Ah, devil ether — a total body drug. The mind recoils in horror, unable to communicate with the spinal column. The hands flap crazily, unable to get money out of the pocket… garbled laughter and hissing from the mouth… always smiling.
Ether is the perfect drug for Las Vegas. In this town they love a drunk. Fresh meat. So they put us through the turnstiles and turned us loose inside.
- Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson (via bpgonzo)
“Sounds of life and movement, people getting ready and people giving up, the sound of hope and the sound of hanging on, and behind them all, the quiet, deadly ticking of a thousand hungry clocks…”—Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary (via hazybrain)
“The room was very quiet. I walked over to the TV set and turned it on to a dead channel — white noise at maximum decibels, a fine sound for sleeping, a powerful continuous hiss to drown out everything strange.”—page 62, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson (via bpgonzo)
“Who are these pigs — as a validated addict I demand to be left alone — drink the eucalyptus oil — with dials and knobs still high as a freak male locked into the vibrations of the jet engines — get a bag of acid and a credit card for airlines — evaluate the pitch, roll and yaw — no sense of movement in this plane — just humming — the phones — acid-style high tingling and strange, intense vibrations. Get that dead animal off the seat — put it under — where is the drink? These pigs are taking us for a ride — put it on the card. Strange feedback echoes on the headset, Gabriel Heatter screaming in the background — telephone conversations — fantastic people talking. This is yesterday’s program — new songs today. A dingbat across the aisle and Kitty Wells on the headphones. This channel is hag-ridden with echoes — telephone conversations. See no wings on this plane — good God the lock on my whiskey bag is frozen — a lifting body, tends to destroy itself, very wormy. I seem to be getting higher.”—Hunter S. Thompson rambling on an airplane while feeling the effects of mescaline for the very first time. (from Screwjack, p. 37-38)
“There is a line somewhere between democratizing journalism and every man a journalist. You can’t really believe what you read in the papers anyway, but there is at least some spectrum of reliability. Maybe it’s becoming like the TV talk shows or the tabloids where anything’s acceptable as long as it’s interesting.”—Hunter S. Thompson on Internet journalism, circa 1997. What would Thompson’s career have looked like if he had started in 2012? (via parsely)
“There was one exact moment, in fact, when I knew for sure that Al Gore would never be President of the United States, no matter what the experts were saying — and that was when the whole Bush family suddenly appeared on TV and openly scoffed at the idea of Gore winning Florida. It was Nonsense, said the Candidate, Utter nonsense… Anybody who believed Bush had lost Florida was a Fool. The Media, all of them, were Liars & Dunces or treacherous whores trying to sabotage his victory… Here was the whole bloody Family laughing & hooting & sneering at the dumbness of the whole world on National TV. The old man was the real tip-off. The leer on his face was almost frightening. It was like looking into the eyes of a tall hyena with a living sheep in its mouth. The sheep’s fate was sealed, and so was Al Gore’s…The whole Presidential election, in fact, was rigged and fixed from the start.”—Hunter S. Thompson, “The Fix is In” (27 November 2000). (via oswaldofguadalupe)
“We sat there for several hours, talking, drinking lazily, killing the time while a sad piano tinkled away inside. The notes floated out to the patio, giving the night a hopeless, melancholy tone that was almost pleasant.”—from The Rum Diary, by Hunter S. Thompson (via bpgonzo)
Good mescaline comes on slow. The first hour is all waiting, then about halfway through the second hour you start cursing the creep who burned you, because nothing is happening… and then ZANG! Fiendish intensity, strange glow and vibrations… a very heavy gig in a place like the Circus-Circus.
“I hate to say this,” said my attorney as we sat down at the Merry-Go-Round Bar on the second balcony, “but this place is getting to me. I think I’m getting the Fear.”
Reminiscing about the good doctor has always conjured up more than a few choice moments to chew on. Even now, nearly two years since he made his exit, I still get as keyed up when I think of him as I always did. And though I know he won’t be calling and that bastard phone won’t be ringing off the hook in the middle of the night I clearly hear his voice. I hear him “WHOOP!!!” every time “One Toke Over the Line” creeps up on the radio, I feel him puff up when “Sympathy for the Devil” kicks in. He calms and ponders the gravity of “Mr. Tambourine Man”.
He appears when he is needed.
He arrives when absurdity peaks.
I imagine he always will.
Los Angeles, September 5, 2006
Johnny Depp remembering Hunter S. Thompson, excerpt from the Introduction to GONZO, a visual biography by Johnny Depp, Ben Corbett, and Hunter S. Thompson. (via bpgonzo)
“With the palms zipping past and the big sun burning down on the road ahead, I had a flash of something I hadn’t felt since my first months in Europe — a mixture of ignorance and a loose, “what the hell” kind of confidence that comes on a man when the wind picks up and he begins to move in a hard straight line toward an unknown horizon.”—from The Rum Diary, by Hunter S. Thompson (via bpgonzo)
“I went to the Democratic Convention as a journalist, and returned a cold-blooded revolutionary.”—Hunter S. Thompson, As quoted in the editors note by Douglas Brinkley, in Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist(2000)
“There was only one road back to L.A., U.S. interstate 15. Just a flat-out high speed burn through Baker, and Barstow, and Berdoo. Then on to the Hollywood freeway straight into frantic oblivion. Safety… obscurity… just another freak in the freak kingdom. We’d gone in search of the American dream, it had been a lame fuck around. A waste of time. There was no point in looking back. Fuck no, not today, thank you kindly. My heart was filled with joy. I felt like a monster reincarnation of Horatio Algier, a man on the move, and just sick enough to be totally confident.”—Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (via thelegendofcococruzin)
“They look like caricatures of used car dealers from Dallas, and sweet Jesus, there were a hell of a lot of them at 4:30 on a Sunday morning, still humping the American dream, that vision of the big winner somehow emerging from the last minute pre-dawn chaos of a stale Vegas casino.”—Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson (via infallibility-complex)