I am deeply saddened by the news. I fear that know one will ever fill the void that HST’s death has left. Where will we learn of the world that is out there but only HST could see and relate to us. Please read pages 103 and 104 of Better than Sex to see what I am talking about.
I had heard that HST and Depp were working on a second film. Can this be confirmed?
Kill the head and the body will die.
When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. – Raoul Duke
Call me ignorant, but what’s “Gonzo” journalism, and why is this permanently drugged out guy so popular?
Please read pages 103 and 104 of Better than Sex to see what I am talking about.
In short form, never letting the facts get in the way of a good story. Think Mike Moore documentary.
Almost but not quite.
Perhaps: Never let the facts get in the way of the truth.
Gonzo journalism is making yourself part of the story, not by reporting what happened but by being part of it.
Yup, recording events using pen and paper like a video camera. If you’re HST, this is done in a very drug induced state, so what he reports is usually very true, though not entirely accurate, and is often laced with paranoia.
The Rum Diary , from the novel of the same name.
Treacherous bastard! To set the record straight:
“The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.”
The line about a negative side was added, scholars believe, by a Duckman episode. Truly hideous…
RIP HST
My take on it was that it was a highly individualised form of journalism that evolved, principally through Tom Wolfe and Hunter S., during the 60’s - previously most journalism {with the possible exception of Orwell} had usually been written from a detached, third-person perspective, with any personal attitude, bias or interpretation subsumed within the piece; rather like the anthropologist observing the gorillas. The gonzos wrote non-fiction in a fictional and usually very individual style - they pretty much figured that since they were there, they were part of the story, and might as well get down and ugly with the gorillas: their prejudices and attitudes, good or bad, about the gorillas still remained, but at least they were out there for all to to see - they might distort or exaggerate, but the distortion and exaggeration was, as Dancing Dead neatly phrased it, not letting the facts get in the way of the truth, or the anthropologist get in the way of the gorillas.
Because, until very, very recently, he was the greatest living writer. In my SPOOFEy opinion, of course.
Updated Aspen Times link, with the confirmation of the suicide by the coroner, Steven Ayers.
I respect this quote from this story: “‘I’m not ordering a toxicology report in this case because it was incidental to the cause of death. It doesn’t matter if there were drugs in his system; it had nothing to do with the manner of his death,’ Ayers said.”
spins “Sympathy For The Devil” in the good Doctor’s memory
“There he goes one of God’s own prototypes, a high powered mutant never meant for mass-production. Too strange to live, to weird to die.”
Late to this thread.
Yesterday morning, when the clock radio went off at 6:00 AM, the first words from NPR’s “Morning Edition” were “Journalist Hunter S. Thompson is dead.” What a lousy way to wake up!
I was in high school in the 60’s when I first read Thompson’s “Hell’s Angels.” He absolutely mesmerized me with that book.
In college in the early 70’s, I was a Rolling Stone subscriber, and came across Thompson under the pen name “Raoul Duke” in the serialized version of “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.” I bought the book when it first came out; my first edition of “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” is one of my most treasured possesions.
I happened to be in school in England during the summer of '72 when the presidential conventions were held for both Nixon and McGovern. Rolling Stone was available at the news stands there, and Thompson’s coverage of the '72 presidential race was the only coverage of that campaign (including the conventions) that I read.
Needless to say, I bought “Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, 1972” as soon as it came out (another first edition).
It took a lot of googling, but I finally found Thompson’s June 16, 1994 obituary of Richard Nixon on a non-subsciption site. Click here and scroll about halfway down to “HE WAS A CROOK” to read one of the best things HST ever wrote. For those wondering what the big deal is, this will give you a very good idea.
I was having a beer yesterday afternnon, when suddenly I remembered HST was dead. I asked the bartender for a Wild Turkey on the rocks to go with my beer in memory of HST. The bartender, the owner of the bar, and the other two people sitting at the bar all joined me in drinking to his memory.
RIP, Dr. Duke. We’ll not see your kind again.
Yes, that’s it. I was unsure of the netequitte of outing “FF” in my story.
A few words from Tom Wolfe.
Wow. Some pretty high praise from Wolfe in that piece:
“Badgers don’t fight fair, bubba. That’s why God made dachshunds.”
HST
My heart dropped into my stomach when I read the news yesterday morning.
I’m a woman with few heroes, but HST was one of them.
God bless and Godspeed, I salute you, old man.
I think that’s my favorite line from the obit, but perhaps we should put it in context:
"It was Richard Nixon who got me into politics, and now that he’s gone, I feel lonely. He was a giant in his way. As long as Nixon was politically alive – and he was, all the way to the end – we could always be sure of finding the enemy on the Low Road. There was no need to look anywhere else for the evil bastard. He had the fighting instincts of a badger trapped by hounds. The badger will roll over on its back and emit a smell of death, which confuses the dogs and lures them in for the traditional ripping and tearing action. But it is usually the badger who does the ripping and tearing. It is a beast that fights best on its back: rolling under the throat of the enemy and seizing it by the head with all four claws.
That was Nixon’s style – and if you forgot, he would kill you as a lesson to the others. Badgers don’t fight fair, bubba. That’s why God made dachshunds."
He lived by his own sick, twisted rules and went out the same way.
HST was a truly whacked, gifted writer. I will always remember
cracking open Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and just being… blown
away by the insanity. And genius. Here’s a shot of whiskey across
your bow, you crazy fucking gonzo bastard. No rest, no peace for you.
It’s how you would have wanted it.