Monday, April 5, 2010

This Secret Built a Universe

Today Like No Other, can someone tell me how a guy like Hunter S. Thompson commits suicide?

It was last night when I heard. I was drinking the last of seven beers when Keith called from Oklahoma.

"Did you hear?" He asks.

I'm thinking maybe those new Bush tapes revealed that that thing on his back during the debates was Amelda Marcos. But, I was wrong. "No, what happened?"

"Dude, Hunter S. Thompson shot himself."

"What the fuck? Are you shitting me?"

"No, dude, it happened tonight. He shot himself with a gun."

I ignored the fact that Keith seemed to think that I might have thought the good doctor shot himself with a slingshot and a potato (wink).

This led to a long (a whole beer's worth of time) conversation about suicide and motivation.

By the end of it, I figured out a couple of things that made me sleep easier knowing a savage drunk skeleton of fingers and mouths could be dead and a degenerate nacho eating bastard like myself hasn't pulled the trigger.

I see it this way: Hunter (from what I know of him through his books, which are half fiction and opinion and half fact) lived by his own rules: why the hell let God decide when he's going to go.

Look, I'm not advocating suicide, but what a grand act of self-reliance to pull off your own death. It's a good shot to the universe proclaiming that you own your own destiny.

So, God bless.

Besides, Hunter is a man of adventure, maybe the world wasn't quite as weird as it used to be, or he had seen it all and decided to head out for the final frontier.

I would love to see a suicide note that reads:

Hey, look, I'm not sad or in any pain. The fact is, I've seen it all and I need to explore. Look at me as an astronaut shot into the great almighty void. I'll try to relay my findings if I can. Seeing as no one has yet, you can bet that I'll be the first.


Of course, Hunter would write it with the hyperbole and batshit fuel of a banshee on crack that I couldn't muster if I lived nine lifetimes in the fast lane.

My buddy didn't agree and gave me the old line about the people you leave behind.

Fuck em.

Look, there are a million movies about people in small towns that leave friends and family to make it big. And we applaud it. We think, that must have been hard to move on, what with the guilt.

Well, think of death as moving on and congratulate these pirates on the quest ahead.

Good lord.

The other thing that came up was this was a Hemmingway suicide. See, there's two types of suicides I know of: the Hemmingway and the Cobain.

The Cobain is dreary and full of "Look, I just couldn't go on with all the pain. I know it's hard to understand, but if you felt this way, you would have done it a long time ago."

Now, the Hemmingway, like the Hunter is more of an ego thing: "I've done the best I could do, it's down hill from here – fuck it."

Now, the former is more of a sad thing, and is done by the frail or weak. The latter is more of a pride thing and is done by the strong.

Hell, I don't even know what I'm talking about at this point.

In truth, who the hell knows why people off themselves? I've never known anyone who off'd themselves, but I'm sure it must be painful to lose someone to it.

But, the world turns and we're always better for it. Hunter was pure genius and if you read half of my archives you will know that I've ripped off have of his vocabulary and style....poorly.

I'd like to think the man is having a shot of amyl nitrate whilst beating some sort of space koala bear savagely in the parking lot of some strip joint on Jupiter in an alternate reality formed from the foam from Nixon's mouth and the notes in "White Rabbit."

This man was myth and truly stomped the terra. God save the heavens.

In other news: the boss is now behind me and I'm in nine point. I'm risking this as I figure I can call this a lunch break. But, I still get the willies thinking about the maw that is her face coming down like a beak on my shoulder and explaining the Internet policy.

So, the hall monitors at that nine inch nails chat room won't let anyone post mp3s of the leaked songs off the new album. This angers me as anyone who knows nails will tell you every single song is really about communism. So, look, if you have the downloads, send:

K, I just looked at the clock so my boss would have more reason to believe that I'm doing this on a lunch.

The weekend blew. Friday I went to that Ohana restaurant and then to Bada. At Bada absolutely nothing happened. Later, we went to Jai Thai and I threatened to grapple with a tree that was outside. This was all I talked about the whole time – how much I wanted to beat up a tree outside the bar.

Really, I'm not joking.

Later, I went and sat down by this group of people that probably didn't want me to sit down by them. Something about one of them being in the witness relocation program and something about them moving to Pennsylvania. I tried to explain to them that Pennsylvania is full of vampires, but they wouldn't hear me out. My friends left, I went and got a burrito and went home.

Shaturday: stared vacantly at a book and/or TV.

Sunday: stared vacantly at a book and/or TV.

Which brings me to here, where I'm typing and drinking coffee, hoping that you're enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it. Just joking. I'm only writing to not do work, and I'm sure that's the only reason you would read this.


200 lbs: it's all fat

6'1: It's all fat

Hair: Brown like a lions mane

Skin: White, but turns dark white in the sun

Favorite color: fucking blue, whadya think?

Eyes: fucking blue, whadya think?

Favorite food: it starts with "sand" and end with "wich." K, also pizza and nachos....hell, anything that has cheese and some sort of sauce – it could be an otter for all I care.

Favorite movie: this is getting gay now. But, I still have more lunchtime to write.

Dude, I just got that email again: "This secret built a small empire."

Spam is fucking awesome some times. I still think that's the best subject though, and I encourage you to use it as a title for your blogs, or subject line for your emails.

Oh, I'm serious here: I have this real love of porno music. I'm not lying. If anyone knows where you can purchase a CD of porno music, let me know. I'm not joking and it's not a sex thing:

Oh well, it's probably time to go. I have large parcels of knowledge concerning more stuff you should know about, but we'll wait and see what develops.



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