Since reading Hunter S. Thompson's books I've grown more and more intrigued by the author himself. In a bid to get my head around what sort of man he was, I've been reading into his history. He had a very interesting thought process, twisted thinking - smart yet crazy, he said it himself "one of God's very own prototypes, too weird to live and to rare to die". I would have loved to meet him.
After shooting himself in the head in 2005, for his funeral he was cremated and then blasted into space through a rocket, funded by Johnny Depp - a good friend of Hunter's.
“The clenched red fist, made symmetrical by a second thumb, towered 153-feet above the mourners below. The fist clasped a multi-colored flashing button which battled the full moon to light up the Colorado landscape. As a troupe of Japanese drummers finished their choreographed performance, the guests passed flutes of champagne and gazed skyward. At 8:46, the first wave of fireworks rocketed from a cannon hidden within the fist. To the blasting strains of Bob Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man, bursts of red, white, and blue broke the night. A delicate snow of gray ash drifted to the ground and the earthly remains of Hunter S. Thompson floated to their final resting place.”
“No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun – for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax – This won’t hurt.”
Artist and friend Ralph Steadman wrote:
"...He told me 25 years ago that he would feel real trapped if he didn't know that he could commit suicide at any moment. I don't know if that is brave or stupid or what, but it was inevitable. I think that the truth of what rings through all his writing is that he meant what he said. If that is entertainment to you, well, that's OK. If you think that it enlightened you, well, that's even better. If you wonder if he's gone to Heaven or Hell, rest assured he will check out them both, find out which one Richard Nixon went to — and go there. He could never stand being bored. But there must be Football too — and Peacocks..."
“Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men’s reality. Weird heroes and mold-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of ‘the rat race’ is not yet final."
Hunter S. Thompson - 1937 - 2005
