They decided to finally build a monument to Hunter S Thompson in his hometown.
“Next spring Hunter S. Thompson’s hometown of Louisville, Kentucky will unveil a public mural banner on a downtown building honoring him as one of their Hometown Heroes, nine years after his death. The banner will feature a portrait of HST by his friend and collaborator, Ralph Steadman, the British artist whose drawings appropriately illustrated Thompson’s work: wild, flowing, surreal, sometimes elegant, other times grotesque, and wildly funny.”
When asked about it some wannabe official politician said; Well we believe even though he lived a sort of (insert condescending shit here) life, we can do it anyway.
“Why has it taken so long? The Greater Louisville Pride Foundation’s president admitted that Thompson had “some issues with his life that didn’t really qualify for the banners.” Even so, fans, family, and friends, including Louisville poet Ron Whitehead, have been lobbying for some kind of major memorial for eight years.”
Isn’t that just wonderful. Despite the fact that most of these politicians don’t deserve a monument even a sliver as much as this dude who entertained us throughout his life. But at least it’s nice to see small governments doing what their people want.
Supposedly that’s what Oregon does, but who knows if it’s true. They don’t advertise much, another reason I like them, Oregon as a state.
I’ve got a clear path I’m going to go for right now, and I hope I come out unscathed in December.
Attached I have included a great little PDF with some of Hunters awesome writing go ahead and click kddd.
I used to think that you found a person, perhaps a fictional TV character and tried to emulate their better qualities if you enjoyed watching them.
A sort of introverted way of living life attempting to act out qualities you admire and expecting similar results.
The truth is the results are about 75 percent of the time similar when taking similar actions. it’s a remarkably interested feeling that gives you an odd smoothie of a pit in your stomach that says this whole thing I’m in is scripted, but also 25 percent improvisation.
also the pit feeling is purely ironic as it makes out life to be, at least 75 percent of the time, the predictable thing that we say TV shows are.
For example I had Hank Moody, way before the world got onto Californication.
But also a couple of characters before him.
This was a guy I enjoyed the situations of. He would say something that had wit, humor and was just that slice of raunchy I enjoy. Sometimes dark, eerily funny, always edgy.
But then I realized something one day. And this I say to you.
Don’t model after people, their so-so on the chain of perfect and they flinch too much.
Create a humble being to model yourself after. Especially if you need a God to worship. Just make one up that’s a being you could see yourself admiring the qualities of.
Mine’s MoreSO: The Magical Aurora MOREalis. A color-changing cartoon cloud God-like figure without any characteristics and a calm philosophical voice to him.
He’s a treat of a being. All-knowing but humble, conversational.
Not all-knowing in that he knows what you’ll say or are thinking, but in that he can predict any chain of events and it’s catalysts. And afterwards calmly explain the sometimes funny nature behind the answer to the WHY.
You shouldn’t really model yourself after humans, we’re all basically the same sack of cool organ components wrapped up in achievements and positions on different categorically artificial and abstract ladders.
“If you combined all the different corporate and company ladders people try to climb into one, everyone would be back to where they started before they had the jobs or the ladders.” -MoreSO: Aurora MOREalis
That’s the kinda shit MoreSO says.
I hung the rip-out juror badge they sent me as part of the jury duty letter with some scotch on the dick of my
jeans and went in.
He scanned me and said in a far-too-humanely voice for security at a courthouse
Security: “Good place to put it.”
I gathered by his tone that something was off, and then I heard the echoing UnDeRtone.
All words grouping together in a slimey way. Anyone knowing he wanted to say it louder but
didn’t. Seemingly already knowing the almost-definite likeliness of a sweeping retort.
Scared and way to used to being fucked in the ass by what one says. It’s a killer, and the
reason you’re life is a turd son.
Me: “The time you guys made me get up, it’s the only place to stick it.”
I intercepted and caught a quick defensive glance and everything returned to normal on his part.
The Inner Shit Security Mindset: “Fuck, you’re right, I am a piece of shit, I’ll back off now”
I imagined behing said by that primitive instinct in his head. The one that somehow got him to consider, with full seriousness, a career in Courthouse security.
Some people say you’re a sheep and other say that the system is constantly fucking you in the ass.
I like to think that people like Him are sheeps getting fucked in the ass. A sad combination of both.
Just enough gullibility (sheeps) to let them fuck you in the ass on an oh so consistent basis.
It was an even jollier time from that point on.
What if I told you there was a work of art that dealt with life, God, death, perception of reality, the beginning, the end and the highest turning point possible for a human and that it would undoubtedly shake your very understanding of these things?
Thank goodness it’s a movie, I’ve always been one to believe the longer you are able to spend with a work of art the more it has to teach you. This is why I prefer literature and cinematography over painting and sculpting. Architecture can go play with itself because at the moment I can’t think where to classify it in my simplistic rhetorique of how long an art form has with you.
Enough suspense already, It is called “The Truman Show”, and it’s a satirical psychological drama starring Jim Carrey quite a while before everyone began huffing their lungs out about how good Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind is.
I feel a little like I’m in that movie sometimes, when I predict the actions and fluid motions of a person I don’t know to the grainy final detail. That day I was sitting in one of those lines of cars that aren’t moving despite a green light because there isn’t anywhere to go. A tiny girl was behind me in an Acura SUV. She had light brownish hair, perfectly round big eyes, and a gorgeously minimal curve on her perfect model of a nose. She was messing with something in her lap and I had an arm of length between me and the car in front of me so I let go of the break slightly while looking in the rear-view mirror. I knew she would look up. I got straight contact with those eyes for something like half a second. Focusing back on the road, I smirked. I just like messing with you beautiful, I said under my breath.
This sums me up in an instance. Not; that I like messing with people, but that society’s patterns and the definitive predictable actions of individuals fascinate me.
My childhood years I had a number of people enter my life. Most were too old to survive to this day it appears.
I had my Mom, who was around for my childhood between the ages of 40 and 50.
The lady that babysat me who was like 75.
And my Piano Teacher, he was also fairly old. Grouchiness was how you could tell, that and the almost-white grey colored hair.
They were the best people I knew. Nice, sophisticated, polite, never out of turn, never out of order.
Slowly over the years they’ve died, and I mean the years between 10 and 20.
I’m 20, and some of the nicest people I’ve met between the ages of 10 and now are dead.
I’m left in a world where I have to pick my friends and decide how good they are as people and friends. Whether I’m right later on is to be seen.
Shit it was easier when the people you wanted in your life sifted right in and
the garbage filtered out.
Now I get a heaping helping of both, the choice is mine.
I haven’t the slightest clue if I’m choosing right. Ever.
Most of them are gone, few are left,
and the rest, a somewhat poorly chosen selection so far, is up to me.