Goodbye, Kentucky's Rose
Goodbye HST
Though I never knew you at all
You had the balls to tell the world
Of its own ugliness
The greedheads you knew back then
The ones who made you so insane
Looks like they never left us
Or even changed their names
And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a blowtorch in a squall
Always singeing your own casing
When the wind turned back
And it would have scared me to have known you
But I’d have liked to just the same
Your fuel burnt out way too early
And that’s the fucking shame
Honesty is tough
But that’s the role you had to play
The one who always told the truth
But did it in a crazy way
And these kids today
So detached and undeclared
They get that you were angry
But not that you really cared
And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a blowtorch in a squall
Always singeing your own casing
When the wind turned back
And it would have scared me to have known you
But I’d have liked to just the same
Your fuel burnt out way too early
And that’s the fucking shame
Goodbye HST
Though I never knew you at all
You had the balls to tell the world
Of its own ugliness
Goodbye HST
From a guy who read you as a kid in Canada
Who sees you as something more than gonzo
More than just our mad Raoul Duke
And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a blowtorch in a squall
Always singeing your own casing
When the wind turned back
And it would have scared me to have known you
But I’d have liked to just the same
Your fuel burnt out way too early
And that’s the fucking shame
And it would have scared me to have known you
But I’d have liked to just the same
Your fuel burnt out way too early
And that’s the fucking shame
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 12:51 PM
3 Comments:
Brilliant!
Yeah, that's right. The beauty of Thompson's writing had nothing to do with the drugs or the madness that he portrayed, but with the honest and righteous outrage that propelled his every good word. He forgot to write after 72, but the words before them are good, true. It's a fucking shame he offed himself. I'd have preferred he go down fighting rather than the way he did.
It occurred to me that I had inadvertantly drunk a toast to ol' Hunter S. the same day I'd heard of his death: I had a Maker's Mark KY bourbon old fashioned with a lemon twist (made by you -- thank you). Perhaps a yearly toast on HST's birthday would be a worthwhile new tradition to adopt?
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