The Sixties were an era of extreme reality. I miss the smell of tear gas. I miss the fear of getting beaten.”
-Hunter S. Thompson, RIP

Feb. 20 it’ll be four years since he shot himself to death. Who could believe it?

Some of my favorite quotes:

For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled.

There is nothing more helpless and irresponsible than a man in the depths of an ether binge.

I feel the same way about disco as I do about herpes.

Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish—a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow—to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested . . . Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll.

There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation. It’s a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die. (1988)

Don’t I wish he were alive and writing about this mess today….oh hell, truth is I just wish he were alive and writing.