Hunter S. Thompson is Dead and So Am I

"I’ll use you, and I’ll abuse you, and then I’ll lose you – still you won’t suspect me…"
-Roxy Music, Ladytron

Today we lost a great one – not "fashion a marble statue, build a monument" kind of great, but a great one nonetheless. We lost Hunter S. Thompson to a self-administered gunshot to the head.

He was only 67 years old. My mother-in-law is older than that.

Why him? Why suicide? Hunter seemed larger, somehow – a pitbull with a press pass. His death is a death to rebellious, seditious, angry thought everywhere. America is as much about guys like him as it is about "moral values" or whatever ridiculous crap we are told to care about.
And what takes me down is that some crank in a conference room is at this very second planning the marketing scheme that will take advantage of his passing.

Bill Hicks has this amazing bit in one of his shows where he is screaming about how advertising and marketing executives should kill themselves, and he keeps stopping himself and saying "That’s good, Bill – you’ve got the anger market pinned, how smart you are!" And it’s true - everything rebellious will one day be sold. Why be angry enough to rebel when you can get that same feeling by shopping for it?

Nothing exists in a vacuum, though. We sharpen our teeth on those around us while our own backsides are being ripped open by ravenous lions. Hunter was as much a product of the system he loathed as anyone he reported on. That’s the real tragedy underscoring his death – in order to become known as a free soul, you still are supporting the surreal circus you’re trying to escape from. For every iconoclast, there are hundreds of us who prefer to have the heavy lifting done for us.

Every time a comedian rants about society, ten fans jump up and down and pump their fists in the air. Every time an athlete scores a touchdown, a hundred callers call in to Sportschat and debate the route he took. For each candidate, a nation splits itself in two and rushes off for the appropriate bumper sticker signifying their choice.

So when do you become less of the hundred, and more of the one? What action can you take now to push back against the tide and be heard? Men like Hunter S. Thompson shouldn’t have to go out in darkness. Be strong, kidlets. Take a moment today and kick some shit up. Commemorate the dead by living larger than you’ve ever done before. Be the force that no one expects, that bolt of blue lightning that destroys the shadows on a distant hill.