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[Ash]: 102.Contests.F
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Anything: let me have a single strand of breath for the wicked and unheard whispers of my conscious. For in this cold premonition of droll thought I sit here in a mild contortion with a flurry of ideals that might lead me to dupe myself out of this wearying mind. Must my mind wander? Alas, I hope to be straightened out by this barrel and simple piece of iron so I may weep no more, sleep no more, love no more.