R.I.P. Hunter S. Thompson
I'm very upset. The man wrote the best drug-induced prose ever. Now I'm going to have to unpack my books box and dig out Fear and Loathing. Thank you, Si and Ko.
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"If you saw Atlas, the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood, blood running down his chest, his knees buckling, his arms trembling but still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the greater the effort the heavier the world bore down upon his shoulders—what would you tell him to do?"
"I…don’t know. What…could he do? What would you tell him?"
"To shrug."
Me
"You gotta go crazy to stay sane. You can't find out who you are 'til you know who you ain't."
Days go by
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And still I think of you
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