"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." - Hunter S. Thompson

Anyone who has delved into this site, and there are very few, I know, will surely recognize that the "character" of Ken Socrates is not-so-loosely based on Hunter S. Thompson. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Ken Socrates has, with little success, based himself on the good Doctor. Before this site ever came into the existence the "bio" I had written contained a sentence that has remained unchanged over the years: "Ken Socrates is a self-described "Gonzo" journalist in the fierce style of Hunter S. Thompson but is widely regarded to have little of the latter's wild creativity and almost none of his writing ability." Thus was born the idea of the self-absorbed, bumbling journlist whose idiotic attempts to imitate the inspired lunacy of Hunter's work would only lead him into nonsensical realms of stupidity and altered reality.

In many ways, that was the beginning of this little hobby of mine, but the inspiration goes much farther back. I grew up reading Hunter S. Thompson. I remember it was Generation of Swine that I first discovered and within four pages I was wide eyed, gibbering and hysterical. The writing was so clear and edgy, so dryly funny, so full of a rampaging, fearless insanity that I felt the stirrings of unadulterated worship. Perhaps that is an exaggeration, I don't know. I was young. The bottom line was that it spoke to me, unlike much of what was going on around me in life back then. This I could understand. It just seemed like he was writing in my language. In his work, and a small handful of others, I learned the true joy of twisting reality, warping elements of the real world just far enough that they may have a vague ring of truth and yet still be utterly tainted by one's own interpretations. Along with Andy Kaufman, he taught me that you can never take it too far, never resist the truly insane ideas that bubble within your subconscious mind. The more twisted, the better.

Since those long past days I have read much of what he's written, always amazed at the ferocity of his wit and insight. Throughout his work there is a wild, raging intelligence that simply will not be denied. I've heard some mock or dismiss the notion of "Gonzo Journalism" altogether, somehow construing that it has no place beside supposed "objective" reporting, if there really is such a thing. The idea that an author would deliberately put himself into the middle of a story seems ridiculous to some and, I'm sure, in certain circles, many noses are raised at the very notion.

They just don't get it.

"So much for Objective Journalism. Don’t bother to look for it here—not under any byline of mine; or anyone else I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a pompous contradiction in terms." - H.S.T.

By putting himself into his story he accomplished two very essential things to his work. Firstly, it was his way of absorbing the information, processing it. Hunter was never one to stand back, take notes and analyze. He understood that the real guts of any story would be found deep within and to that end he immersed himself in the situation. Secondly, by doing so, he altered the experiment. No longer could the tale play out in any tired, predictable manner because there was a new, highly volatile component to it: Mr. H.S. Thompson, thank you very much. Anyone could report on, for instance, the Superbowl. Any one of a thousand hacks can and will digest and spew out the same formulaic, bland, by-the-fucking-numbers stories that are written by the awful thousands day in and day out in this country.

But no one could take that story, stir it around into a madly garbled concoction of truly wonderful craziness and still, in the end, give you more insight than all the others put together.

Only Doctor Hunter S. Thompson. He was truly unique, beautifully insane, utterly fearless.

And now he's gone.

Am I shocked at how it ended? At first I was but then I realized that the shock was not in how he ended his life but, simply, that it had ended. That that voice, that singular genius, had been silenced forever. The mad journey was over. I will not judge, however, his method of departing this world. Suffice to say, the choice was his, as it should have been. He chose how to live his life and he chose how to end it. I can only respect that.

I am tempted to say "rest in peace" but it somehow doesn't seem to apply to a man who enjoyed sliding entire packs of lit firecrackers under the bedroom doors of his sleeping friends. He never seemed to be seeking "peace" in any conventional sense. As he would say...

"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." - H.S.T.

So I'll just say sleep well, my friend. This time you won't need that strange mixture of whiskey and Nyquil in order to nod off. This time the T.V. won't have to be jammed between two channels with volume turned all the way up.

Sleep well.

Hunter Stockton Thompson
1937 - 2005

A man who lived life
on his own fucking terms.

© Ken Socrates 2005. All rights reserved.