Fear And Loathing In Denver

Hunter S. Thompson, famed writer and journalist, has shot and killed himself in Denver, Colorado. While not a true Hunter disciple, the news still saddens me. I remember reading his articles in Rolling Stone magazine when I was growing up. His madcap, insane style, his long, trippy, hilarious tales, his “gonzo” journalism style of putting himself in his pieces…they all showed me that journalism didn’t have to be so straightforward, so…artless. It could be fun. It’s not like Thompson inspired me to be a journalist, or even a writer. He’s just the first one I remember showing me that you could bend, or even break, the rules of convention.

Those not familiar with Thompson can get a nice taste of his mad world by renting Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas. It stars Johnny Depp as Thompson, and is a wonderfully insane film. You can also read the book if you’re willing to put more time and effort into it, or if you’re feeling particularly inspired, go look up the old Rolling Stone articles—fabulous stuff.

This news is kinda bringing me down. Part of me wants to write about gun control issues (Hunter was a proud NRA member and a gun lover), but I just don’t really see the point. Hunter wanted out, and he got out. Truth be told, I can’t really think of a better way for him to go, save maybe an overdose (though that might’ve seemed cliché). Whatever the case, his voice is silenced.

I can’t say that I’m any the worse for it—it’s not like I’m a huge Thompson fan or anything. I just respected him. I respected his talent. I still do. And for that, I’m sorry he’s gone, but I’m glad he left some of himself behind in his words. It’s an inspiration for the rest of us; we should all be so lucky as to write ourselves such a eulogy.