Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die (Down and Out at Owl Farm)

I can't even believe it's true. I just read the headlines for today, and saw on the AP Wire that Hunter S. Thompson killed himself. Self-inflicted gunshot wound. Just like Hemingway. Going out in such a dramatic and tragic way isn't the surprising part, it just seemed like he would live forever. I have no idea how young I was when I first read "Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas," or "The Rum Diaries," or "The Great Shark Hunt," but it was either late junior high or early high school. I had to read "Fear and Loathing" at least twice before I understood what was going on. Actually, now that I think about it, my first exosure to Thompson was via his (too) rare articles in Rolling Stone magazine, so that had to be early junior high. Sixth grade, probably. If any author influenced me to write at all, and made it feel easy, it was him. His 'fuck-you' lifestyle and writing style were the ultimate influence. He put the author directly in the journalism, even if the writer was drunk, high on ether, and doing lines while barrelling down the highway to Las Vegas. You will be missed, brother.