June 2011
“Jesus, did I say that or just think it?”
—Raoul Duke, from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson (via kilyoum)
May 2011
“No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs. Reality itself is too twisted.”
—Hunter S. Thompson, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” (via settherecord)
“Those were good mornings, when the sun was hot and the air was quick and promising, when the Real Business seemed right on the verge of happening and I felt that If I went just a little faster I might overtake that bright and fleeting thing that was always just ahead of me.”
—Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary (via ish1tyounot)
“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 lectric-eye)
I shall read you a passage now, from Kingdom of Fear, by Doc Thompson. →
mwildsides.tumblr.com
Sally Loved Football Players
Sally had a day job somewhere in downtown Mobile, but she would always call in sick when I came to visit. She would say that she’d “hurt her back on the diving board” and she could hardly walk, for the pain. She would take off five or six days at a time when I was there, but she never worried about it. She said they could do without her for a few days and they knew she had a Bad Back—which was true, but not because she was crippled.
No, it was because of that nasty sandpaper surface on the diving board at her pool. It rubbed her spine raw when we got drunk and screwed on it at night for two or three hours at a time. We would wake up in the morning with blood all over the sheets from bouncing around on that goddamn diving board all night…..The pain made her cry, and I could barely walk the next day because of the bleeding wounds on my knees and my elbows. I had bleeding scabs on my knees for most of that summer, and when I finally went back to work on the newspaper, I had trouble walking around the office. The other editors laughed at me, but my boss Colonel Evans was a serious Military Man and he hated the sight of a man with fresh blood on his pants limping around his office.
“Goddamnit Hunter!” he would scream. “What in the name of Shit is wrong with you? Theres blood all over the floor in the bathroom! I slipped and almost fell down when I went there to piss!”
(via mwildsides)
“Press cards are nice things to have, but in riot situations a pistol is the best kind of safe-conduct pass.”
—Hunter S. Thompson (via tunecedemalis)
“
I have both doors and windows propped open - a huge bright magnet for every bug on the island… But I am not being bitten. Every inch of my body - from the soles of my bleeding bandaged feet to the top of my sun-scorched head - is covered with 6-12 Insect Repellent, a cheap, foul-smelling oil with no redeeming social or aesthetic characteristics except that it works.
These goddamn bugs are all around - settling on the notebook, my wrists, my arms, circling the rim of my tall glass of Bacardi Anejo and ice … but no bites. It has taken about six days to solve this hellish bug problem … which is excellent news on the one level, but, as always, the solution to one problem just peels back another layer and exposes some new and more sensitive area.
” — Hunter S. Thompson, The Great Shark Hunt (1979)basically you were there when the walls fell down you were there when the calls came in when the cars crashed in to the borders we go you said to the borders we go
to the ends of the world i'll follow you i'll follow you to the place where kids meet grownups and look like they won't ever get away from clutching hands clutching hands clutching hands
oh my god the clutching hands
oh my god the magic wands the way we wished upon falling planets like taiwan at night when we walked along the edge of the river we wished we could live forever we wished we could and at night we wished we would but i don't ever like your face when it turns into her
when you turn into her at night i put the covers up tight and everything's alright can you say everything's alright my good friend at night
my clock rings again in the morning and i won't get up
i just ate a bunch of acid and things are getting weird. like, men in the corner with hats weird. i'm alone for a few hours and i have a gun. any advise?
Hey man, I’m no doctor, but if you can still use the internet you’re good.
OR, killing spree. Do what serves you.
“They say that “he who flies highest, falls farthest”-and who am I to argue? But we can’t forget that “he who doesn’t flap his wings, never flies at all”. And with that, I’ll stop trying to convince myself that I can’t fail; how dull the whole thing would be if that were true.”
—Hunter S. Thompson, in a letter to Larry Callen, October 30, 1957, from The Proud Highway
