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As my understanding of the world grew, so my love for a broader spectrum of writing emerged. The tender brutality of Jean Genet, a defiant mix of love and grime. Authors who first provoked and then provided a home for my own emotions.
The great gift of myths are the many layers of meaning and understanding they bring, smuggled under the worn familiarity of the surface. They twist and recombine to present a multitude of ideas. Why should Faust lose his soul? Is not eternity after all reserved for the damned?
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