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The Suicide of Anthony Bourdain

There’s more than one way to know someone, more than one degree, if you will. I can meet you and shake your hand without immediately knowing what makes you tick, your aspirations, desires, fears, etc. It remains a mystery until you choose to give me a clue or just flat out tell me. If we spend enough time together, it’s likely that I’ll paint a picture of who I believe you to be.
Art can be a way to circumvent that, a cheat - for lack of a better word. If I read your writing, watch your television shows and read your interviews, there’s a good chance I’ll get a window into your psyche. And in the case of Tony Bourdain, it seems many people could relate to, or at least admired, the person that they knew.
In his death, the world lost a brilliant and uncompromising advocate of free speech, an enemy of the bastards who wield their power with disregard for the people they hurt, a man with no use for the odd concept of borders, an unlikely feminist hero, Gen-X’s bearer of Hunter S. Thompson…

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