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How Greece betrayed the hands that feed it


“I watched a man with no mud on his boots collect more money than I made all year.”

He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t protesting. He was just tired.
A farmer from Thessaly. Wrists blistered, spine bent, dignity unraveling.
Not because of drought. Not because of debt.
But because the country he feeds chose to feed ghosts instead.

This Wasn’t Corruption. This Was Cannibalism.

EU funds were sent to nourish Greek agriculture—to keep fields alive, to hold villages together, to preserve a disappearing way of life. Instead, they vanished into ghost pastures, false claims, and invisible herds.

This wasn’t an accident. It was a blueprint.
A system designed to reward the connected and starve the honest. A fraud so sprawling it required silence from those in power, complicity from those in charge, and apathy from the rest.

Meanwhile, the real farmers—the ones waking before dawn, nursing sick animals, praying for rain—were buried beneath suspicion, delay, and ruin.

The Ones Who Stayed Got Punished

Dozens of fake claimants have been prosecuted. But they were the smoke, not the fire.
The machinery that enabled this theft? Still humming.
The institutions that failed to protect the real stewards of the land? Still untouched.

And the farmers who never lied?
Now they face more red tape. More audits. More shame.

The message is clear: in Greece, honesty is a liability.

“You can measure theft in euros. But betrayal has no currency.”

A Quiet Collapse

The true damage isn’t seen in headlines. It’s heard in kitchens and empty barns.
It’s in sons who refuse to inherit the land.
In wives who keep a second job just to survive.
In old men who bury their tools and their pride at the same time.

Not because the land failed them.
But because the nation did.

Enough with the corrupted politicians who call this democracy while shielding fraud with procedure.
Enough with parties that treat the countryside as a photo op and farmers as bargaining chips.

When the Soil Loses Faith in Us

This is more than a scandal. This is an existential rupture.

Every time a farmer loses hope, the country loses more than food. It loses memory. Rhythm. Soul.

And soon, the price won’t be measured in fines or EU reprimands. It will be on our plates. In our stores. In the cost of living—and the cost of leaving.

Because when you betray those who feed you, you inherit famine of a different kind.

Don’t Let This Become Another Forgotten Theft

No names need to be mentioned. The story is larger than individuals.
But the rot has a scent, and it rises from the same places: the halls of parliament, the offices of agencies, the podiums of the powerful.

This is a system that starved its most faithful citizens to feed its most invisible ones.

And if we don’t act—if we don’t demand structural justice, radical transparency, and actual support for real farmers—we will wake up one day in a nation with no farmers left.

Just fields claimed by ghosts.

Stop feeding the ghosts. Feed the hands that kept you alive.

Image via freepic

We were taught that government means roads, laws, taxes. Order.
But what if that was only the scaffolding? What if the true purpose of governance was not control—but connection?

Imagine a world where the state’s first question is not “How do we grow the economy?”
but “How do we make people feel safe, seen, and part of something larger than themselves?”

Not as a byproduct. As the mission.

Today we have more departments, consultants, and crisis meetings than ever—
and yet the feeling is clear: no one is actually governing…just see the state of our world.

The state has outsourced its soul to communication strategy.
Public life has become a theater of press releases, hashtags, and carefully managed optics.
Policy is shallow.
Narrative is everything and they think they can fix everything by paying a few reporters to construct the truth.

The Anti-Social State

Modern governments are no longer engines of transformation.
They are content machines.
They do not fix root problems—they rename them.
They do not act—they announce.

The social contract has been replaced by press briefings.
Ministries are run like marketing departments.
Pain is managed through NGO’s, not resolved.
Outrage is deflected, not addressed.
People are fed statements instead of real solutions.

We call this “governing.”
But it is a hollow simulation.

There are ministries for defense and development
but none for emotional repair.
There are systems for data collection
but none for trust reconstruction.

The architecture of government was designed to manage scarcity, control narratives, and neutralize dissent.
It is no longer fit for a world where the deepest crisis is disconnection. Their messaging strategies seem designed for a less informed, less connected electorate than the one they actually face.

What Social-First Governance Could Look Like

A government that centers care would not rely on spin.
It would build systems that don’t need apology.
It would measure success not by stability in headlines
but by the strength of human bonds.

It would:

  • Craft laws based on their relational impact, not political capital
  • Rebuild welfare as mutual support, not monitored dependency
  • Treat care work as the spine of the economy, not a budget line
  • Train leaders in listening, humility, and conflict transformation
  • Replace algorithmic outreach with in-person reweaving of civic trust

The government would no longer ask “How do we look?”
It would ask “What do our people feel?” How are they living?
And the answers would shape decisions, not PR responses.

The Collapse of Political Sincerity

Most modern democracies no longer lead. They react.
Every crisis is a branding challenge.
Every policy failure is repackaged as a new initiative.
Every citizen concern is handled by a comms team before it ever reaches the cabinet.

In this world, truth is negotiable.
But perception is sacred.

When governance becomes reputation management
we are ruled not by leaders
but by the logic of advertising.

And a state that governs like a brand cannot hold a nation together.

The Invitation

A social-first government would be unrecognizable at first.
It would feel slow, quiet, unglamorous.
It would build trust, not just pipelines.
It would mourn with its people, not posture above them.
It would measure wealth in terms of solidarity, not just stock indexes.

It would be less interested in being “right”
and more committed to being in relationship.

And that, in the end, is what governance should be:
A sacred act of holding the space between strangers
until they remember they are kin.

Governments that do not care for the social fabric are not governments.
They are stage sets.
They exist to manage image, not life.
And we are not actors in their performance.

We are the audience walking out.

If the state will not return to the people
then the people must remember how to govern from below.

Start where you are.
Speak not as a brand, but as a neighbour.
Lead not with a slogan, but with presence, with core essence.
Build the society they forgot was possible.

We are not witnessing the rise of artificial intelligence.
We are witnessing the fall of consensus.

Around the world, governments are no longer just fighting for territory or resources. They are fighting for the monopoly on meaning. AI is not simply a new tool in their arsenal—it is the architecture of a new kind of power: one that does not silence the truth, but splits it, distorts it, and fragments it until no one knows what to believe, let alone what to do.

This is not just a war on information. It is a war on coherence.
And when people cannot agree on what is happening, they cannot organize to stop it.

The Synthetic State

In the twentieth century, propaganda was about controlling the message.
In the AI age, it is about controlling perception—by flooding every channel with so many versions of reality that no one can tell what is true.

Deepfakes. Synthetic audio. Fabricated news sites. Emotional testimonials from people who do not exist. All generated at scale, all designed to bypass rational thought and flood the nervous system.

The aim is not persuasion. It is confusion.

During recent protests in Iran, social media was saturated with AI-generated videos depicting violent rioters. Many of them were fakes—stitched together by language models, enhanced with fake screams, deepfake faces, and captioned in five languages. Their only job was to shift the story from resistance to chaos. The real footage of peaceful protestors became just one version among many—drowned in an ocean of noise.

This is the synthetic state: a government that governs not through law or loyalty, but through simulation. It doesn’t ban the truth. It simply buries it.

When Reality Splinters, So Does Resistance

You cannot revolt against what you cannot name. You cannot join a movement if you’re not sure the movement exists.
In an AI-dominated information war, the first casualty is collective awareness.

Consider:

  • In one feed, Ukrainians are resisting with courage.
  • In another, they are provocateurs orchestrated by the West.
  • In one, Gaza’s suffering is undeniable.
  • In another, it’s a manufactured narrative with staged casualties.
  • In one, climate protestors are trying to save the planet.
  • In another, they are eco-terrorists funded by foreign powers.

All these realities exist simultaneously, curated by AI systems that know what will trigger you. What makes you scroll. What will push you deeper into your tribe and further from everyone else.

This fragmentation is not collateral damage. It is the strategy.

Movements require shared truth. Shared pain. Shared goals.
But when truth is endlessly personalized, no protest can scale, no uprising can unify, no revolution can speak with one voice.

And that is the point.

Digital Authoritarianism Has No Borders

Many still believe that these tactics are limited to China, Russia, Iran—places where censorship is overt. But AI-powered narrative warfare does not respect borders. And Western democracies are not immune. In fact, they are becoming incubators for more subtle forms of the same game.

Surveillance firms with predictive policing algorithms are quietly being deployed in American cities.
Facial recognition systems originally sold for “public safety” are being used to monitor protests across Europe, now also in UK to access adult sites
Generative AI tools that could educate or empower are being licensed to political campaigns for microtargeted psychological manipulation.

This is not the future of authoritarianism. It is its global export model.

The Collapse of Trust Is the Objective

We are entering what researchers call the “liar’s dividend” era—a time when the existence of AI fakes means nothing is trusted, including the truth.

A leaked video emerges. It shows government brutality. The response?
Could be a deepfake.
Another video surfaces, supposedly debunking the first.
Also a deepfake.
Soon, the debate isn’t about justice. It’s about authenticity. And while the public debates pixels and metadata, the regime moves forward, unhindered.

This is not propaganda 2.0.
This is reality denial as infrastructure.
AI doesn’t need to be right. It only needs to overwhelm. And in the flood, clarity drowns.

The Slow Assassination of Consensus

In the old world, censorship looked like silence.
In the new world, it looks like noise.

A thousand false versions of an event, all plausible, all designed to divide. The real one may still be there—but it has no traction, no grip. It is just one voice among many in an infinite scroll.

This is not the end of truth.
It is the end of agreement.

And without agreement, there can be no movement.
Without a movement, there can be no pressure.
Without pressure, power calcifies—unwatched, unchallenged, and increasingly unhinged.

This Is Not a Glitch. It’s a Weapon

AI was not born to lie. But in the hands of power, it became the perfect deceiver.

It crafts voices that never existed.
It makes crowds appear where there were none.
It dissolves protests before they gather.
It splits movements before they begin.
It makes sure no one is ever quite sure who is fighting what.

This is not a hypothetical danger. It is happening now, and it is accelerating.

The Final Battle Is for the Commons of Truth

We once believed the internet would democratize knowledge.
We did not expect it would atomize it.

Now, the challenge is not just defending facts. It is defending the very possibility of shared perception—of a baseline agreement about what we see, what we know, and what must be done.

AI will not stop. Power will not slow down.
So the only question is: can we rebuild the conditions for collective clarity before the signal is lost entirely?

In the End

The most revolutionary act may no longer be speaking truth to power.
It may be reminding each other what truth even looks like.

Because when no one agrees on what is happening,
no one will agree on how to stop it.
And that, above all, is what the machine was designed to achieve.

You don’t really understand what a billion is.
None of us do.
Not because we’re stupid, but because we were never meant to.

The human brain evolved to keep track of faces in a village. Maybe food stores for the winter. Maybe the number of goats you own. But once you get past a few hundred, maybe a few thousand, the mental circuitry short-circuits. The numbers blur. Scale breaks.

Now think about this, which easier to understand:

A million seconds? That’s 12 days.
A billion seconds? That’s 31 years.

Let it land.
Not a metaphor. Not exaggeration. Just math.

So when you hear someone is worth a billion dollars, remember:
That’s thirty-one years’ worth of seconds—but in money.
Now imagine what one person could do with that.
Now imagine ten people hoarding that.
Now imagine 400 of them, and you begin to understand the spell we’re under.

We throw the word “billionaire” around like it’s a badge of genius.
But it’s not genius. It’s gravitational collapse.

A billionaire isn’t just a rich person.
They are a system malfunction.
An organism that grew so large it began consuming everything around it—land, time, resources, attention, labor, politics, imagination.

The scale is so broken we don’t even blink anymore.
We scroll past headlines that say someone made three billion this quarter, and we just keep scrolling.
No alarm bell rings.

But if we could feel what a billion really is, we would riot.

Let’s break it down. Slowly.

  • If you spent a thousand dollars a day, every single day, it would take you 2,740 years to spend a billion.
  • If you gave someone one dollar every second, it would take 31 years to finish the handout.

And yet, one person can “make” that in a year and still ask their employees to skip lunch breaks.

Does that feel right to you?

We’re not talking about envy.
This isn’t about “rich people are bad.”
It’s about numbers that no longer belong in a sane society and a healthy planet

A billionaire isn’t someone who worked harder.
They’re someone who figured out how to bend the rules, extract value, avoid tax, and accumulate faster than time can flow.

They don’t run businesses. They run pipelines.
And what flows through those pipelines is your time, your rent, your data, your exhaustion.

That’s not prosperity.
That’s a pyramid.
And you’re at the base.

We’ve been hypnotized.
Taught to look at billionaires the way peasants once looked at kings—mystified, reverent, hopeful that maybe they’ll bless us with a job or a tweet.

But kings at least had to fake divine right.
Billionaires just need a hoodie and a TED talk.

The worst part?
We defend them.
We say, “They earned it.”
As if it’s even possible to earn a billion dollars in a world where nurses work double shifts to afford rent.

You don’t earn a billion.
You extract it.

Here’s the trick:
The system keeps you chasing survival so you don’t have time to question the scoreboard.
But the scoreboard is rigged.
And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

A billion dollars is not success.
It’s the proof that the game wasn’t meant for most of us to win.

So what now?

You don’t need to hate billionaires.
But you do need to stop worshipping them.

Don’t build your dreams in their image.
Force governments to build systems where wealth flows instead of accumulates.
Where no one hoards lifetimes.
Where no one wins alone.

You are not broken for struggling.
Our world is broken for making that normal.

And maybe that’s the real revolution.
Not rage. Not envy.
But clarity.

Clarity that starts with one strange, sticky truth:

A billion seconds is thirty-one years.
Now ask yourself—how many lifetimes is one billion dollars?

Image via @freepic

They used to say the news was sacred.

Evening broadcasts, front-page headlines, the familiar voice of the anchor—these were the rituals of trust. You sat down with your coffee, opened the paper or the app, and for a moment believed you were seeing the world unfold. Not perfectly. Not completely. But truthfully.

That belief has rotted. Slowly. Quietly. Now what remains is a machine with no face, spinning stories not to inform you, but to control what you feel, what you fear, and what you share.

The Click Factory

The modern newsroom no longer reports news. It manufactures reactions.

What determines whether a story gets published isn’t its importance. It’s how many seconds it can keep your thumb from scrolling. Every headline is a weaponized whisper to your nervous system—crafted to provoke outrage, envy, panic, or tribal loyalty. Algorithms don’t reward nuance. They reward rage. And so the editorial meeting becomes a hunt for what will spike engagement, not what will spark understanding.

Sensationalism isn’t a byproduct. It’s the business model.

A teenager posts a half-baked opinion. A celebrity sneezes the wrong way. A politician mumbles a sentence that can be twisted into ammunition. Each becomes front-page news—not because they matter, but because they activate you. Your clicks are currency. Your emotions are fuel. And journalism, in this era, is less a pursuit of truth than a form of digital puppeteering.

The Theater of Outrage

We are not informed. We are inflamed.

Across the spectrum, media outlets curate outrage the way restaurants curate menus. If you’re liberal, they’ll serve you Republican idiocy on repeat. If you’re conservative, they’ll show you liberal hypocrisy until your blood boils. These aren’t mistakes. They’re strategies.

Nuance doesn’t trend. Indignation does.

And while we’re busy fighting each other over narratives designed to keep us addicted, something quieter happens: the truth disappears. Not buried. Not debated. Just… removed.

When the State Writes the Script

Behind the scenes, the line between media and power is dissolving.

In over half the countries on Earth, media outlets are under direct or indirect state control. What stories get told—and what truths are silenced—are decisions made not in newsrooms, but in political war rooms.

Even in democracies, the game is rigged. Governments offer subsidies. Tax breaks. Preferential access. Editors adjust their tone to maintain relationships with ministries. Journalists know which stories are safe, which questions are off-limits, which truths might cost them a career—or worse.

This isn’t censorship in the old sense. It’s something more insidious: a slow ideological drift shaped by money, fear, and allegiance. A quiet editing of reality.

The Death of the Fourth Estate

Journalism once stood as a bulwark against power. Now, it often functions as its amplifier.

Investigative reporters are underfunded, overworked, or driven to the margins. Independent outlets scrape by while corporate media empires grow fat on division and distraction. And as the pressure mounts—economic, political, algorithmic—the mission of journalism shifts.

No longer to challenge the powerful.
Now: to serve the market.
To serve the state.
To serve the feed.

Is There Any Truth Left?

Yes. But it’s rare. Fragile. Often dangerous.

You’ll find it in underground reports. In whistleblower documents. In the notebooks of burned-out journalists who refused to play the game. But these are no longer the rule. They are the exception.

We live in an era where facts are filtered through profit motives and political agendas before they reach your screen. What you read is not what happened. It’s what someone wants you to think happened.

And unless we re-learn how to question, how to dig, how to pause before reacting—we will remain trapped in a hall of mirrors built by those who profit from our confusion.

This is not just a media crisis.
It’s a truth crisis.
And until we admit it, we are not citizens.
We are products.

What Now?

Not every outlet lies. Not every journalist bends the knee. But the structures they work within reward manipulation over meaning.

So start here:
Turn off autoplay.
Unfollow rage merchants.
Read the thing behind the headline.
Look for silence—the stories no one is telling.
And ask: Who benefits if I believe this?

Because in a world that monetizes your attention, reclaiming your awareness is an act of rebellion.

They wear suits, not ski masks. They pass laws, not threats. But power smells the same, whether it’s draped in a flag or a fedora.
Governments and mafias aren’t enemies—they’re rivals in the same game: control, obedience, and the art of fear.
One just mastered the art of printing its violence on letterhead.
The other doesn’t bother with the paperwork.

Both build pyramids of power, each block cemented with loyalty, greed, and force. Let’s dismantle the structure, piece by piece, and see how deep the similarities run.

Hierarchy — The Pyramid’s Foundation

Every empire needs a blueprint, and the pyramid is the design of choice.
At the peak: a figurehead with teeth—President, Prime Minister, or Don.
Below: loyal lieutenants—bureaucrats or capos, senators or soldiers—oiled cogs in the machine.
At the base: the masses, conditioned to obey or be crushed.

Governments demand oaths to the state. Mafias demand omertà, a vow of silence. Both are chains of submission, disguised as duty.
Defy the rules? Governments exile you to courtrooms or blacklists. Mafias prefer shallow graves.
Either way, the pyramid stands tall, built on the backs of the obedient.

Fear + Favor = Obedience

How do you tame millions? Carrots and sticks, served with a smile.

Governments wield laws, police, and prisons—calling it “justice.”
Mafias brandish threats, arson, and bullets—calling it “business.”
Both dangle rewards to keep you in line:
—Tax breaks or protection rackets.
—Welfare checks or quick loans.
—Social security or a seat at the family’s table.

The deal is simple: submit, and you’re safe—from them.
Speak out? Governments slap you with lawsuits or surveillance, like the U.S. targeting whistleblowers like Edward Snowden.
Mafias send a message in lead, like the Sicilian mob silencing informants.
Different tools, same script: stay quiet, or pay the price.

Money — The Lifeblood of the Pyramid

Power runs on cash. Both systems know how to bleed it dry.

Governments levy taxes, tariffs, and fines—revenue to feed the state.
Mafias demand tribute through extortion or drug profits—fuel for the family.
You don’t “donate” to either. You pay to exist in their shadow.

The lines blur when money changes hands under the table.
In the 1980s, U.S. politicians took mob bribes during the ABSCAM scandal. Today, Mexican officials allegedly shield cartels for a cut of the profits.
When governments and mafias swap favors, the pyramid doesn’t just stand—it grows.
Is it a state? Or a syndicate in a better suit?

Legitimacy — The Fragile Facade

Governments flaunt elections and constitutions, cloaking themselves in legitimacy.
Mafias lean on initiations and unwritten codes, binding members through blood and fear.
But legitimacy is just perception—a house of cards waiting for a breeze.

When governments fail—potholes unfilled, hospitals crumbling—mafias step in.
In southern Italy, the ‘Ndrangheta provides jobs and loans faster than the state. In favelas, cartels settle disputes where police fear to tread.
When people whisper, “The mafia does more than the mayor,” it’s not praise—it’s a regime’s collapse.
Yet governments brand them criminals, ignoring the vacuum they created.
Some try to fight back—whistleblowers, reformers—but the pyramid often buries them.

Monopoly on Violence — The Blood Ledger

Governments claim violence as their divine right—police, armies, drone strikes—all in the name of order.
Mafias wield it for respect, carving their territory with knives and guns.
Both call it necessary. Both call it “the cost.”

From the CIA’s torture programs to the Cosa Nostra’s hits, the body count piles up.
Innocents caught in the crossfire? Governments blame “collateral damage.” Mafias shrug at “business.”
The 2010s saw U.S. drones kill civilians in Yemen; cartels in Colombia massacred villages to control cocaine routes.
Both defend the narrative. Both protect the pyramid.
Violence is only unjust when it doesn’t serve the throne.

The Handshake in the Shadows

The pyramid’s mortar is strongest where governments and mafias merge.

The CIA partnered with mobsters in the 1960s to plot Castro’s assassination.
Mexican cartels allegedly fund political campaigns for protection.
Russian oligarchs blur the line between state and syndicate, wearing both hats with ease.

Even in democracies, the game smells familiar.
Lobbyists funnel millions to shape laws, like Big Pharma rewriting drug policies.
Corporate donors dodge taxes or regulations, like paying protection to a cleaner mob.
No kneecaps are broken—just democracy, bent to the highest bidder.

The Pyramid’s Weakness

Governments and mafias aren’t opposites. They’re reflections, each claiming a throne built on the same foundation: power, dressed as necessity.
Governments sell legitimacy with ballots and flags.
Mafias sell it with fear and favors.
But both need you to believe they’re different.

Stop believing, and the pyramid trembles.
Question their rules, their violence, their “protection.”
See through the branding, and the throne starts to crack.
That’s when the real fight begins—not against one gang or the other, but against the pyramid itself.

The greatest trick modern governments ever pulled wasn’t hiding the truth.
It was teaching us to stop looking.

In an age of 24/7 information, censorship isn’t about deleting facts. It’s about drowning them. You don’t need to silence a journalist if you can bury the story under 50 louder headlines. The goal is no longer to convince you—it’s to exhaust you.

This is the operating manual of modern power:
Distract. Divide. Delay. Disappear.

The New Disinformation: Overload by Design

We’ve been trained to think propaganda is lies. It’s not. It’s noise.

Every time a scandal breaks, look around. A celebrity meltdown. A viral meme. A crisis abroad. Α huge disaster. Immigrants coming to your country, a murder ….etc. Suddenly, the truth is just another tab in a crowded browser.

Governments know the algorithm better than any influencer. They drop bad news on Friday evenings. They pass sweeping laws during holidays. They time political moves to sync with football finals or royal weddings.

This isn’t chaos. It’s choreography.

Democracy by Misdirection

There’s a reason you don’t hear about most controversial laws until after they’ve passed. Because they weren’t meant to be debated. They were meant to be hidden.

  • Surveillance powers get buried in stimulus packages.
  • Labor rights disappear inside emergency measures.
  • Entire policies are rewritten at 3 a.m., while the country sleeps.

They call it “governing.” It’s sleight of hand. It is how crime lords operate!

Divide and Conquer, Then Conquer Again

Nothing protects power like a good distraction.

When scandals hit too close to home, governments toss out social grenades.
Abortion. Migration. Gender. Religion. Paedophilia. Murder

They don’t care what side you’re on. They just want you picking sides. Arguing with your neighbor. Posting instead of protesting.

The rage gets redirected. The scandal fades. The law stands.

Manufactured Accountability

Sometimes, they pretend to listen.

A commission is formed. A hearing is announced. An investigation begins.
Weeks pass. Months. A low-level staffer resigns. The machine keeps moving.

The performance of accountability becomes the substitute for justice.

Why It Works (And Why It Keeps Working)

  • The media is flooded. Truth drowns.
  • The laws are complex. People tune out.
  • The scandals are constant. Outrage fades.
  • The public is divided. No one agrees on what matters.

They don’t hide the truth from us.
They flood us until we can’t tell what the truth even was.

Search the internet ask ChatGPT or your favourite Ai and you will find so many examples for UK, USA, GREECE, BRAZIL, RUSSIA, GERMANY, from almost everywhere.

Each follows the same playbook. Different accents, same script.

What You Can Do Now

  • Don’t follow the noise. Follow the timing.
  • Don’t ask “What are they saying?” Ask “What are they hiding?”
  • Don’t trust apologies. Track actions. Watch who benefits.
  • Don’t get baited into culture war theater while your rights are traded behind the curtain.

Most of all, don’t forget. Their power depends on our attention span.

This isn’t about left or right. This is about who decides what you see—and what they never want you to notice.

If democracy dies, it won’t be with a bang.
It’ll be drowned in distractions created by people that don’t really care about you or your loved ones!
And most people won’t even know it happened ..but now you know!

Image via freepic

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