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    Your post brought to mind that scene in "Life of Brian" where Brian is addressing his crowd of followers who have camped outside the window to his flat where he's just had a nice fucking.

    Brian: "You have to think for yourselves!"

    Crowd (in unison): "We have to think for ourselves!"

    I came to the thread late and missed The Day, but it happens I did my usual amount of drinking and cursing the lizards anyway so that should be sufficient.
    • CommentTimeFeb 23rd 2008 edited
    I didn't spend my Gonzo Day boozing it up and saying things like "Ye GODS, man!" because quite frankly, I think Hunter would not only hate anyone who did that, but also decide NOT to give them a ten second head start with his rifle. Granted I had a little toast to him and wherever the hell he is now, but I didn't do any Raoul Duke mimic to celebrate Hunter Thompson.

    Instead I cracked open my copy of The Great Shark Hunt, which is a review copy of the original printing that my dad got when he worked for Rolling Stone briefly, and read the author's note. Here's an excerpt:

    "I feel like I might as well be sitting up here carving the words for my own tombstone...and when I finish, the only fitting exit will be right straight off this fucking terrace and into The Fountain, 28 stories below and at least 200 yards out in the air and across Fifth Avenue.

    Nobody could follow that act.

    Not even me...and in fact the only way I can deal with this eerie situation at all is to make a conscious decision that I have already lived and finished the life I planned to live-(13 years longer, in fact)- and everything from now on will be A New Life, a different thing, a gig that ends tonight and starts tomorrow morning.

    So if I decide to leap for The Fountain when I finish this memo, I want to make one thing perfectly clear - I would genuinely love to make that leap, and if I don't I will always consider it a mistake and a failed opportunity, one of the very few serious mistakes of my First Life that is now ending.

    But what the hell? I probably won't do it (for all the wrong reasons), and I'll probably finish this table of contents and go home for Christmas and then have to live for 100 more years with all this goddamn gibberish I'm lashing together.

    But, Jesus, it would be a wonderful way to go out...and if I do it you bastards are going to owe me a king-hell 44-gun salute.... "

    And on the back of the book is a painting of Hunter shooting himself.
    • CommentTimeFeb 23rd 2008 edited
    I'm having a time out until I can learn some manners.
    <blockquote> a review copy of the original printing that my dad got when he worked for Rolling Stone</blockquote>Now that's interesting. I know it's a bit late now but you should check out the obit for Hemingway in that book, I think called <i>What Lured Hemingway to Ketchum</i>, I've had Lit teachers who despise Hunter Thompson tell me that they love that piece, well, to pieces. There are some eerie statements about shotgun blasts in that article which give one pause for sure.

    <blockquote>...trying to connect Hunter S. Thompson with the Beats in some meaningful way and failing miserably, much like a paper cat in a monsoon.</blockquote>I can see a tie between HST and the original beats, in the 50's he only ran one or two degrees of separation from Kerouac and Gary Snyder and others like that, and he was definitely hanging out with Ginsburg in 1965 according to <i>The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test</i>.

    The only guy from my hometown to ever win a Pulitzer was William Kennedy for the novel <i>Ironweed</i>, and Kennedy was Thompson's boss in San Juan during the 50's when <i>The Rum Diary</i> was first being written and abandoned for decades, so he was definitely part of something really huge years before <i>Hell's Angels</i> came out. Dude got around, seriously.

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