December92011
“I have never felt comfortable around people who talk about their feelings for Jesus, or any other deity for that matter, because they are usually none too bright… Or maybe “stupid” is a better way of saying it; but I have never seen much point in getting heavy with either stupid people or Jesus freaks, just as long as they don’t bother me. In a world as weird and cruel as this one we have made for ourselves, I figure anybody who can find peace and personal happiness without ripping off somebody else deserves to be left alone. They will not inherit the earth, but then neither will I… And I have learned to live, as it were, with the idea that I will never find peace and happiness, either. But as long as I know there’s a pretty good chance I can get my hands on either one of them every once in a while, I do the best I can between high spots.” Hunter S. Thompson, Rolling Stone Magazine, 1976 (via rafferson)

(via rafferson-deactivated20140210)

December32011
depredando:

“We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear—fear of war, fear of poverty, fear of random terrorism, fear of getting down-sized or fired because of the plunging economy, fear of getting evicted for bad debts or suddenly getting locked up in a military detention camp on vague charges of being a Terrorist sympathizer.” - HUNTER THOMPSON - “Extreme Behavior in Aspen” - February 3, 2003

depredando:

“We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear—fear of war, fear of poverty, fear of random terrorism, fear of getting down-sized or fired because of the plunging economy, fear of getting evicted for bad debts or suddenly getting locked up in a military detention camp on vague charges of being a Terrorist sympathizer.” - HUNTER THOMPSON - “Extreme Behavior in Aspen” - February 3, 2003

November192011
“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)
November182011
“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)

(Source: i-am-lono)

October312011
“He “covered” the Rumble in the Jungle—the 1974 Muhammad Ali/George Foreman fight in Zaire—from the hotel pool with a bag of marijuana and a bottle of Glenfiddich, returning from two very expensive weeks with no story.” Book Review: Fear and Loathing at Rolling Stone - WSJ.com (via cselland)

(via cselland)

September162011
August222011
August92011
July172011

Q: What kind of music are you listening to?

HST: Let’s see. I just got the new Bob Dylan box set from the Rolling Thunder tour from 1975. It’s kind of a big package with a book and several CDs in there. It’s maybe the best rock and roll album I’ve ever heard

Q: You don’t think that was after his peak?

HST: Shit. You really are dumb. You have to listen to it and find out. If you think that, you really are ignorant. What do you want to talk about—Eminem?

Hunter S. Thompson (Rolling Stone interview 2003)

(Source: carefulwiththataxeeugene)

June122011
May312011
Author Hunter S. Thompson photographed by Dan Winters for Rolling Stone, 1998
Author Hunter S. Thompson photographed by Dan Winters for Rolling Stone, 1998

(Source: mattybing1025)

April212011
April132011
“You fucked up, and your vanity won’t allow it. There is a great deal of fascinating stuff in what you have said, but not all of it. Like all conversations, 90% is gibberish, but I suspect that in a case like this, the writer with you should become involved, artfully expressing the nuance, a passing thought, moving the scenery around, and generally making himself useful., He should be the conduit to convey to others, the readers perhaps, who were not privileged to be in your presence, what it was you were doing your best to express one to one into a fucking microphone, which as you know picks up everything, even the bad grammar.” Illustrator Ralph Steadman in a response letter to Hunter S. Thompson, who apparently had a problem with an illustration set to run in Rolling Stone. From a great website that features famous and not-so-famous letters called Letters of Note (via genetta)

(via genetta)

February112011
February82011

William had a fine taste for handguns, and later in life he became very good with them. I remember shooting with him one afternoon at his range on the outskirts of Lawrence. He had five or six well oiled old revolvers laid out on a wooden table, covered with a white linen cloth, and he used whichever one he was in the mood for at the moment. The S&W .45 was his favorite. “This is my finisher” he said lovingly and then he went into a crouch and then put five out of six shots through the chest of a human-silhouette target about 25 yards away.

Hot Damn, I thought, we are in the presence of a serious Shootist. Nicole had been filming it all with the Hi8, but I took the camera off her and told her to walk out about 10 yards in front of us and put an apple on her head. William smiled wanly and waved her off. “Never mind my dear” he said to her. “We’ll pass on that trick” Then he picked up the .454 Casul Magnum I’d brought with me. “But I’ll try this one” He said. “I like the looks of it.” The .454 is the most powerful hand gun in the World. It is twice as strong as a .44 Magnum, with a huge scope and a recoil so brutal that I was reluctant to let an 80-year-old man shoot it. This thing will snap back and crack your skull if you don’t hold it properly. But William persisted. The first shot lifted him two or three inches off the ground, but the bullet hit the throat of the target, two inches high. “Good shot,” I said. “Try a little lower and a click to the right.” He nodded and braced again.

His next shot punctured the stomach and left nasty red welts on his palms. Nicole shuddered visibly behind the camera, but I told her we’d only been kidding about the apple. Then, William emptied the cylinder, hitting once in the groin and twice just under the heart. I reached out to shake his hand as he limped back to the table, but he jerked it away and asked for some ice for his palms. “Well,” he said, “this is a very nasty piece of machinery. I like it.” I put the huge silver brute in its case and gave it to him. “It’s yours,” I said. “You deserve it.”

Which was true. William was a Shootist. He shot like he wrote- with extreme precision and no fear. He would have fired a M-60 from the hip that day if I’d brought one with me. He would shoot anything, and he feared nothing.

Hunter S. Thompson, Rolling Stone, 1997.

Obituary published just after the death of William S. Burroughs.

(via toloveamodernleper)

(via toloveamodernleper-deactivated2)