Hunter Thompson - Essay Example

Mahalo - I'm Takin' the Ride By now the buzz has kicked in, the grass is good, the pain never was, of if it was, it's hiding now like a craven coward. Strangely for me, tonight only Maryjane is raising my consciousness. I am in the golden glow of many lighted windows. They repeat themselves in the deep indigo pool, flickering yet solid. What's behind those warmly welcoming facades I know the shit that happens. The woman with dark glasses and orthodontically challenging teeth will totter out bravely in the morning, taking care how she holds her arm and boards the bus. But don't let's go there, don't wanna kill the dream. Unlike her teeth, reality has the power to bite. So have I and here comes Lola the lesbian with the pizza. Her boots thump and stomp up the stairs, shaking but not stirring the peace, momentarily. Lola's cool. She's kind, she knows the right people to score the best stuff, she shares. Lola's lonely, an angry, aging remnant of the Women's Movement. She's discarded it, but in truth, it discarded her. She was too loud, too active, too passionate, too public. Honesty was her worst policy. So here she is with her pristine apartment and pedigree pussycat, Comfort. And me, worn out, washed-up, woozy and unpredictable. Or am I But for now, just on the edge, the brink of a life, new and shiny or corroded and crusted with the rust of broken promises "Napkins, forks, here you go, sweetie" Lola croons. "Who the fuck eats pizza that way!" - but I hold the scream inside, there are larger issues at stake. I have a duty to be nice, for now. We need each other, we share a place, a history and a hatred of Bush/Blair. I know we will get to them, come what may, never mind the pepperoni, the buzz and the Bud. Like war, it's inevitable. I hold onto the buzz, see the lights but they become the nights of 'Shock and Awe', bigger lights, more impact, you know Am I myself or somebody else, and who gives a shit I go forward with Lola to Guantanamo Bay, hearing the voices of expert salesmen. "Yes we have a nice range of used cattle-prods, or if they don't appeal, how about some out of date sodium pentathol" Now ain't that their truth, the inhuman, dehumanized leaders of the civilized world. The anger rises, then subsides, Lola and me, we think on and speak on. "And Bush tells Blair: "If I put my hand in the fire, you must do it too, to prove you are my friend. If burning ash, cinders and shit fall on innocent bystanders, why, what the hell, it's the price they pay for us showing strength." And we are right to loathe and fear these creatures from the dark side. This bullshit hurts. Lola rolls another joint and the hiss and clink of beer and glass make it easy, like Sunday morning. I eat, I drink, I feel the need to expel these bastards from the vicinity. I don't want Lola's tears to dilute the purity of my anger. The poison of these creatures is enough to keep my resolve alive. But for now, let's party with warm love. There's Lola, the cat, the lights, the grass and me. A soft breeze, the comfort of kindred spirits, all anybody needs. A muted scream from over the way brings a shadow of fear to Lola's soft face. Eyebrows raised in alarm, old memories surface, she's going weird on me. I could show her weird, but I won't, keeping my scars to myself and feeling no pain. A sweeping swarm of locusts now encircle me, are in me, and time moves me onwards to the edge. The soft murmur of her voice forms the backdrop, but cannot drown them out. No matter, I want to finish it. The tide is high but I'm holding on, and ask myself why All I have fought for, all I believe in, destroyed, denigrated and demeaned. The American dream is now my waking nightmare. I could end this and wake up elsewhere. I bought the ticket. I will take the ride. She sighs, shifts, leans to plant a kiss on my head, and leaves to sleep. Thank Jesus she's gone, it's just me and my decision. Exciting, nerve-wracking, life-changing, no, life-ending. Another slice of pizza, another joint maybe, another review of the results of war-mongering, power-wielding activities of our illustrious leaders No contest. Lights are going out, sweet lady midnight has clomped her way into and out of my vision. There's nobody around to direct the traffic, a bonus. Yeah, Jimi, there is someway outta here. Ash, dregs, remains, with me in the middle, befuddled but clear. Clarity of purpose can never be denied. Weird how I waver in the now, while sliding back to then. Behind me lay lies, more lies and statistics. Before I become one more numbered John Doe in ER, I will write this memo. Lola will find it, but no cadaver - I am leaving, resolved, absolved, leaping forward. I will be the man remembered as having cared too much to live. The man whose gun was silenced, mouth stitched shut, and freedom denied. The words stream onto the paper of their own volition, making good headlines and an even better obituary notice. Lola will cry, but will manage a neat ending; she likes closure. I will give her that. There now, what fucker will deny my truths What spin will they put on the loss of life, liberty and the American Dream Oh, yeah, he was drunk, drugged, off his face, shit-faced, spaced out; he made the biggest final mistake of his life. No looking back in anger, peace man, give peace a chance. Lennon, Lenin, Lenny are waiting to call me brother. I am prepared and have my words honed to tell them how it is and was and should be. I am certain they will hear me out, they know truth when it comes up and hits them. Lenin, be warned. Comfort the cat insinuates herself, engine purring sweetly, sleeping on my knees, and all seems good with the world. No fearsome figures, no monstrous menaces impinge on the moment. But hey, that is all it is, a moment. I must not be lulled into the saccharine security of this scene, take back the power, do it now. It is finished, and I will go gently into that good night, taking care to leave no mess of mine behind. I am not of the ilk of Bush/Blair; no children lie dying in the markets of Baghdad, mothers bleeding in the streets, men behind bars on my account, for my 'just causes'. One certain thing - I want to make perfectly clear - this is my new gig starting, I am moving on up for a walk on the wild side. It is my final, best and own decision. Any motherfuckers want to look at it their way, go ahead, I am flying. Finally, I close the door with a soft click, slip slidin' away down the staircase to oblivion. The streets are strangely silent, no moon, no menacing shapes. The residents are at rest, in peace. My head is high, light stepping leads me to the edge. The ocean is calm, dark, welcoming, calling me to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free. This is it, I am taking my life. It's mine to use, to lose, to win with as I wish. You sad fuckers can run but you cannot hide. There is to be no pulling back, no slowing down. I do what I have to, the time is right, the choice is made. Mahalo! Hunter S. Thompson: Journalist and writer, he invented a style of writing that became known as 'Gonzo'. Sometimes using the name Raoul Duke, he got his message across in a weird, anarchic, creative and subjective style that made him famous. He combined fact with fiction, so it was hard to tell where fantasy started and truth ended, but he put himself, his feelings, opinions and experiences into his work, which is why he has been chosen for this exercise. He was never afraid to say what he thought, especially about the evils of politics and politicians and how they destroyed lives and dreams. He was fearless and brave, but not always popular because of his drug use, violence and bad language. This story has tried to use his short sentence structure in parts, and the stream of consciousness that takes the reader from the here and now, back to the past and into the possible future. It also uses some of his vocabulary, such as 'certain' and 'fear and loathing'. He liked to include musical references and satirical humor, and drew great images using metaphor and few words, which this story has tried to imitate. He was a drug user and wanted to have them legalized. That is why cannabis is in the story in a matter of fact way. Finally, his suicide is reflected in the intentions and actions of the character here. Works Cited Guardian Unlimited (2005) Hunter S. Thompson: in his own words. 20 June 2007 http://books.guardian.co.uk/print/0,,5131650-99819,00.html Hunter S. Thompson @ Everything2.com. (2005) 20 June 2007 http://www.everything2.com/index.plnode=hunter%20%20thompson Thompson, Hunter S. (1971) Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream. New York. Random House Inc. 1998 Read More