The International Writers Magazine: On the death of Hunter
King Is Dead. Long Live The King
Brodie Parker on Hunter S Thompson
occurred to me one evening, as I sat by myself in Als patio,
that a man can live on his wits and his balls for only so long."
Dr. Hunter S. Thompson
The Rum Diary
So Im sitting in the glow of my computer this morning with a cup
of coffee and a burning cigarette, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes,
still in my underwear, when it hits me. In unmistakable black and white
with pictures of the good Doctor in vivid color, the news of Hunter
Thompsons abrupt end threatened to reverse my blood flow. The
coffee got cold and the cigarette burned itself to ash as I wept like
a little girl.
"No! No Goddamn you, you selfish bastard! You cant do this
to me! You cant leave me here alone with the forces of darkness
roaming the countryside. You cant extinguish the light at the
end of the tunnel."
Of course he could, and he has. My heroes continue to prove themselves
mortal. Lennon in 80, Heinlein in 88, Zappa in 93,
Ginsberg in 97, and now Dr. Gonzo. But Im not alone. The
soul crushing weight of first devastating impact gradually recedes and
I reflect that there must be others sharing my grief, and I take some
consolation from it.
Ill miss the surly old crank. In the quiet emptiness of the Mark
Twain cosmos, and the darkness of the H.L. Mencken nights, burning with
the fire of Allen Ginsberg verse, and rolling with the rhythm of Kerouac
Ill think of him and remember why I write. Apron strings severed
with bullets. My world is a poorer place for his passing.
Robert Frost said nothing gold can stay, and hes half right. Thompson
may have left us, but his legacy is alive and drinking scotch, chain
smoking and trashing hotel rooms. A legacy is what everyone strives
for after all. To be remembered after we leave, and to thus live on.
To make a lasting mark that offers proof that we are more than passing
dreams. If that isnt gold, what is?
I wont ask why; even rhetorically. The answer will never come,
and I wouldnt understand it if it did. One of the wisest of men
said that to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose
under heaven. Our loss is Heavens gain, and God sure has His hands
© Brodie Parker Feb 21st 2005
See Brodie's The
all rights reserved