Trailer © Cyrill Lachauer

Cockaigne - I am not sea, I am not land

Cyrill Lachauer

  • Year 2018
  • Edition Edition 1/5 (+ 1 a.p.)
  • Material/Technique Multimedia installation (films, videos, slide, wall texts, audio loop, post cards, 26-part photo series)
  • Dimensions Variable
  • Length 2' 20'' – 25' 27''
  • Category Media art
  • Collection Sammlung Goetz, Medienkunst, München

Cyrill Lachauer's extensive multimedia installation Cockaigne – I Am Not Sea, I Am Not Land (2018-2020) consists of films, videos, slide projections, sound installations, photographs and wall texts. In the work, the artist explores the idea of land in its most varied forms. Land, for example, can signify home and thus provide roots, or it may provide nourishment. It can, however, foster a sense of inclusion or exclusion when it embodies the idea of nationhood. The title Cockaigne refers to the 1567 painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Land of Cockaigne, a mythical land of plenty. It symbolizes a utopian-ironic alternative to the everyday harshness of rural life.

The point of departure for the project was the film Dodging Raindrops – A Separate Reality (2017), which is the only pre-existing work presented in the exhibition. The artist, who was born in Rosenheim in 1979 and lives in Berlin, studied directing, ethnology and art. In his youth, he came across the book A Separate Reality by Carlos Castaneda. Motivated by the idea of a narrative landscape, in which the history of its inhabitants is also inscribed, Lachauer traveled to the United States. Starting in Los Angeles he followed the route of fictional field research of Carlos Castaneda. It remains to be seen how much of his own history Lachauer, who critically questions his role as a white European man, artist and traveler, has incorporated in the film.


The Conqueror

Film clip © Cyrill Lachauer

The Conqueror - No More Sea, Not Yet Land
(based on "Man of Aran" by Robert J. Flaherty, 1934)
S-16mm loop, 3' 29''
Audioloop asynchronous; Musical composition: Ned Collette, 32'

The film projection shows a sequence from the film Man of Aran, which was edited by the artist. A wind-battered sea makes it impossible to distinguish between the mainland and the ocean. To achieve this effect, Cyrill Lachauer erased all shots containing animals or people from the original version, leaving only images of the coast with craggy rocks against which the foamy Atlantic waves violently crash.

The nearly four-minute sequence focuses on an in-between space that is no longer entirely sea and not yet land. For Lachauer, this intermediate zone is a grey area with great transformative power. The Berlin-based Australian composer Ned Collette was inspired by this idea to compose a piece of music for the work.

With his artistic adaptation of the 1934 documentary, Lachauer also refers to a debate that existed when Man of Aran was made. Critics accused the film’s writer and director, Robert J. Flaherty, of presenting an unauthentic picture of the people’s lives because he had pre-selected his protagonists. Flaherty is one of the first directors to combine the documentary format with a fictional, film-like narrative. Lachauer is not only interested in the innovative approach from an artistic perspective, but also in the epistemological question hidden in the debate: Does a documentary reality even exist, or is it always ultimately a constructed reality?

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies

Film clip © Cyrill Lachauer

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies
In collaboration with Moritz Stumm
HD Video (color,sound)
25' 27''

The film Sunken Cities, Floating Skies begins with a close-up of the famous painting The Land of Cockaigne by Pieter Bruegel the Elder from 1567. In contrast to the Christian idea of paradise, Bruegel created a place of longing as an alternative to the everyday hardship of rural life, a place where all earthly pleasures are permanently available. Food is everywhere for the taking; even the buildings are made of edible materials. In the painting’s center, three pot-bellied, satiated men lie about, too full and exhausted to move. Wine drips into their mouths from an overturned jug. The trio, a knight, peasant and scholar, embody the three social classes that unrestrainedly indulge in the (Christian) mortal sins of gluttony and indolence.

With the keenness of a scholar’s eye, Cyrill Lachauer zooms in on the painting for almost half an hour until it dissolves into its digital fragments and finally ends in a fade to black. The film is accompanied by the text Sunken Cities, Floating Skies, which the artist wrote during a journey from Florida to New Mexico aboard freight trains. The text describes encounters with people on the fringes of society, failed desires and places in decline. Autobiographical experiences mix with visions and dystopian ideas about the future.

For this text, the DJ and artist Moritz Stumm developed a soundtrack together with Lachauer; in it, fragments of pre-existing pieces of music are mixed with ambient sounds, such as the whistling of a locomotive or the rattling of railway wagons.

With this, Lachauer establishes a connection to the utopian notions of the “hobos,” American migrant workers, who illegally crossed the country on freight trains. Their land of milk and honey is called “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” The American singer Harry McClintock dedicated a song to them in 1928 that became the hobo hymn. Even today, people illegally travel across the country on trains for a variety of reasons. It is one of the few ways to travel the country without financial means and is regarded as an anti-capitalist way of life.


With his photographs from his Landless series (2020), Cyrill Lachauer captured brief scenes on his travels. The photographs were taken in Berlin, Brandenburg and Brazil and tell of his time on the road through motifs such as a cowboy mounting his horse or an eagle on the tarpaulin of a truck. Yet they do not convey a mood of optimism or cheer, but rather the melancholy of failed dreams. Lachauer prompts questions about land ownership, justice and death.

Moon and a Half Dome and Fire Fall

Film clip © Cyrill Lachauer

Moon and Half Dome (Greetings to Muir and Adams)
Camera: Immanuel Hick
S-16 mm loop
6'  23''

Both the S-16mm black and white film Moon and Half Dome (Greetings to Muir and Adams) and the slide Fire Fall lead the viewer into Yosemite National Park, a place of significance for Cyrill Lachauer. Since 2011, he has been traveling regularly to this valley surrounded by the high granite summits of the Sierra Nevada to climb there or to explore the breathtaking landscape with its waterfalls and sequoia trees. The naturalist and philosopher John Muir is considered the discoverer of the Yosemite National Park in California because he made the valley famous through his writings. Muir is even depicted in the park on a California State Quarter. Despite all the admiration for the sensitive botanist, it is easy to forget that the valley was already inhabited before: the Ahwahneechee lived in the Yosemite Valley before being ousted by white settlers.

The world’s image of Yosemite National Park was largely shaped by American photographers, especially Ansel Adams. During one of his visits to the nature reserve, the landscape photographer took the legendary image Moon and Half Dome (1960), which depicts a waxing moon over the peaks of the Half Dome rock formation. Lachauer unites these two myths of white male descriptions of history and landscape by reworking Adams’ photograph: in his S-16mm loop, Lachauer replaces the moon before Half Dome by a reflective John Muir quarter.

Lachauer juxtaposes this film with a slide projection of a waterfall made of fire, which eats its way into the landscape like a cut. The artist borrowed the image from the film The Caine Mutiny (1954). It depicts the Firefall; established in 1872, this annual tourist spectacle in Yosemite Valley continued for nearly a decade. A gigantic fire was lit above the small town of Camp Curry and then bulldozed over the abyss. In this way, a ‘waterfall’ of fire and embers was created - a megalomaniac intervention, which exemplifies the appropriation of nature by Western cultures.


Fil clip © Cyrill Lachauer

Camera: Immanuel Hick
S-16mm film transferred on 2k video (color, stereo sound)
10' 51''

The vertical rock formation El Capitan in Yosemite National Park rises majestically into the sky. With its almost 1000-meter high granite face, it is considered the Eldorado for climbers. Although there is a hiking trail to the summit, every year climbers from around the world try to reach their destination by the fastest possible route. Some of them paid for their search for adventure with their lives. Cyrill Lachauer is a passionate mountaineer and has already climbed the rock on various routes. During his stays in Yosemite Valley, he met the queer park worker Justin, who connects with the landscape in a completely different way from the climbers. Lachauer filmed him in women’s clothes, rising up out of the tall grass at the feet of El Capitan, and then dancing to imaginary music. With graceful movements he frolics around the rock, almost embracing it and becoming one with the site. With his dance, he explores the limits of his body in a different way and represents an alternative to the traditional notions of masculinity that dominate the valley.


If I Could Only

Audio file © Cyrill Lachauer, photo: Thomas Dashuber

If I Could Only
Mezzo-soprano: Amelie Baier
Audioloop 3' 23''

The clear mezzo-soprano voice of the opera singer Amelie Baier can be heard in the bright, discreetly painted lilac-colored room. She repeatedly sings the same line “If I could only” from the country song If I Could Only Fly by Blaze Foley. The American singer and songwriter was considered an outsider in the nation’s conservative country scene. He led an atypical life as a homeless man in the American Midwest. His musical repertoire ranged from melancholy love songs to satirical-political songs. In 1989, Foley was shot and killed during an argument in Texas.


Film clip © Cyrill Lachauer

Camera: Immanuel Hick
S-16mm film transferred on 2k video (color, stereo sound)
5' 21''

Cyrill Lachauer and Barrit, an American living in Berlin, have been friends for many years. Originally, the two wanted to travel across the United States on freight trains and visit Barrit’s mother in Colorado. But the trip never materialized, as Barrit feared he might be imprisoned in the USA because he had once fled to Germany, where he lives undocumented. Instead, they visited the town Amerika in Saxony, just a two and half hour drive from Berlin. Apart from a few blocks of flats, gardens and an old train station, there is little to see. Lachauer filmed Barrit walking along the tracks playing the accordion, roaming the nearby forests with his dog and lighting a small campfire from dry branches. Yet, everything seems a bit like cold comfort, because Barrit’s dream to follow the trains in the tradition of the hobos, America’s legendary migrant workers, remained unfulfilled.

The Rain Dancer

Film clip © Cyrill Lachauer

The Rain Dancer
In collaboration with Moritz Stumm
S-16mm film transferred on 2k video (color, stereo sound)
4' 41''

In his film The Rain Dancer (2020) Cyrill Lachauer takes us to Eastern Romania, where - between Christmas and New Year’s Day - parades and dances with people in bear costumes are performed in some small towns. The participants are taking part in a fertility ritual in which the dancers imitate the pounding movements of a bear accompanied by drum music, thereby cleansing the soil and making it fertile for the new year. Lachauer has removed the dance from its original context and replaced it with a forest clearing, where a man dressed in the traditional bear costume dances. DJ and artist Moritz Stumm composed a techno soundtrack to accompany this scene. With his film The Rain Dancer, Lachauer highlights the role of spirituality inscribed in the countryside and landscape in certain regions.

We Are Unarmed

© Cyrill Lachauer

We Are Unarmed
HD video loop
2' 24''

The animated image We Are Unarmed addresses the land theft in the context of the American Indian Wars that has shaped generations of Americans and continues to do so today. The image is based on a photograph taken in 2016 during the protests on the Standing Rock Reservation, one of the largest Native American reservations in the United States. The Lakota joined forces with other indigenous groups there to protest the construction of an underground oil pipeline through their land. The Lakota consider the land sacred and its use non-negotiable. They also fear that the soil, with which they earn part of their livelihood, could be contaminated should the pipeline burst or leak.

Their demands drew international attention and support. A protest camp was set up collectively, where as many as 5000 people dwelled at times. There were clashes between the protesters and the police, who used rubber truncheons and water cannons against the demonstrators, even when the temperature was below zero. It was the largest protest movement by Native Americans since the violent clashes at Wounded Knee in 1973. Eventually, the tribal council enforced a construction freeze so that alternative routes to the controversial one planned could be explored. Four days after US President Donald Trump took office, however, the construction injunction was abruptly lifted.

We Are Unarmed (II)

The photo series We Are Unarmed (II) unites six silver gelatin prints that have no specific geographical context. Rather, they are accidental finds Cyrill Lachauer came across on his travels through the prairies of America’s heartland and in South Africa. Childlike war toys, human remains in the sand, a lonely bison grazing in a pasture and the geometric formations of migratory birds in flight convey a feeling of placelessness, the loss of land and a spiritual home.

The Big Hole

Film clip © Cyrill Lachauer

The Big Hole
S-16mm film transferred on 2k video (color, no sound)
2' 20''

In 2018, South Africa faced one of the greatest ecological disasters in its history. A relentless drought had left Cape Town’s drinking water reservoir virtually empty. Cyrill Lachauer wanted to travel to South Africa to make a film about the drought’s consequences for the country. Private circumstances necessitated the trip’s postponement until the following year, by which time it seemed as if the drought had never happened by the time he arrived. 

On his way to Johannesburg, however, he happened to meet three young men in a fast food restaurant. The men turned out to be diamond hunters who illegally rummage through the dirt and debris in the mines with their bare hands. Because the yield is so meagre, such men are called “Zama Zamas,” which means “those willing to try their luck”. The majority of these men are migrants from neighboring African countries or miners from South Africa who have lost their jobs. South Africa’s national lottery has been called Zama Zama since 1994.

In his film The Big Hole, Lachauer does not document the life of the Zama Zamas, but focuses on their hands. One sees a worker working through the earth with a pickaxe and shovel, crumbling thick chunks of dirt with his hands and sifting the sand through his fingers in the hopes of being one of the lucky few. The film is accompanied by a handwritten text mural by the artist and three photographs taken on his trip through the country.



Film clip © Cyrill Lachauer

In  collaboration with Moritz Stumm
S-16mm film transferred on HD Video (color, sound)
4' 47''

In the film Esel Cyrill Lachauer examines a northern Alpine ritual. According to an old custom, young, terrifyingly masked men dressed as donkeys march through the miners' village of Stelvio in early December. They wear archaic-looking masks, brightly colored rag costumes and straps adorned with large bells in front of their bodies. As they move, they swing their hips wildly, bray like donkeys and roll about on the ground. “Klosn” is the name of this exclusively male custom. In his film, Lachauer removes the dance from its traditional ritual context of the winter parade and situates the “Esel” in a northern Italian mountain landscape. Moritz Stumm composed a soundtrack with electronic music for this.

This last film joins the group of dances, like that of Justin, the queer park worker in Yosemite National Park and the Eastern Romanian bear dancer. They all are characterized by ​​the pursuit to establish a connection with the landscape through movement, music and ritual.


Text murals

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies
You couldn’t climb when we met
Old shoes slipping on granite
Old shoes of older friends
Old granite born of quartz and glimmer
You were nineteen and full of shit
Climbing hard
A badass
You folded your wings to die on the Meadow
Before bursting the shute opens and you flew away
Just to slip and flip
And brake your back

The shaper lied to me
Just craving for my youth and my strength
The teacher lied to me
Just craving for my youth on the bench
The shaman lied to me
Just craving for the greens
The drugs lied to me
Just craving for some flipping horror trips
The Guru lied to me
Just craving for twisted weirdo minds
The father lied to me
Just craving for denied lust
The mother lied to me
The endless lie of loveBut I came to sing
Sing redemption songs
Sing songs of open roads
Of brothers, tramps and drifters
I wanna be a hero
Heroes without fathers
Eagle without feathers
Ugly crawler full of beauty
I fall into crevasse
Panicking on spiders
Tumbling on my belly
Eating up my guts

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

I wanna be a hero
Heroes without fathers
Eagle without feathers
Ugly crawler full of beauty

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies
You overdosed in shaking white
You were hiding out
Two jungles down
You were ageless with a pink back
Mine was blue and black
Both still around after a heavy sleepless night
I had to calm your friend with an old country tune
He told me stories about rape
Beaten childhoods burning in his eyes

After 40 yours
I see a CSX
Three engines in the front
Pulling westbound
Still after sixteen hours on that double stack
Your tremor in my ears

From fire and from smoke
New figures rise
Loving broken twisted splitted
Rich in love and poor in faith
Let the falcons fly
Is just another word for dropping shit
We ramble into dark rooms
Dreams of leather dooms
And orgies of all kind

But I’m still scared to touch your hips
And slip down and inside

A sparkling hallway spreads
into a new horizon
All those fears are old and dead
Like all the heroes brave and hot
Older as the burning inner city
Cars in flames
Cars in flames
And what I’m missing
Is just another crush
And what I’m missing
Is just another deadly crash
Is just a late-night shot
Filled with powders cooked in wastelands
Moldy trailers and askew huts
I wanna be with you
Which is always me
But I’m still scared to touch your hips
And slip down and inside

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

I wanna be a hero
Heroes without fathers
Eagle without feathers
Ugly crawler full of beauty

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies
You were a sick and filthy painter
Carribean blues
Full of scabies and dripping juice
Next year you still painted
Happy woman you just fucked
Quick and sick
With a white hero trick
Red and blue and green
Khaki linen with bloody drops
Grim reaper with a jagged edge
Reborn in Alabama
Three skulls on a prominent belly
Who will chop them off in our days?

After 20 yours
I see a Northfolk Southern
Three engines in the front
A white grinder full of corn
Pulling westbound
I leave you waiting
And hop the train

But I’m still scared to touch your hips
And slip down and inside

I am what I am is just another deadly trap
You are me
And am I you
And all this we is lonely traveling
Lonely rambling
Lonely wandering
In stores and alleys
Malls and valleys
Just another lonely fuck
Another lonely fuck
Hookers in the hallways
Hard dick
half hard
not hard

But I’m still scared to touch your hips
And slip down and inside
I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

I wanna be a hero
Heroes without fathers
Eagle without feathers
Ugly crawler full of beauty

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies
You were a skinny bum
You had two brandings on your breast
Ugly coughs and nasty wounds
Sleeping in the school
Abandoned and squatted
A crust punk’s rest
You’re screaming
Come on, come on!
You and me and Jesus!
Let’s jump into Big Muddy!
Let’s swim into the current!
And transform into a fish!
Gleaming flakes
Baptized by pesticides and slags
The man with the sword had left me alone
Clacking cuffs
After PBR and Jamo
Iron smell on itchy skin
All the beasts flattened into tar
Waking up in steel pipes close to yards
I grab the blue, the white, the pink
The rambling men are falling
I’m a motherfuckin monster
Will you still love me tomorrow?

But I’m still scared to touch your hips
And slip down and inside

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

I wanna be a hero
Heroes without fathers
Eagle without feathers
Ugly crawler full of beauty

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies
You had two fingers
Soaked in brownish yellow
Holding on a golden handrail
Cheap fumes and cold smoke
Old fashioned ways of dying
And you crawl into the bunker
Built for endless flashing bombings
Now used to stand the heat
And sheltered by the dark
A batman without fang teeth
One day all inner cities burn
And there won’t be any hiding
There won’t be any cheering
No popping romantic fireworks
Cracking, sparkling Bengal lights
Like barefoot workers dismantling ships
Thrown onto the shore
Dead gods and empty screens
It’s better to burn out than fade away
Pale and stale
Hurt and lonely
I want to please
I want to please
My shortcut to the shotgun

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

I wanna be a hero
Heroes without fathers
Eagle without feathers
Ugly crawler full of beauty

I pull again the trigger
On all the father figures

Sunken Cities, Floating Skies
Somewhere in the woods
A kid
Big dreams of places far away
Writtings in the treehouse
Logbooks and fishing hooks
Love letters to girls beyond reach
Odes to laughter and to sanity
To the stoked and sparkling eyes
To encounters of any kind
To mountains, peaks, and summits
To shifting tides and changing corners
To iced beards and bleeding hands
To rage, resistance, and resilience
Writtings against laws carved in our genes
But the world just keeps on spinning
And trees just keep on growing
So fuck your pole
Fuck your judgemental vomit
Fuck your white walls and all your holy halls


Lieber J.,

ich erinnere mich noch genau, wie ich Dich das erste Mal sah. November 2012, Yosemite-Lodge. Es war bereits ungewöhnlich kalt im Tal und es waren keine Touristen mehr da. Du hast getanzt. Zu Musik, die nur Du unter Deinen Kopfhörern hörtest. Du hast Dich durch das Tal getanzt, in das Tal. Entlang des Merced River, vorbei an uraltem Granit. Und die Gerüche und Bäume und der Fluss und der Granit und die Partys und die Farben haben sich in Dich getanzt. Ihr webt Euch ineinander. Ein fortdauernder, endloser Prozess. Ihr seid nicht eins, ihr seid nicht zwei. Jedes Mal wenn ich von Mariposa hinauffahre, sehe ich Dich und den alten Monolithen.

Pass gut auf Dich auf.
Dein C.

Dear Barrit,

now I’m here. Without you. We wanted to ride the trains together. To visit your mother in Colorado. Together in the jungle. Catching out together. It was our dream. Now I’m here. At your home. And you are there. At my home. I have the frightening feeling that I could stay and hop those trains forever. Anyway I don’t know anymore where this at home should be.

Take care,

Dear Gianni Nevada,

on my way to Rumania, I broke down under a bridge. Crying. My world was falling apart. An old man with a cow appeared
between the bushes covering the river bank. He watered the cow and left. About half an hour later the old man returned. He came straight towards me, hugged me, and gave me a bagof walnuts. On the same day, further south I discover a tag from you – saying:

A pile of dirt
A pile of dust
A pile of trash

All the best, my friend!
I can’t send you photos this time. I didn’t take any.


„Say my name, say my name
If you love me, let me hear you“
David Guetta

Dear Gianni Nevada,

wie Du weißt, wollte ich 2018 einen Film über die Folgen der Dürre in Südafrika drehen. Die „Stunde Null“ stand kurz bevor und Kapstadt wäre die erste Millionenmetropole der Welt gewesen, die ihre Trinkwasserversorgung nicht mehr hätte aufrechterhalten können. Das Militär hätte an bestimmten Punkten in der Stadt die von der WHO empfohlene Menge an Wasser ausgegeben, die pro Person unabdingbar ist, um Gesundheit und Hygiene aufrecht zu erhalten. Was wäre in den Townships der Cape Flats passiert und was in den Villen der Reichen? Dann wurde meine Schwester krank. Und als ich dann ein Jahr später nach Südafrika reisen konnte, war die Dürre für die meisten Menschen bereits vergessen. Pools waren wieder gefüllt und Rasensprenkler liefen als wäre nie etwas gewesen. Auf meinem Weg nach Johannesburg, lernte ich in einem KFC in Kimberley zufällig drei junge Männer kennen. Milton, Chris und Mmapeng. Wir sprachen über DJs, Partys und unsere Kinder. Dann stellte sich heraus, dass sie Zama Zamas waren. Diamantensucher, welche den Schutt und die Abfallreste des Big Holes nach kleinsten Diamantenresten durchsuchen. Ohne Lohn, in einem Grau- bereich der Legalität, suchen sie Tag um Tag ihr Glück
auf öden Flächen, welche die weißen Minenbesitzer aus dem Erdinneren auf das geraubte und geschändete Land gespuckt haben.

Das meiste, was ich in Kimberley gedreht habe, möchte ich nicht verwenden.

Auf bald – irgendwo,
Dein Cyrill

Let the fire fall

North Dakota
flat and boring
Three bills for the van
The ultimate bet
all in and all alone

Northeast first
Hoisting the main sail
She zigs and she zags her way
to the Keys

Taking a westward turn
through forests and woods
over mountains and deserts

this land is your land
this land was my land
The road is white, the dream is dead

hitting the Olympic rain
finally down South
the Center of the Universe

this land is your land
this land was my land
The road is white, the dream is dead

Phallic monolithic peaks
cast shadows
on the tiny valley’s floor
still dump with fire that falls

Heads or the bearded man on his walking stick
Mother with her Eagle’s tip
embraces the first rays of dawn

With long hair
In a pride of knots

Over here a thirst ridden man with bleeding hands
Sunken deep in a Southern tune
simple kind of man
simple kind of lie

this land is your land
this land was my land
The road is white, the dream is dead

Old man you lost it all
Fruit punch and Wodka
Hitting smoking pipes
One can’t turn back the years

Hop into the car
Turn the music up
There won’t be any Rangers

dark forests
through narrow tunnels
The bear feeds human rot

Catching out can’t fill the void
George Dickels
Postings getting less and less
Until you sink into the moss and needled floor
wrapped in a blanket of white and cold
the fire fades
brilliant with longing and loss

Mr. Dickel’s second coming
Reminds me
I’m not that old

Through the thickets
And over the roots
Returning to your van

Losing trust in the simple kind of man
Hard and honest
White and proud
That road is yours
Laden with hits of meds and all them dirty tricks

Before the Captain kisses morning light
We sink into a pile of dirty washing
And as we hug in total darkness

No need
No act
We’re already there
Racing still
blind and sad
we’re both at home

A burning match shows me the way
I leave and close the door

this land is your land
this land was my land
The road is white, the dream is dead

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