“… And you’re it,” he hissed. “Are you ready to be secretary of defense?” I felt sick, although it came as no surprise. Revenge is one of the few things in politics that never gets lost in the mail or written off for a dime on the dollar like losers’ campaign debts or pledges to help the Poor.”—Hunter S. Thompson, Songs of the Doomed (via Daniel J Ostrin)
“He had that rare weird electricity about him—that extremely wild and heavy presence that you only see in a person who has abandoned all hope of ever behaving normally.”—Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
“Then came noon, and morning withered like a lost dream. The sweat was torture and the rest of the day was littered with the dead remains of all those things that might have happened, but couldn’t stand the heat. When the sun got hit enough it burned away all the illusions and I saw the place as is was-cheap, sullen, and garish- nothing good was going to happen here.”—Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary (via imperialsugar)
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s a damned shame that a field as potentially dynamic and vital as journalism should be overrun with dullards, bums, and hacks, hag-ridden with myopia, apathy, and complacence, and generally stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity.”—Hunter S. Thompson (via criminalwisdom)
Do you often imagine a death scenario? And have you done this your whole life? Perhaps concerning other people also.
Wow, that’s an interesting question. The short answer is yes, every now and again I have spells of trippy death scenarios. I have had them since I was a child. What about you? And if you care enough/come off anon, I’ll tell you what they are, haha.
“The greatest mania of all is passion: and I am a natural slave to passion: the balance between my brain and my soul and my body is as wild and delicate as the skin of a Ming vase.”—The Curse of Lono by Hunter S. Thompson (via lostinthesounds)
“My concept of death for a long time was to come down that mountain road at 120 and just keep going straight right there, burst out through the barrier and hang out above all that … and there I’d be, sitting in the front seat, stark naked, with a case of whiskey next to me and a case of dynamite in the trunk … honking the horn, and the lights on, and just sit there in space for an instant, a human bomb, and fall down into that mess of steel mills. It’d be a tremendous goddam explosion. No pain. No one would get hurt. I’m pretty sure, unless they’ve changed the highway, that launching place is still there. As soon as I get home, I ought to take the drive just to check it out.”—Hunter S. Thompson, quoted in St. Petersburg Times, Feb. 22, 2005 (via kodyb)
“If I’d written the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people—including me—would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.”—Hunter S. Thompson — Rolling Stone, February 15, 1973 (via saladfindles)
“Hunter is also the one writer I know of where everything he wrote would be more or less true but he would pretend it wasn’t, whereas others would try to say it was true when it wasn’t.”—Lynn Nesbit from the book Gonzo: The Life of Hunter S. Thompson (via mandibleberserker)
“Late one morning, Hunter came in and handed some manuscript pages to a couple of editors and me, then turned and motored out with nary a word. He had given us copies of the first section of “Vegas,” and by late afternoon most of the staff had read and digested them. We were flat knocked out. Between fits of laughter we ran our favorite lines back and forth to one another: “One toke? You poor fool. Wait until you see those goddamned bats!” Delivered in Hunter-ese, of course.”—Paul Scanlon (from Fear and Loathing at Rolling Stone: The Essential Writing of Hunter S. Thompson)
“Reagan’s children must be proud of him. With AIDS and acid rain, there is not much left in the way of life and love and possibilities for these shortchanged children of the 80’s. In addition to a huge and terminally crippling national debt, and a shock realization that your country has slipped to the status of a second-rate world power, and that five American dollars will barely buy a cup of coffee in Tokyo, these poor buggers are being flogged every day of their lives with the knowledge that sex is death and rain kills fish and any politician they see on TV is a liar and a fool.”—Hunter S. Thompson, ’The Trickle Down Theory’ on 07/22/87 (via julene)
“I wasn’t so much worried, as spooked. There was something eerie about the whole business, as if God in a fit of disgust had decided to wipe us all out. Our structure was collapsing; it seemed like just a few hours ago that I was having breakfast with Chenault in the sunny peace of my own home. Then I had ventured into the day, and plunged headlong into an orgy of murder and shrieking and breaking of glass. Now it was ending just as senselessly as it began. It was all over and I was very sure of it because Yeamon was leaving. There might be some noise after he left, but it would be orthodox noise, the kind a man can deal with and even ignore—instead of those sudden unnerving eruptions that suck you into them and toss you around like a toad in rough water.
I couldn’t remember where it actually began, but it was ending here in Fajardo, a dark little spot on the map that seemed to be the end of the world. Yeamon was going on from here and I was going back; it was definitely the end of soemthing, but I wasn’t sure just what.”—Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary (via stopthehipocrissy)
“How many times had he stood calmly back there on the duckboards and listened to respectable-looking people talk about raping the hotel penguins?”—Hunter S. Thompson, The Curse of Lono (via filthandfabulations)