” The group was set to begin a cross-country tour this Saturday in Pine Plains, NY. His North American tour in support of Purple Mountains was scheduled to begin this weekend.

“This is terrible news. As a poet and songwriter and fellow UMASS alum, I couldn’t have respected him more,” wrote Sadie Dupuis of Speedy Ortiz. “What a loss of a tremendous talent.”

A cult hero due to his poetic lyrics and droll delivery, Berman was also a published author, releasing his first collection of poetry, Actual Air, in 1999. “If I were asked to name a poetry book with a perfect opening, David Berman‘s ‘Actual Air’ would be the first one that comes to mind,” wrote Dupuis. “I’m always thinking about [the] poem ‘Snow.'”

“I could sit here all day and quote memorable David Berman couplets and never grow tired,” added the Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle on Twitter. “He had no competition. He was the competition … Of, loosely, my generation of songwriters, the best of us. This loss is devastating. Rest easy, fellow traveler.” ... ry-868824/


Walking through a field with my little brother Seth

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.

He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.

Then we were on the roof of the lake.
The ice looked like a photograph of water.

Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.

I didn't know where I was going with this.

They were on his property, I said.

When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.

Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.
Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.
A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.

We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.

But why were they on his property, he asked.
—David Berman
"It's not rocket surgery." - Elvis
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Re: Rest in Peace

Postby Handsome B. Wonderful » Mon Aug 12, 2019 7:45 pm

Don't know where to post this, as it's a bit late. Never heard of Tracy Twyman or the research she did until she died. Sad. It seems to be connected to the death of Isaac Kappy and maybe Jeffrey Epstein. Who knows what she knew although it may have been on the peripheral or on the button. ... 4331bc1ef2
Born we are the same, within the silence, indifference be Thy name
Torn we walk alone, we sleep in silent shades
The grandeur fades, the meaning never known- 'Born' Nevermore
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