Hunter S. Thmopson, Gonzo is thy name…
This is not the entry I had written in my mind, but rather the one that came out when I began typing…
For the past few days I have been trying to understand my feelings about Hunter S. Thompson’s apparent suicide. While I know what my feelings are, I have been unsure as to why I felt this way… Until today, when I stumbled upon a photo that made it all clear to me:
I saw this photo and nearly immediately understood my reactions. I won’t miss Hunter S. Thompson’s writings. I never read any of his works. I won’t miss the author, as I knew nothing of the man himself (other than what Johnny Depp’s movie explained).
I will miss his image; the image of the renegade writer. The loose cannon with a pen that dares to challenge not only the reader’s perspective, but entire consciousness. I will miss the idea that a meager writer by trade can have such a profound effect on an entire profession and how his mere words can cause generations of readers to re-think their own ideas.
I realized that this is the type of writer I –want- to be. But to get there I will need to understand so much more. I will need to shift my perspective and paradigm of thought. I will need to break out of a box which I can not see. I will need to point fire-arms at computers (the modern-day typewriter). But more importantly, I need to understand WHY I need to do any of this at all. Such are the mysteries of life.
Perhaps I should actually read some of Hunter’s words. Or perhaps I should simply try to write some of my own.