Hunter S. Thompson, the acerbic counterculture writer who popularized a new form of journalism in books like "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," fatally shot himself Sunday night at his Aspen-area home, his son said. He was 67.
Wow. I guess there's a certain...inevitability to this, but after everything the man had subjected his body to over the years, one always got the impression Thompson would go on forever.
I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas in high school (how original). I followed it up with just about everything else of his I could get my hands on (I like to think this contributed to my choosing, then dropping journalism as a major). His later stuff never approached the work he did early on, but he was still capable of the occasional bullseye.
So long, Dr. Gonzo. Strange as it sounds, you were one of the last voices of reason in these fucked up times.
How bad have things gotten when the man who fought Nixon tooth and nail chose this particular time to kill himself?
UPDATE: And in a weird coincidence, it appears Sandra Dee has died as well.
My memorial tanka:
You are lookin’ at
Some experimental tires
Blow those mothers up
To seventy PSI
And we will see what happens.
I wondered if he was diagnosed with something, too. He didn’t strike me as the type to, “Go gentle into that good night.”
He did always say he wanted to choose the time of his passing.
Not surprisingly, the Blogging World is turning out en masse to grieve at the passing of the Good Doctor. Be sure to read the fine obits by Roxanne, Pete, and Ricky - and let’s not forget the photographic tribute by Mark....
| --Posted to Blog d'Elisson on Feb 21, 2005 3:36 PM:. |
hunter s thompson was a creative writter and a hell of a guy his memory will live on forever
a fucking tragedy,
my hero my insanely decident soul mate has given in to the torchure of life,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Rip Hunter you are so much more than a hero to many, I admired you to no end, tonight i will toast one to you, I am going to open a bottle saved for some time and im going to drink it to oblivian, and then when my bats come , I will name one after you,,,,,,,,,,, ride on the wings of bats, soar on the wind through pink clouds of monsters, and dont forget to pack your toothbrush,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, lov, vamppy!
It may not be the general state of the world. (After all, the Gannon thing just does not stop getting weirder.)
I’m wondering if he was diagnosed with something. That’s what keeps popping into my head, anyway.