Tuesday, September 16, 2003
I have long admired Hunter S. Thompson. From the time one of my buddies, well, actually, ok, aquaman, turned me on to him back in 96, which I guess wasn’t that long ago, but well, you get the point, I’ve been really amazed at how someone who for the most part is so fucked up on all kinds of drugs and other substances could be so on point when it came to matters of human relations and the way that people basically work. My first exposure was his the great shark hunt, full of 70’s observations that despite their age seemed applicable to a certain mindset in our culture that, if it was indeed missing, was a goddamm shame.
Anyway, rambling aside, as the war machine got percolating I must admit I stood with the seeming moral majority in the idea that shit, saddaam was evil incarnate and we had to go in there and kick ass and take names, like a real OG should. I was like, lets get to dropping some bombs, and shit.
But now, in retrospect (word of the day?) I, along with everybody and his brother, well, okay, maybe every other brother and every third sister, is kinda wondering if not outright debating hardcore with themselves if what we as a country did was in fact the right thing. Iraq is fucked to shit, more US soldiers are dying every day just about, and the finish line seems a long way down the road on this particular endeavor. The possibility that we fucked up looms larger than john holmes’ dead dick.
But back to my point before. Hunter S. Thompson was onto this shit from the start, he was railing against Bush and the hawks from day one and basically calling bullshit on most if not all of Giorgio’s reasons for the necessity of a preemptive strike. And I must admit, I was thinking, “Hunter, you old pie-eater, you’ve gone soft, you must realize, that this is a modern issue, that things are different now, that this isn’t just another Vietnam, this man Mr. Sadaam Hussein means serious business, he must be taken care of, and despite the argument that there are countless other despots and severely morally fucked and powerful individuals dotting the planet’s landscape, this guy is overly devoid of any soul and conscience and regard for his people and thus deserves to be taken out like a zit on the back of a very large sweaty man at the nearest opportunity regardless of rules, regulations, united nations argumentation and the ever-popular etcetera.” That’s what I was thinking, I guess, in a nutshell, without the over-analysis that I could otherwise pepper it with.
But as the world slowly spins around on its axis I must at this point grovel up to the table of wonderment and bewilderment and disbelief and reality check central and oil mongering greed-itude (which I did recognize and document as well but I discounted it as a necessary evil) and read Mr. Thompson’s words this fine afternoon and recognize true genius:
“Disagreeing with Donald Rumsfeld about bombing anybody who gets in our way is not a crime in this country. It is a wise and honorable idea that George Washington and Benjamin Franklin risked their lives for. These thieves in the White House are so crazy with greed and power, and they are causing so much drastic damage to the world we live in, that they are the ones who should be put on trial for treason.
…The Statue of Liberty wasn't out there for nothing. Beware of War Mongers. They don't give a hoot in hell if you live or die. They are in this racket strictly for themselves. Mahalo.”
Thinking back to my own thoughts and written processes regarding this whole dillio, I know I had some issues which were elucidated in this space regarding the bullshit trend of labellin anybody that opposed the war effort as some sort of communist and/or traitor. I know I mentioned the word McCarthy least once or twice, which I’m sure many other souls did, whether in some form of accessible media or to one’s own green bottle of heinekin out back by the washing machine, but I know I never said it with either the same quality or conviction as the founder of gonzo journalism did in the above referenced quote. I was wishy washy, I was like “hmmm, this way, hmmm, that way” throwing out ideas and points but basically saying "let's bomb us some desert folk and get this shit done." And I felt strongly about it, ah the folly of youth and the power of the media machine. but ya know, now i'm not so sure. in fact, i may just be leaning the other way. which may not necessarily beg, but at least hints at the question, Where does the top, the source, of our little friend the information superhighway, begin? Where does it end? what effect in both our frontal and posterior lobe(s) does it have on us as? I mean, the sad thing is, I’m still not sure about what the fuck is going on over there, one way or another, another victim of mass marketing brain wave adjustors on the prowl throughout apparently common phone lines.
What the fuck am I talking about? In any event, hunter S. Thompson, I apologize for any degree of doubt of your mental faculties I may have vested in your personage.
Now I’m gonna finish my beer and go home.