href="http://www.elibishopmedia.com">Eli Bishop remembers Hunter S.
Thompson:

I heard the news today by mobile phone while I was browsing
a sale on Asian housewares in Target. It suddenly seemed so futile to be alive.
The room was a vaccum for a few moments and all the fussing housewives were
sucked away, as I let the news slowly sink in. Hunter S. Thompson had committed
suicide Sunday…All I could say was something profound like ‘Oh wow’. I don’t
think I heard much after that. I looked around and immediatly assesed I was the
only person in the store who knew who Hunter Thompson was. I wanted to scream
at everyone, ‘you fiends! Don’t you realize the implications of this?’ To quote
Thompson, life had just gone ‘sideways’. I thought running through the asiles
and throwing everything on the floor would be appropriate, but I didn’t have the
strength. I quietly paid for my useless trinkets, and left, still in a daze. Not
only did I not know about his death, but I was late hearing about it! The one
day I didn’t read the newspaper! I, as Hunter did, have a love/hate relationship
with the mainstream media. One day I have to read everything, the next it is an
evil lizard, jaws dripping with ink.

I have always felt some
connection with Hunter…I have read all his work, but not only that, I have
had many mind-altering adventures such as he had: I experienced the paranoia,
the lonliness, the near-misses…but most importantly, the thrill of surfing a
chemical wave until it collapses back into the surf of reality. His brand of
‘Gonzo’ journalism is one I could respect. What part of the story is
real…which part is exaggerated? Who cares, it’s about as truthful to me as the
real news is anyday. I enjoy even his most obscure work, as Thompson breathed
life into everything he wrote, even about the most boring subject matter.
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I remember being so jealous that Johnny Depp lived with him for a short
period to do a ‘character study’ for his upcoming role in ‘Fear and Loathing in
Las Vegas’. But it was more than a charachter study, it was knowing what was
going on in Thompsons head, and bonding with him on HIS terms. Johnny Depp was
100% Hunter Thompson in that movie. Not one thing could have been added or
taken away. Reading the book now is even more of a treat, because you can
visulize everything as it happens. Depp did him justice, and then some. I have
met many people that hated the movie, it was just too much for them, or they
didn’t understand it. When I had initally read Fear and Loathing, I was secretly
convinced Hunter had a time machine and had followed my friends and I around, 
documenting our debauchery (but thats another story).

I can barely
read the news articles about him today. I’m convinced he was in a chemical
stupor and didn’t know what he was doing. Recently he appeared on Conan
O’Brien, and even in his withering shell, he was candid, coy, and hilariously
entertaining. He said more in a three word response than any seasoned actor
explaining their love for their work. The articles present him as if he were on
display in a zoo…they maintain a cautious distance from the wild beast, even
after his passing. Seeing the photographs displayed with the articles didn’t
tear me up inside like the news did, his expressions alone make me
laugh
out loud.

‘When the going gets weird, the weird turn Pro’. That line
from Hunter is decadently inspriring to me. As an artist, I had come to a point
in my chemically scattered life where I envisioned myself growing old and
ending up like Hunter, a wild recluse. I realized there is only room for one
Hunter Thompson in history, and changed my experimental ways, deciding to
subvert the system from the inside, professionally. I mean, he rode around with
Nixon and talked about football…who left that madman alone with the
President?

In my heart there is only one person who embodies the
spirit of the greatest American journalist, and that is Hunter S. Thompson. Tom
Wolfe runs a close second, and could only take the title if he went door to
door and physically punched everyone in America in the stomach. Hunter, if you
can hear me out there, keep everyone in the afterlife on their toes, and
perhaps one day we can meet for a drink or three, and ride motorcyles across
the horizon.

Hunter was 67.