Dr. Hunter S. Thompson
Born: July 18, 1937 - Louisville, Kentucky
Died: February 20, 2005 - Woody Creek, Colorado
"On February 20, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson took his life with a gunshot to the head at his fortified compound in Woody Creek, Colorado," said a statement issued by Thompson's son, Juan Thompson, to the Aspen Daily News.
I don't know how I can deal with the death of Hunter Thompson. He was one of my great inspirations in this life. His writing was a part of my soul and my very being. He knew just what to say. I agreed with his general point of view, and while I might take issue with various ranting that we all fall prey to at some point, generally he said what I had to say. That left me free to go think of something else to say, of which I'm still thinking. With Hunter gone I don't have any heroes left to meet. They have mostly died and gone on to aid and torment me from the world on the other side. Hunter seems to have gone right to work in that area. He checked in right away and set to work on rattling my cage.
The spirits I talk to, all want us to work together to make this world a paradise. It's possible, all we have to do is believe. It's very simple, but of course it's hard for most people to believe that our reality is controlled by our thoughts. We all need to think the same positive thoughts at the same time. If we imagine paradise, we will create paradise.
I don't know what to say. I just want to tell people that I really admired this man as a writer and as part of the free thinker club.
In the beginning I just decided to write... A lot people thought I was out to lunch with my manuscripts. Then I found some of Hunter Thompson's writing meandering about a coffee table somewhere, and saw he was getting published while writing in his mad, beautiful way. He made it okay for me to write. He made it unnecessary for me to write. He inspired me on my mad drive to fill spiral notebooks with writings about everything and endless nothing. He inspired me to write and tap, tap, tap at the keyboard. A full space jam that Jerry played on guitar, and Hunter put that same essence on paper. That, oh so special bit of nothingness. And if I was to write, then I should like to write from the void as Hunter Thompson was able to. In the end I just decided to write, because that's part of me. Being a "great" writer was his job, not mine.
Somehow I would like say to nothing and have that nothing say something. Hunter could do that.
William Dire Wolff
February 22. 2005