Fear and Loathing in the afterlife
I had neglected to post this earlier, thinking I should write something more profound and prosaic. Well, I'm drunk now and feeling profound and prosaic.
When Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was released onto the big screen, I wasn't allowed to see it. If I was going to see something so drug heavy (I think I was, like, 14 at the time), my parents reasoned, I should read the book first. So I did. And I fell in love. As a writer (always) and a (secretly) aspiring journalist (at the time...I mean I still am now, but I'm more open about it) I immediatley felt a deep admiration and attraction to Hunter S. Thomspon. I loved and still love all his writing. For my final paper in last semester's Journalism in 20th Century America class, I wrote about him.
He shot himself in the head yesterday.
I found out this morning, 12:30 p.m. London time, 6:30 a.m. US time, via the front page of the Evening Standard. Angrily, I asked the man at the stand "Is this true?? Can I trust this??" "Yes," he said, and I thought I would cry.
Thompson's legacy is not to be underestimated. He completely and totally changed the way journalism is written and thought about. I am very sad.
Read this to hear the same sentiments from someone who actually knew him.
Cheers, Hunter. Cheers.
1 Comments:
What a great blog. Wish there were more like this.
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