who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pains of being a man"
opening to “Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas”
of a species, gonzo journalist Hunters S. Thompson died as he lived, by
his own hand.
was not a man who knew fear. He wrote about the Hells Angels, San Francisco
in the 1960’s, shark hunting, The Kentucky Derby, football and Richard
Nixon equally. His coverage of the 1972 presidential campaign should be
required reading for all journalists. He wrote it as he saw it in a quick,
knowledgeable and uncensored style.
misunderstood because of a unapologetic lifestyle he once quipped,”
I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always
worked for me.”
his critics his passing will be seen as another nail in the coffin of the
1960’s, a poor drug addled refugee of that long forgotten age, a degenerate
whose crude and lascivious lifestyle was doomed from the start: To his readers,
an affirmation of an authentic lifestyle unhindered by the realities of
work-a-daddy schedule. Too weird to live, too rare to die.
my life my heart has sought a thing I cannot name.”
line from a long forgotten poem, Hunter S. Thompson
corporeal body will now fade and crumble, his ashes, by some accounts to
be shot out of a cannon over his Woody Creek, Colorado farm, another passing
mote in the great eye of humanity.
will be written about him while my humble memorial will be to continue to
read his books and remember that he once said “It never got weird
enough for me”