I was in a slight funk yesterday, and although the weather was bleak on a working Monday morning, I still couldn't shake the fact that something else felt wrong.
But it wasn't until late in the day that I discovered that it was exactly one year ago that Hunter S. Thompson killed himself at his fortified compound in Woody Creek, Colorado.
Thompson had long stood atop of my literary heroes list, where he served as a constant remainder that boundaries are meant to be tested and that the difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lighting bug (I think I stole that from Mark Twain).
His sudden death last year (see February archives for a eulogy) was like a sucker-punch for me despite Thompson's demanding lifestyle where drugs, firearms and a typewriter were never too far away.
It was only fitting for someone like Dr. Thompson that his ashes were scattered over Woody Creek via a 150 ft. fist-shaped cannon which was largely paid for by Johnny Depp, one of his close friends.
His widow, Anita Thompson, posted a private photo of Thompson on http://www.gonzostore.com to mark the one year anniversary of his death.
The caption beneath it was a quote from one of his books and read "At the top of the mountain, we are all Snow Leopards."
We are indeed.
-BDS
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