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psychedelicadventures.com
The Psychedelic [in] Society:
A
Brief Cultural History of Tripping
Psychedelics are notorious today because of the rude splash they made in
the Sixties and Seventies, when the tidal wave of altered consciousness they
unleashed billowed across the social landscape, upsetting many an apple cart,
Newtonian and otherwise, along the way. During the course of this insurrectional
drive to expand the human mind, millions of students, artists, and other seekers
were ushered by chemical agents toward – and, hopefully, through -- the Doors
of Perception, a term borrowed from William Blake by Aldous Huxley to describe,
in his 1954 book of the same title, the expansive universe to which drugs such
as LSD can open up the mortal brain -- a realm in which everything appears, in
Blake's words, "as it is, infinite."
Timothy Leary’s calls to “tune in” psychedelically and Ken
Kesey’s Electric Kool-Aid Acid Tests, the multimedia LSD extravaganzas
immortalized by Tom Wolfe, steered untold legions through these portals into a
molten state of being which is all but smothered today beneath the buttoned-down
collars of straight-laced yuppie composure. Because most psychedelic drugs have
been illegal since 1966, there are no accurate polls to determine the numbers of
people who experimented. But many at least temporarily heeded Leary's clarion
call to abandon middle-class security and catch the wave of revelation by
gulping down psychotropic chemicals. Leary's death in 1996 has sparked a burst
of introspection on the impact of the drugs he proselytized, and the high
numbers of Baby Boomers who stormed heaven with them now have the stature to
contemplate the fruits of their rebellions.
The demographics of tripping are actually much
broader than one might suspect. You needn't be a hippie to have a psychedelic
background. The corporate and civic leaders who are running the country today
are likely to have once been experimental long-hairs in their school days. We
know that President Bill Clinton and both major-paty candidates vying to
succeed him, Texas governor George W. Bush and Vice-President Al Gore, have
admitted or intimated they've used illegal drugs. Indeed, many in high places
today have been in even higher ones in their youth, touring the outer galaxies
of their own minds on acid and other psychedelics. Millions have a unique lens
embedded in their minds composed of the rarefied fibers of their hallucinogenic
experiences. Meanwhile, many who didn't "turn on" are wondering,
"What did I miss?" Still others, psychedelic veterans among them, find
“recreational” drugs and the culture of their “indulgence” disquieting,
and for good reason from their perspective. Trips, after all, were known to go
awry.
As the new millennium begins, the use of psychedelics is again on the
rise after tapering off in the 1980s. How could this be happening? Wasn’t the
first time around, the convulsive Sixties and Seventies, too unsettling for
anybody to want to go back? Well, the fact is that human beings will always want
to suspend everyday reality, be it by legal means or otherwise, and they will
always be at least curious about alternate states of consciousness, especially
those that are consecrated in many of the world’s ancient traditions.
Veneration for the induced visionary experience has roots in virtually
every culture on earth, however sublimated or repressed it is today. In fact,
one could argue that the use of visionary plants and hallowed drafts has been
seminal to the development of civilization. Two of the most pervasive and
influential cultures the planet has ever seen, that of Hellenistic Greece and
Aryan India, contained at their very core inspirations derived from the
ingestion of psychedelic concoctions.
For
two thousand years before its eradication by Christians in the fourth century
A.D., the celebration of the Eleusinian Mysteries was the peak-experience of the
ancient Greeks, a “holy institution,” according to religion historian Huston
Smith, for regularly opening ”a space in the human psyche for God to enter.”
After a half year of rites, the pilgrimage to Eleusis just west of Athens
climaxed with the re-enactment of a sacred drama that was enhanced by the
drinking of kykeon, a grainy beverage
beleived to contain barley ergot. Among notable initiates were Socrates, Plato, Sophocles,
Aristotle, Aeschylus, Cicero, Pindar, and possibly Homer. A communion between
gods and men, between the living and the dead, the ceremony at Eleusis was a
symbolic journey to the underworld to claim back from death Persephone, the
daughter of the grain goddess Demeter. The setting for this ur-psychedelic
experience was a telesterion
(initiation hall) at the very site where Persephone is said to have emerged from
Hades with the newborn son she’d conceived in death there. A series of
breathtaking, masterfully orchestrated special effects enthralled the senses and
conjured the specter of deliverance from the forces of darkness through a
ritualized resurrection. The whirlpool of stimuli that washed over initiates
involved an Oz-like chimera of voices, music, perfumes, mists, light and
shadows. At the peak of the crescendo, the “bellowing roar of a gong-like
instrument that outdid…the mightiest thunderclap, coming from the bowels of
the earth” announced the arrival of the queen of the netherworld.
All
were forbidden by penalty of death to tell what they’d seen. According to Carl
A.P. Ruck, co-author with R. Gordon Wasson of The
Road to Eleusis (1978), “Even a poet could only say that he had seen the
beginning and the end of life and known that they were one, something given by
God. The division between earth and sky melted into a pillar of light.” Of
course, some couldn’t hold their tongues about such a marvel. A scandal ensued
when some aristocratic Athenians began celebrating the Mysteries at dinner
parties in their homes with groups of “drunken”
revelers. Socrates himself was tried and condemned for using the sacred brew
recreationally. (Such a profanation of the holy potion might have a modern-day
parallel in the spilling of LSD into the well water of the mass media and youth
culture during the early Sixties).
Notably, the Mysteries were not freely conjured by anyone who could get
their hands on the kykeon. They were the exclusive charge of two families who
served as hierophants for two thousand years. Clearly, the indoctrination and
rites leading up to the swigging of the mash were at least as influential as the
concoction itself in weaving the phantasm that stole over the pilgrims’
senses. Such congregational participation and extensive preparation for a
psychedelic experience is almost unheard of in the modern West. If anything like
the Eleusinian Mysteries had survived the hi-tech world of today, it would
almost certainly be diluted and profaned, taking the form of a commercialized
adventure-tourism attraction involving a multimedia circus of light and sound
somewhat akin to the group-mind experience of a Trips Festival or a rave.
Re-creation of the kykeon brew has proved elusive, however, even to such
consummate ergot specialists as Albert Hofmann, who used the fungus in his 1938
invention of LSD.
The earliest known religious texts are a collection of hymns called The
Rig Veda, written by Aryans who swept down into India from Siberia. Among
the one thousand twenty-eight verses, considered the foundation of the Hindu
religion, a hundred and twenty are devoted to praise for the rootless, leafless
plant called Soma, which is deified for conferring immortality and divine
inspiration. “We have drunk the Soma; we have become immortal; we have gone to
the light; we have found the gods.” (Rig
Veda 8.48.1-15)
Wasson conjectured that Soma was Amanita muscaria, the red-capped Fly Agaric mushroom depicted
ubiquitously to this day in European folktale literature, and used
ritualistically by Siberian and some Native American tribes. This conclusion was
based, in part, on the Amanita’s
unique property of being able to inebriate people who drink the user’s urine,
which is corroborated by a reference in The
Rig Veda to ceremonial urine drinking. Wasson tried Amanita several times himself, but never really got off. Terence
McKenna believes that Soma is actually the
Psilocybe cubensis mushroom, in part because of the generally weak and
erratic performance of the Amanita
mushroom in modern trials. In this volume, however, I’ve included an Amanita
trip tale that corroborates Wasson’s theory, an excerpt from Clark
Heinrich’s book Strange Fruit (1995),
which is now available in an (expanded) American edition as Magic
Mushrooms in Religion and Alchemy. Uncovering the ancient ethnobotanical truth
about Soma is an ongoing endeavor, but there is little doubt that the very ether
of Indian religion is a psychotropic, probably mycelial, plant.
The average American today still has little if any inkling of the
traditions for the sacramental use of mushrooms and other plants by cultures
across the globe, lumping all drugs into one baggie-full of stupefying
intoxicants that will turn you into a sick, lazy low-life bound for jail or an
early death. Unlikely as it may seem, however, an appreciation for the induced
visionary experience is apparent not so far beneath the surface of mainstream
modern culture. For me this remnant sensibility is epitomized in the vision of
Walt Disney (a known cocaine user), whose imagineered™ re-creations of
classic fables often alluded to the fruitful alterability of consciousness.
The
pivotal scene in Dumbo (1941), for
instance, is the transformation of consciousness and augmentation of capacity --
in this case, the big-eared elephant’s motor skills -- via a hallucinatory
delirium brought on when the dejected pachyderm drinks a barrel full of water
into which, unbeknownst to him, a bottle of spirits had been accidentally
spilled. To the foreboding lyrics and serpentine melody of “Pink Elephants on
Parade,” Dumbo begins seeing things “you know that ain’t” (a succession
of fractals and geometrical patterns, forms morphing into new ones, and scenes
of Oriental mystery and erotica), then passes into oblivion, from which he wakes
up in the highest branches of a tree. Thus Dumbo earns his wings not through an
act of obeisance to the Ten Commandments but in the throes of a
psychotropic-induced visionary state.
Fantasia
(1940) features scenes that portray synthesthesia (“See the music, hear the
pictures,” reads the video's promotional copy) and other phantasmic phenomena
that make it one of the most beloved of all films to view while tripping.
According to psychedelic scholar Peter Stafford, Disney’s "chief visualist" for the project was a mescaline subject of Kurt
Beringer (an associate of Carl Jung and Herman Hesse), who published The
Mescaline Inebriation in 1927. In the early decades of Disneyland, a pink
elixir was served upon entry in the Enchanted Tiki Room to accentuate the
pleasure of the tropical respite and render the bird songs that much sweeter.
The psychoactive element of the potion was “make believe,” of course, but
today, in deference to stricter notions of “family values” now in vogue, the
suggestive little cocktail is no longer offered to visitors.
Since the cataclysms of the Sixties and Seventies, a more tenacious if
less overtly messianic subculture has grown up around the psychedelic. Nowhere
in the industrial world is psychedelic consciousness more above-board and
appreciated than in the computer software business, where it is regarded as the
inspiration for cybernetics -- the very definition of twenty-first century
communications efficiency -- by many of its most illustrious practitioners.
According to Jaron Lanier, a pioneer in the virtual reality industry,
“…almost to a person, the founders of the [personal] computer industry were
psychedelic style hippies…..Within the computer science community there’s a
very strong connection with the ‘60s psychedelic tradition, absolutely no
question about it.
In
the TNT docudrama Pirates of Silicon
Valley (1999), Apple founder Steve Jobs is depicted on an acid trip in which
he conceives himself the conductor of his own cosmic symphony. Bob Wallace, one
of the early developers of Microsoft, who now runs Mind Books, the online
purveyor of tomes devoted to psychedelic and alternative consciousness, has said
that his conception of shareware as a formal business application was
psychedelically inspired. Lotus spreadsheet designer Mitchell Kapor, co-founder
with Grateful Dead lyricist John Perry Barlow
of the Electronic
Frontier Foundation, an Internet advocacy organization, has attributed certain
“recreational chemicals” with sharpening his business acumen. Bob Jesse left
his position as vice president of business development at Oracle, the world’s
second largest software company after Microsoft, to head the Council on
Spiritual Practices, a non-profit organization that advocates (among other
things) the responsible use of entheogens
(divine-manifesting drugs) for religious purposes. Such a marriage of technology
and psychedelic consciousness – and a resoundingly profitable and influential
one at that -- might have been foretold by Marshall McLuhan’s 1968 observation
that “the computer is the LSD of the business world.”
The possibility that industrial success might in any way be attributed to
the psychedelic is not overtly bantered about in Wall Street boardrooms, where
psychedelic acuity is not yet measured out in lucre as an asset or variable in a
company’s fortunes. But according to author and media theorist Douglas
Rushkoff, firms “such as Sun Microsystems that lead the Valley of the Nerds
[Silicon Valley] recognize the popularity of psychedelics among their
employees.” You need only one look at the covers of the cyber-age magazines Wired
and Mondo 2000 to conclude that the
computer cognizenti have had at least some contact with the whirring currents of
the psychedelic Mainframe.
The phrase “We’re all connected!,” often exclaimed during a
psychedelic experience, might just as well be uttered by a PC user tapping into
the mycelium-like World Wide Web for the first time. Cyberspace is, in many
respects, an electronic mirror of the hyperspatial
web of synaptic nerves running through the Universal Mind, the Indra’s Net of
impulses
and receptor sites that some say they’ve accessed by psychedelics. (According
to ancient myth, Indra, the king of the Hindu pantheon, created a vast web
comprised of strings of jewels. Each jewel both reflected and was reflected by
all the others, thus revealing both its uniqueness and its universality.) A sort
of invisible yet real medium of contact between any and all points, cyberspace
is a habitat for the mitosis-like proliferation of the idea germs called memes, and an endless mind field on which to explode the fractal
equations that portray the parallel orders of controlled chaos in the universe.
*
* *
Much
of what I unearthed about contemporary psychedelic culture would be considered
elementary or passe to the many who tune into recordings of McKenna’s
incandescent rants; travel hundreds of miles to raves, Rainbow Gatherings, or
neo-pagan festivals like Starwood and Burning Man; subscribe to hyperspatial
mind rags like TRP, Head Magazine, and
Magical Blend; and log on to the
homepage for the Salvia divinorum
Research and Information Center and
other psychedelic Websites. But I uncovered a great deal of information about
the subject that I wish I’d known back when I was a teenage tripper in the
1970s. My research revealed how much I and others were in the dark -- and still
are -- in regard to maximum safety and security issues, the history of
psychedelic substance usage, and the wisest methods of navigating the various
hazards and hassles of the psychedelic experience. Although there have been many
new developments since I started out (new substances, resources, methods), much
of the apparent change that I perceive in psychedelic culture is only a function
of my earlier ignorance. When I started tripping at age fifteen, I’d barely
boned up on the subject. There was information and guidance available, of
course, but I was aware of very little of it.
I have since learned that the modern psychedelic revolution first
germinated in the time and place that I was born, in mid-Fifties Los Angeles,
unofficially inaugurated on a brilliant morning in May 1953, when Huxley threw
back 400 milligrams of “mescalin” sulfate in the tawny, then-unspoiled
Hollywood Hills. The psychedelic then enjoyed a decade of expansive development
before generating so much heat that the law was provoked to come down harshly on
it. (The State of California’s ban on LSD took effect on October 6, 1966, and
the other states soon followed suit.) Many might be astonished that
“mind-blowing” psychedelics once enjoyed an age of relative freedom of
proliferation and experimentation, during which one worried not about getting
busted and only minimally about “freaking out.” During that window of
opportunity, psychologists, Beats and artists, and various members of the
intelligentsia, including some pillars of the ruling class, experimented quietly
and not so quietly with mescaline sulfate, psilocybin tablets, and LSD-25 to
mostly rave reviews.
Cary
Grant, the very emblem of debonair Forties-era class, admitted taking acid over
a hundred times under psychiatric supervision in the 1950s. Thrilled with the
results, he crediting LSD with helping him control his boozing and come to terms
with unresolved conflicts involving his parents. (I recall a circa 1970 article
in a Chicago daily in which Grant described how, during an early acid
experience, he was so overwhelmed with the expurgatorial power of the drug that
he felt he was about to let loose with a terrific, system-wide, psychical bowel
movement.) Time/Life publisher Henry Luce described “chatting up God” on a
golf course during an LSD session, while his wife, Claire Boothe Luce, cleaned
her psychical house with the medicine. A right-wing idealogue, Mrs. Luce
believed that LSD was fine for the elite, but not advisable for the masses.
"We wouldn't want everyone doing too much of a good thing," she is
reported as saying.
Before
the ban, psychedelic research focused on the use of LSD in treating alcoholism,
depression, sexual neuroses, autism, compulsive syndromes, and criminal
psychopathology. By 1965 there were more than two thousand scientific papers
describing the treatment of up to forty thousand patients with psychedelic
drugs. Success was commonplace. Among the more stunning results were from
studies in which LSD was used in the treatment of autistic children at UCLA
Neuropsychiatric Institute and of chronic alcoholics at Hollwood Hospital in
British Columbia and Spring Grove State Hospital in Baltimore. In a 1961 letter
to Leary, Alcoholics
Anonymous founder William Wilson waxed glowingly about the “immense and
growing value” of “LSD and some kindred alkaloids,” having personally
experienced their ability to break down barriers within the self.
By the time I boarded the psychedelic bus in 1970, the commotion over LSD
had already spawned a backlash against the dispersal of the chemicals far beyond
the enclaves of the elite to the teenyboppers of a mass media-fed youth culture.
Leary is held largely responsible for this debacle. After conducting several
laudable studies as a Harvard psychologist, and pioneering and then road-mapping
the psychedelic landscape in highly serviceable books used as bibles by trippers
in-the-know during the Sixties -- The
Psychedelic Experience: A Manual Based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead (1964),
and Psychedelic Prayers after the Tao Te
Ching (1966) -- the zealous pie-eyed piper actually helped ruin the name --
and hence the experience of LSD as well as other psychedelics -- by his puerile
jingoism and shenanigans. (The rise and fall of the psychedelic revolution is
chronicled brilliantly in Storming Heaven:
LSD and the American Dream (1987) by Jay Stevens, which depicts the social
factors and cumulative events that led to the national hysteria over LSD, which
overtook the country and finally led to the drug’s criminalization.)
The
dark age of the Leary hangover may now be giving way to
new light on the psychedelic horizon, visible through some cracks in the wall of
proscription. Thirty-four state legislatures and the District of Columbia have
passed laws – yet in conflict with federal law -- recognizing marijuana's
medical value. The FDA has recently ended
its decades-long ban on clinical psychedelic use and approved new trials for
LSD, psilocybin, DMT, MDMA, and ibogaine. In Brazil the Uniao do Vegetal (UDV),
a religious order that uses ayahuasca as a sacrament, got the legal right to do
so by the national government in 1992. According to Curtis Wright, director of
the addictive drugs division at the FDA, ”It’s clear that these agents have
a role in understanding how the mind works, and there’s also a role for them
as potential ways to help people.”
Back
when I did most of my tripping, there were basically five psychedelic substances
in use among my circles: LSD, so-called “mescaline” (usually inferior acid),
peyote, psilocybin mushrooms, and MDA. Today, there is a whole galaxy of new
choices, including an apparently infinite string of synthetic analogs banned
automatically by the Analog Act of 1986. Alexander (Sasha) Shulgin, the former
research scientist at Dow Chemical affectionately dubbed “the Godfather of
MDMA (Ecstasy),” has annexed an extensive archipelago of new territory to the
psychedelic continent by creating – and then self-testing -- new potions with
the flick of a molecule. In PiHKAL (1991), an acronym for “phenethylamines I have known and loved,”
Shulgin and his wife Ann document his laboratory inventions and their
psychoactive properties in the context of a “A Chemical Love Story,” the
courtship between these two now august and beloved figures in the psychedelic
community.
In 1997 I sat in on a DMT cell group in Manhattan, the likes of which,
according to one member, has propagated as a response to McKenna’s
irresistible endorsements. A cluster of fellows smoked the high-octane
tryptamine in a dark room, then soared off internally for twenty minutes or so,
returning to their senses to compare notes. The experience is so intense and
otherworldly that it can take awhile to piece together just a fraction of what
has happened. “If only I could remember the last thing I saw before I came
out...,” stammered one of the psychonauts, struggling to reassemble the bolt
of truth that had just laid siege to his mind.
No longer a mere trend, rave (or dance) culture has swept the world since
the late 1980s, a pacific movement by a mycelial network of MDMA-fueled Techno
music revelers from Manchester, England to Koh Phangan, Thailand. In the UK,
where rave took off and where youth culture burns fiercest perhaps, it is
believed that the number of MDMA "pills" taken every week has
increased steadily from one million in 1992. The ravers I met in London in 1997
gave me to believe that their legions, along with their defiant temperament, are
growing. In the working-class district of Brixton, I talked to a laser
technician for rave shows who predicts an apocalyptic confrontation between the
British government and the increasingly Ecstatic youth. (It remains to be seen
whether the commercialism and popstar iconoclasm that has most recently crept
into rave events once notable for their spore-like spontaneity and the diffuse
anonymity of the music, will numb the nerve-ends of the movement and render it
increasingly harmless from the perspective of authorities.)
The organic counterpart to Shulgin’s artificial pharmacopeia is the
burgeoning field of ethnobotany, led by intrepid, rainforest-trekking scholars
such as McKenna, Wallace, and Jonathan Ott, all intent on cataloging Mother
Nature’s psychotropic tools and their use in shamanic rites by traditional
cultures across the globe. There’s an ample and growing body of scholarship
devoted to indigenous practices related to sacred plants, with passages on
psychedelic seeds, snuffs, brews and other preparations that read like accounts
of occult fetish worship in James Frazier’s The
Golden Bough (1890) or Margaret Mead’s Coming
of Age in Samoa (1928). The adventure-travel circuit is riddled with
mystical-magical locales where one can participate in authentic tribal rites
with ayahuasca or the San Pedro cactus, take mushrooms or Ecstasy on a tropical
beach under the full moon, or eat legal hash from a government shop. For the
armchair traveler, Paul Devereux’s The
Long Trip: A Prehistory of Psychedelia (1997) charts the use of sacred
plants all over the world from the beginning of recorded history.
The
ancient Mayan civilization, whose shamans apparently made ample use of the
psilocybin mushroom, figures heavily in the mythology of today’s psychedelic
culture. One of my participants, the London laser specialist I’ll call Stan,
was keen to this, while embodying several matrices of contemporary psychedelic
sophistication. Coming of age in what might be called “old wave” psychedelia,
dropping acid at free festivals during the Seventies, his trade involves
synchronizing beams of light to the rhythms of Goa Trance and Drum ‘N Bass
music for throngs of MDMA-popping twenty-somethings who are gearing up for the
new millennium and the Advent of the Alien. But Stan’s real cup of tea is a
fascination with both the anthropology and the headspace of the tryptamines.
A
few years ago Stan was studying the Mayan codices in the British Museum Library
when he spotted a glyph that a Christian scholar had identified as a “night
light” (i.e., the artificial light of candles or paraffin), but which he
believed was actually a cross-section of the
yage vine, a component of ayahuasca. Finding it curious that there were
carvings of kings from separate generations sitting together eating, he
translated a codex that gave what he interpreted as a recipe for time travel,
using the yage. To celebrate the
discovery, he and his brother-in-law, a mycologist, undertook a risky regime of
psilocybin in combination with harmaline, an MAO inhibitor meant to potentiate
the tryptamine in the mushrooms, over a period of several days.
In
the course of their visioneering expedition, they encountered a network through
time constructed by Mayan psychedelic shamans, who, Stan believes, set dates
when they’d meet up with ancestors or progeny. When they knew that
cosmological conditions were aligned for them to contact a royal figure from
another age, the shamans would drink a tryptamine brew and use a form of
psychical telekinesis to time-travel to meet up with him. Meanwhile, the
long-departed or distant-future king would, in turn, be looking back because he
knew that the shamans were looking for him.
Disintegrating into the biospheric mesh of the planet, Stan recalls,
“we immediately saw them and they saw us.” After upping the dose of
harmaline to dangerous levels, they had visions of the last scenes of the Mayan
civilization, people dying of Old World diseases such as small pox, diphtheria,
and cholera. However accurate his archaeological findings and historical
notions, Stan’s experiences bespeak the transtemporal and cosmopolitan
sensibility of the contemporary psychedelic scene.
Oral ingestion of DMT with beta-carboline MAO inhibitors is now a sort of
totem among many of today’s trippers, a way to both encounter and embody the
Archaic Revival, the return to pure, autochthonic theology, often via modern
chemistry, extolled in McKenna’s 1991 compilation volume of that name. These
days there’s many an amateur ethnopharmacologist and psychedelic brewmeister
out there, calculating the tryptamine to MAOI ratios just so. (Indeed, MAOIs can
be dicey admixtures that can cause blackouts when taken in combination with
tryptamines and possibly death when mixed with MDMA. Prescription MAOIs carry a
slew of warnings about dangerous combinations.) Writes, R.U. Sirius, co-founder
of Mondo 2000, which Time calls “the cyberculture mindstyle manual-magazine,” “You
can find it [the independence and erudition of the new counterculture] on the
Net, where millions of youths log on to psychedelic bulletin boards. Read
through the public conversations, and you’ll start to wonder how many young
psychedelic chemists conversant in biotechnology, comparative religion and
visionary literature, are hiding in the American heartland.”
There
is no doubt that with the advent of the new millennium, the use of psychedelics
will continue to rise, both responsibly and otherwise, as they are increasingly
seen as tools for penetrating the veils of quotidian maya
and mass-media illusion spun by corporate greed. According to the best hopes of
the new psychedelic vanguard, the expanded intelligent use of these plants and
chemicals will usher in an eon of shamanic vistas and stronger definitions true
to primordial forms: a pagan, aboriginal order in which the spirit will reign
pre-eminent.
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