my quiet americans:
i am terrified to go to sleep. i don't want to turn the lights off, we know what happens then. have you any idea what sort of madness was going on here last night? do you? around 230 i just gave up, no way could i fucking write a paper. you can sit and stare at the computer screen not moving for only so many hours before it starts to fuck with your head. and with my head these past few nights... nothing worthwhile is coming out of it now. so i tried to convince myself to sleep. i was actually tired at the time, but all my body wanted to do was think. think and torture me. and so now i know this is going to happen again. my body and i are at odds, for wanting to deal with this in different ways, i assume. i did a lot of reading tonight, every fucking article i could find, every little thing that mentions hst. apparently he'd had some really bad health in the recent months; hip replacement and recently a broken leg, which made him unable to move around on his own. i can just imagine how the old fuck got on with that notion. depending on someone else, would not be his thing, i'd not imagine. but i suppose reading these things, gave me a why. i was thinking maybe there is no why, but actually i think this has a lot to do with it. it's rumored... there is no note. who the fuck kills themself and doesn't have the forethought to leave a stupid note? i mean, come on. asshole. well, i guess you should look at it like this. this man really should have been dead over thirty years ago. but fucking drugs didn't kill him. cancer didn't kill him. the fucking FBI didn't kill him. all the things that should have killed him didn't. so, it looks like, the only thing that can kill hunter thompson; is hunter thompson. and i find a weird sort of solace in that. strange though. someone who loved life so much... part of my stupid self still wants to think it's all a hoax. and that in a few days he's going to have the biggest laugh on us all. but the more i read about his bad health... nah. he was just done with everything and wanted to bow out in his own way. that i respect. he planned it though. i didn't realize it until today, but president's day. that fucking ass. he's laughing somewhere, i can tell you that. i just wonder if his family had any idea. his wife was only out a very short while. god. i hope he at least had the sense to try to explain to them, or give them some sort of goodbye. fucker. i still can't get over the fact that this is now a gonzo free world. there was always something comforting just in knowing the guy was out there, writing, pointing out the ways in which we are all fucking about in this kingdom of fear. at least before, we had him as an advocate. he was just... there. and that's all i needed. what now have we got? seriously, i don't think there has ever been a day, since the first time i've read fear and loathing, or even screwjack, that i can't apply at least a small bit of it to any given situation. i would give just about anything to get my little hands on that fucking note. so. in the past, say, day or so, i've been thinking a lot. a lot about suicide. no, not my own, before i get people going batshit insane on me. i've grown out of that immature place, people. what i mean is, why? you know? just... why. i've said it before, but, with this, like a lot of things in life... maybe there is no why. and that bothers me. i always need to know why. you know this. what i think of though, before the why, oddly enough... i'm always curious to know what is that last thing they thought. what is the thing that you hold so much impoortant than all the rest, that you would allow it to be the very last thing to go through your head. before the bullet. that's a heavy question, kids. but i know that there are now two people that i wish i could get the answer from.
"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." ~ HST
