Hunter S. Thompson

Hunter S. Thompson

1937-2005

Works: Hell's Angels, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, The Rum Diaries

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I haven’t been able to write for a while, fortunately I have started working and can’t focus all my energy into these entries. Although I have multiple handwritten notes I simply cannot find the time to document them online, so for the most part I have treated these entries and those as separate ones. To further fuel your nonexistent dismay (I feel quite presumptuous) I chose not to write about a film but about a writer whose work I’ve truly enjoyed since a tender age: Hunter S. Thompson. There’s nothing more melodic than waves in which his voice travel. He writes and talks like it’s a race and he’s the very last one determined to be the first. There’s something numbing about it. His anxiety is more than evident but under his total and smooth control. It’s that anxiety that calms me. An uncanny hybrid between Hemingway and Kerouac, a bridge between art and politics, Hunter wasn’t scared to speak his mind and it was that ballsy attitude that made him exciting and entertaining and self-indulgent. I wear two of his quotes around my neck to constantly remind me how much he shaped the person I am today, to remind me how much his writing helped me discover myself, that he’s the closest thing to a real teacher that I ever had, making it clear for me that this educational system sets us up for failure, at least the ones of us who like to challenge our thoughts. I’ve never felt so instantly in love, with the exception of the first time I saw Lauren Bacall in The Big Sleep…  or Chris Chase in Killer’s Kiss… or Elisha Cuthbert in The Girl Next Door, with something like I did with his style of writing. “Too weird to live, too rare to die” The most relatable phrase, made up of eight measly english words. The power of words, written next to the correct one, is immense and Thompson is a clear example of that. A misunderstood “poet” prophesying the hypocrisies of our times.