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Celebrity deaths, as a whole, don’t really effect me. The recent spate of news-worthy passings has meant nothing to me, beyond two reactions: A) “Wow, I didn’t know s/he’d been sick.” and B) “Wow, this seems a drastic media overreaction.” David Carradine, Ed MacMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson… they were all celebrities, yes. But they were also PEOPLE. And, believe it or not, people die every day, every minute. And most of them are not famous.

But still, I understand WHY people get so emotional. They chart their lives according to the pop culture touchstones that populate their youth and adulthood. The passing of Michael Jackson, despite any of the unsavory and sordid aspects of his life over the past 20 years, has reminded a good number of Americans that yes, they ARE mortal; even the gods of their youth can be untimely struck down. And, in this uncertain time of economic and emotional distresses, that’s just one more log on the burning house.

Which leads me, in a very roundabout and rambling fashion, to my point for writing this. Hunter S. Thompson was my favorite writer, and one of my own personal heroes, as well as being an all-around interesting human being. He died in February 2005, from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. His death, while I won’t say it “devastated” me, (as I’ve seen quoted in many places recently in reference to MJ), did hit me in a certain part of my center. I’d be hard-prssed to explain why him, and not the myriad of other heroes or role models I’ve had who’ve passed, but that’s just how it is. This is why I can’t fully deride those who mourn for Michael, or Farrah, or any other actor/musician/writer whom they’ve felt some connection with.

In any event, I wanted to share this with everyone. This is one of my favorite pieces of writing he did. It’s from his last full book, Kingdom of Fear. A final collection of his unreleased writing will be released later this year.

Whoops! How about a break, people? How about some Music? Yes. Music is where it’s at, so consider this:

I am a confused Musician who got sidetracked into this goddamn Word business for so long that I never got back into music –except maybe when I find myself oddly alone in a quiet room with only a typewriter to strum on and a yen to write a song. Who knows why? Maybe I just feel like singing –so I type.

These quick electric keys are my Instrument, my harp, my RCA glass-tube microphone, and my fine soprano saxophone all at once. That is my music, for good or ill, and on some night it will make me feel like a god. Veni, Vidi, Vici. . . . That is when the fun starts. . . . Yes, Kenneth, this is the frequency. This is where the snow leopards live; “Genius, all over the world, stands hand in hand, and one shock of recognition runs the whole circle round. . .”

Herman Melville said that, and I have found it to be true, but I didn’t really know what it felt like until I started feeling those shocks myself, which always gave me a rush. . . .

So perhaps we can look at some of my work (or all of it, on some days) as genetically governed by my frustrated musical failures, which led to an overweening sublimation of my essentially musical instincts that surely haunt me just as clearly as they dominate my lyrics.

- November 19 2000

Hunter S. Thompson on Amazon.