the passing of Hunter S Thompson – more thoughts

“There he goes. One of God’s own prototypes. Some kind of high powered
mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live,
and too rare to die. ” H.S.T.

Posted by Hello

Wow. We really had a moment here at I am Correct. Somehow people came from everywhere to read my piece on Hunter. There was an insane response which I did not expect. In the year I have been writing for this site, I have received about 1500 visitors all together. Generally, I get about 15 hits a day. Between last night and right now (7 pm Denver time) I have received 16,000 additional unique visitors. As you can see below, hundreds left comments on the first piece. Though one did indicate I should “get a life”, the rest were kind words and memories of Hunter.

I am not going to do an appreciation of Hunter’s work here, not very soon anyway. You all know and loved his writing and discovered it in your own way… so I certainly won’t be the guy to tell you how to remember him. What I will work to do is become a clearing house of information on the situation, along with my ever present assesment of things.

First things first, the local NBC news team was in Woody Creek today doing their evening broadcast interviewing folks from Woody Creek. They said that the family is expected to hold a press conference tomorrow in Aspen. They also said it is not known what kind of service their will be, of if the public is invited. Here is the story from the Denver Post, where it was the front page story, and another piece here.

What seems to be emerging is that Hunter has been in tremendous physical pain because of broken bones and surgery in the last year. He had been rendered pretty much immobile and it was bothering him. Obviously details are few right now, but I will hazard to say this. Whatever the motivation, it was not an accident. Hunter was brilliant with both guns and drugs… and safe too. For whatever reason he opted out, I fully believe he understood the ramifications and made a conscious decisions.

I will work to keep this page updated with any and all HST info as it comes out. I am hoping for (and expecting) some formal news about all this tomorrow. I am also hoping for a public memorial at a park in Woody Creek or something this weekend. I will be making the drive from Denver if there is something I can attend.

Thank you all for stopping by, and your kind words about Hunter. As a community, it has made this easier.

13 thoughts on “the passing of Hunter S Thompson – more thoughts

  1. I will miss him … BIG HUG for Juan, Jen, Willam and Anita… who will never be able to fill the hole left in there lives by the man in spite of the myth and legend attached to his life..

  2. Hunter’s writing changed my life forever. As a young man who read Fear and Loathing in LV, I had no idea people could write like that, that there was someone on this mudball who was so intune with how I felt…he is greatly missed

  3. I was nearly done with “The Proud Highway” … which I sporadically read for pure adventure. I’ve read a lot of Hunter’s books, but his Gonzo letters were ones I always read slowly – careful to take it all in. Such a great perspective of his life.

    Now I find myself unable to even read anything he’s written right now. I can’t go a few lines without thinking about Sunday night.

    I barely conjured up the will to write a column about him today.

    Just still speechless, in shock, really.

  4. Like most others who have commented here, I was amazed and enlightened by the Good Doctor’s works. I watched “where the buffalo roam” as a child, years before reading F&L in LV, and was enthralled by his exploits. But nothing can compare to his written word. No camera can capture what he’s seen, and you will never be able to consume as many drugs as he has. There will never be a writer who comes close to Hunter’s grace & style with the english language. I am a better person for having read his works, and I will always recommend them to anyone and everyone.
    Hippus Goatus

  5. “Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man!”

    Hunter, “Mr. Tambourine Man,”

    I, and the world, have certainly suffered an ugly, and near fatal, wound. I have followed in the brilliance of light that you were so wise and generous to have constantly provided for us. Curse, this vile fucking place!

    I feel as if I have lost a critical source of enlightenment, and defense, and defiance. Which empire? The wrong one turned to dust, right Doc? Right? Doc? (sigh).

    I am lost, and angry, and dead, and alone in an empire that feels too big to burn.

    I can chase your ghost (but my delusion will most likely lead me nowhere worth being). Certainly, you have no interest in this place anymore (those poisonous pornographic lizards), and that is your choice, and I am happy for you (I just wanted to catch up to you on the path, and perhaps follow a bit further, but I am not mad- jealous perhaps, always have been).

    I have been on the trips before and I wanted you to host even just a few more, but that is only my greed and jealously talking, please don’t judge me on that Doc! I have always been loyal.

    I AM sleepy, and angry, and I miss past playgrounds. I am looking around, and I don’t see any grounds of worth (just lots for sale), and I am frightened, and angered, and I feel so fucking caged (this felling comes and goes and comes again with force and violence). I forgot to look for a way out of this cage (I have been so busy solidifying my delusion of raised rebellion within- I completely forgot to try and pick the lock). Missteps, Missteps.

    I woke up this morning and sure enough; “Fuck,” I have been way off, generally stumbling for quite a while now, Doc. Sorry my friend, truly.

    You get to dance, rum bottle in hand (in the sand, by the ocean) around monstrous burning bonfires for eternity now, huh? In our minds at least, right? (enjoy yourself) Well, for that (among other things) I am jealous (and I understand that to be a weakness- for which I apologize).

    I was behind you and we were laughing in defiance and then one night I blacked out, drunk. I woke up bruised and swollen and scarred and you were in the fucking news paper? A critical fucking folly, with fatal fucking wounds.

    The morning was not so jingle jangle today. That is what hope is about, in a way (I guess). Another morning my old friend.

    I want to go to the beach with you (rum in hand of course- I’ll buy- Hell, maybe we can rob a liquor store on the way- we will need part of your stockpile, that O.K.?). I have always been running from, “the twisted reach of crazy sorrow,” and you have helped me accomplish that in the past, and will again in the future, I’ll go back down the old blacken paths. I want my hand to wave freely, but that will not be happening today (or tomorrow for that matter). Still, I want to go to the beach today, or the circus. “No,” is the answer, and an angered and guilty, “Fuck,” is my reply.

    Well, where to now Doc? Doc? Oh, right, I forgot for a second, dumb of me. I feel like I have failed both you and myself, but most importantly you. Your beautifully burned paths I have eagerly walked since our acquaintance. I gladly wear the soot on my feet. I will wash them in the ocean when I get the next opportunity, and promptly begin to dirty them again.

    What a fool, what a pervert. What a poor student. A Lot, of vile and disgusting self-imposed poverty, I have allowed.

    I drank a bottle in your honor last night (I didn’t know the occasion at the time, but I assure you that suffering then, and now, finds me with great ease). I am most purely shattered, and soaked. I will not ask you to play anymore songs for me (your peace is so well deserved, enjoy Doc!).

    In Unquantifiable Debt,
    James-Scot Zachary Gregg (02-21-05)

  6. You’ve led many people down a path less traveled, My friends and I admire your brilliant ideas and radical perspectives. I weep now as I listen to “Mr. Tambourine Man” twisted, messed, good people? Yes. I may never fully understand your intelect, but you encourage me to find my own.
    you’ve had a well deserved life.
    Philip J.D.H.

  7. I first saw Where Buffalo Roam as an impressionable 14 year old. As well as making me a great fan of Bill Murray from that point, it introduced me to the marvels of HST’s writings. I always said I didn’t need drugs, I was crazy enuff in my head but HST showed how to go one step further than that and use drugs to harness the craziness in a way no-one had done before or ever will do again. The minute I heard of his death will remain with me as do the moments when I heard of Jim Morrison and Keith Moon departing, no real surprise just a great sadness as if a huge empty space exists in the world where once stood an amazing person the world will be a lesser place for the loss of.

  8. Because it would come too close to justifying the actions of the rankorous flock of dirty-laundry media merchants who will now descend upon his bereaved family, I think we should not expect, nor even seek, further explainations for his death.

    The life he lived, of which we know so much, was so brave, that cowardice cannot be accepted as a motive for his final act. This knowledge should satisfy our longing for answers. We didn’t know his bodily or emotional pains, we can’t judge his limits, or “how much more he should nave been able to take”. We can wail at the sky. And we can extend our deepest sympathy to his kin. But this was a warriors death… or he never wrote a word.

    Those who will now point a spotlight apon his smoking gun, casting off from it a dark shadow apon his credibility, wisdom, or sanity – seek in his death some slim justification for the lives of compromise that they themselves have lived. He who laughs last – may laugh longest…but they laugh alone. The great epidemic of our time is not suicide… or drugs, or booze. It is the lie unchallenged – the love unrejoiced – the life unlived.

    And why should we ever have expected Hunter S. Thomspon to take crap from Death? Can you see the dialouge for that conversation? Pretend its an Irish wake, if that helps.

    Death: “Hhhunnterrr.. Nixon didnt scare you, Bush didn’t scare you, The Hell’s Angels didn’t scare you, Pints of whiskey.. and women 40 years younger than yourself didn’t scare you, but I … Death … I shall make you sufferrrr… for you fearrrr meeee… (manic Vincent Price Laughter) ”


  9. Goddamn, I’m still torn up about this. I was working thru Wayne Ewing to try to set up an interview with The Man for sometime this winter/spring.

    I can understand if he took his life due to medical problems/quality of life but I wish he had left us a note giving an explanation instead of leaving all of us to wonder why.

    Man, I miss him….

  10. “Maybe this is all pure gibberish – a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found out a way to live out there where the real winds blow – to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey and ride fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested…

    Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll.”


  11. I’m 19 and I feel like the time of my real conception was spent reading his letters and seeing how HE grew up mentally. Thus I found answers to my own life questions and saw new questions that another generation, my generation would have to find the answers to. I lost my father in highschool, just like him, and it may be foolish but he’s been a role-model to me. When I found out he had died, it was like a family member had passed. I don’t know what else to say, I’m as torn as everyone else. But he left some pretty big shoes to fill in the name of truth. I would hope that all artists and writers who loved HST will take up the hunt for the american dream, truth and justice. We seekers must try and fill those shoes.

  12. I have read a lot of what people have written about the good Doctor’s death. With no offence intended, we must all remember that the Good Doctor always shot straight from the hip, so his decision to take his own life, rather than keep going where he couldn’t live life to the full, should not surprise us. Although I was shocked and distressed and angry, I realised that I felt these things because,as in everyone else’s collective imagination as to who and what Hunter S. Thompson was as a man, I expected him to go out in a haze of drugs.Not by a butllet to the brain. But, as in life, Hunter chose a way where there was very little room for mistakes or second guessing. In death, as in life, he held his position.I figure Hunter has kept us guessing right until the end, and we’ll keep on guessing. Hunter strove tirelessly to keep the bastards honest and in the end I believe he kept himself honest too. People wonder how he could have chosen such a course of action with his family present. Perhaps in a strange way, Hunter knew that his son would have the strength of character to handle things with care and love and respect, and with some understanding as to why, despite the horror of it all. As a man who always chose his words carefully and with deadly accuracy, I doubt whether the decision to end his own life was made lightly. We grieve because we all know that there will be no definitive and distinctive voice in the wilderness and that there is no one to replace him. As one individual among billions, Hunter was truly unique and the world needed him.

    We should rejoice in his life and understand that we have all been diminished by his death.

    Rest in Peace Hunter. Thank you for your life, your writing and your passion. We’ll miss you.

  13. When Hunter blew his brains out, I was disappointed.

    Not surprised. He had hinted as much long before.

    But to do so, in his kitchen,within earshot of his wife, his son and his grandchild? That is the act of a selfish egotistical asshole. Not a “warrior” or any of the other positive words that have been used by his fans. A “warrior” sucks up the pain, and if it’s too much to bear after years — decades — then he ends it where no one else has to assume any part of it. Not where his grandchild has to see Opa’s brains on the ceiling.

    Fuck you, Hunter.

    In the end, you were no better than everything and everyone you spent your life complaining about. No matter your talent, your acts sprayed a shit-mist over everything.

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