I don’t know how many times I have sat here in front of The Gates of Hell. Staring thinking feeling dreaming I don’t know how many times. I didn’t understand what I was looking at until now. That for me and for all who came before me every writer and every artist, The Gates aren’t to Hell, The Gates are to Freedom, that the torture and ecstasy, the beauty and love and terror, the addiction and disaster and exuberance, are the price we pay to find it. I’m happy to pay. Whatever the cost, I don’t care. Take everything I’ve got none of it fucking matters. All that matters is that I was here, and
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