Steadman on HST

the more I think about it, the sadder I get

more than thirty years' worth of depraved wisdom, down the tubes

thing of it is, he wrote somewhere (I can't find it) about loading up a convertible's trunk with high explosives, then running it off a cliff (near Stone Mountain, GA, IIRC) at maximum speed, then setting it off....that was how he said he was going to do it

anybody else remember that, or have better than my minimal googling skills?

here's Steadman:

I knew all along he was pretty damned important. I was naive, an innocent abroad. He corrupted me in a very special way. I took his gleeful, demonic spirit on board and took out of it what I needed for my own work. But he was the original.
I first met him in 1970, at the Kentucky Derby. The editor of Scanlan magazine, which was named after a little-known Nottingham pig farmer, had seen my first book, Still Life With Raspberry, and concluded I was the guy to do this story with Hunter S Thompson, an ex-Hell's Angel who'd just shaved his head. On the way to the airport I lost my pens, pencils and inks. Luckily the editor's wife was a Revlon representative and she gave me a pack of lipsticks and rouges and whatnot. And that's what I used for the story, The Kentucky Derby is Depraved and Decadent.

When I finally found Hunter, he said: "Holy shit! I was told to look for a matted-haired geek with stringwarts!" I had a goatee beard. I still don't know what stringwarts are, but anyway, I had them too. "Uh, well, let's take a beer," he said, "Do you gamble?" I told him I didn't. He'd never seen a character like me before, who said "terrible, this is terrible" (which he pronounced "tirrible") all the time. He realised that I was looking through a glass darkly, seeing things I'd never seen before, like southern people enjoying themselves in a weird and wonderful way. It was fresh and alien to me, so I became a conduit for him. That's how Gonzo started.

In 1974 we went to Zaire to cover the "Rumble in the Jungle" between George Foreman and Muhammad Ali for Rolling Stone magazine. Rolling Stone publisher Jan Wenner called it "the biggest, fucked-up journalistic adventure in the history of journalism". Hunter never delivered the story and the art director didn't like my drawings. Hunter sold our fight tickets to buy drugs or something, and told me: "If you think I've come all this way to watch two niggers beat the shit out of each other, you've got another think coming." This wasn't a racist remark. It was gonzo. He said it to be provocative. Then he snuck off to the pool with the whisky and a big bag of grass.
http://books.guardian.co.uk/news/articles/0,6109,1419636,00.html



let's see....I have tequila, grapefruit, various other things....but no ether


just found this, from Steadman's home page, sigh.....

Since it happened my feet haven't touched the ground. It's like I can still speak to Hunter beyond the grave. Like he is saying, 'Don't fuck up on this one, Ralph! Tell it like you knew it, but don't bad mouth me!! You always knew I was going to do it, so it wasn't 'if' but 'when'. It was my call, Ralph and now you will have to deal with the flood. Apres moi, Ralph- the deluge!! Did you think it was going to be an easy ride? You knew what you were doing when you bought a ticket. You were there most of the time, but towards the end you couldn't handle the heat, but you made the Role of Honor by the skin of your teeth. So long Ralph, and thanks for the laughs. And remember- The Crazy Never Die! Look after Anita'.

So there we are. I always knew that one day Hunter would make that journey, but I did not know yesterday that it would be today. He told me 25 years ago that he would feel real trapped if he didn't know that he could commit suicide at any moment. I don't know if that is brave or stupid or what, but it was inevitable. I think that the truth of what rings through all his writing is that he meant what he said. If that is entertainment to you, well, that's OK. If you think that it enlightened you, well, that's even better. If you wonder if he's gone to Heaven or Hell- rest assured he will check out the both, find out which one Richard Milhaus Nixon went to- and go there. He could never stand being bored. But there must be Football too- and Peacocks. I thank everyone who has sent condolences, but spare a long thought for his wife Anita, who has had to balance their lives on a knife edge these last few years to keep them sane. She is a lovely lady. Bless her heart....

did you hear Art Bell last night? I was part of the Philadelphia Experiment

they interviewed me

I have always admired your work.

I mean, danke, or whatever we spoke in Belgium back then. have to axe my pal Breughel...he didn't eat as much bad rye as I did, but he had a certain take on things



btw, if you're interested, read 'Leap' by Terry Tempest Williams. the whole book is about my Garden of Delights, as well as flights of fancy on various related and nonrelated topics...by a Mormon, no less

I'm clearly an influence on Steadman

I will check that out, and danke, sounds sweet. :thumbsup:

I knew that

I think it's so funny you thought I didn't know that

What makes you think I didn't know that?



btw, you can buy some of my stuff here; lots is sold out since I started showing here, so don't delay

http://www.arcana-arcana.com/acatalog/Jheronimus_Bosch.html

gotta go...have an appointment with Mr. Pat Sajak

Wheel of Fortune is the BEST, don't you know?

where's my triangle?

he stole this from me

a great segment on Thompson, who did all kinds of crazy stuff, while not covering the fight

like going out into the 'jungle' outside Kinshasa, declaring himself to be Foreman's manager, Martin Bormann: Foreman and Bormann

stuff like that

remember the Zoo Plane?

Ibogaine?

Hells Angels at La Honda w/Pranksters? (maybe that was Tom Wolfe, still excellent)

this one's 750....the first one's a bargain at 400

He came like a thief in the night. Hunter S. Thompson did not want to sign anything. 'People are always asking', he said. 'I'll think about it. I'll come by later', he added. We left it at that and we went back to our loaned cabin along the Woody Creek Road, a kind gesture compliments of Hunter's neighbor and friend, George Stranahan. There was no sign of Hunter by 3:30 am. We decided to go to bed. But I knew Hunter would show up, so I left the pages to be signed on the kitchen table, with a pen. There was commotion and horn honking at about 4am. I knew I was right. Later Hunter told "There was a bear in the road". I turned over and went back to sleep.

I rose at about 7.30am and walked sleepily through to the kitchen. On the table was Polo bag. Inside was half a bottle of Chivas Regal, four boxes of cigars, a Gonzo thong, a gold krugerand and a magnum of a precious red wine, a fine and dignified Cabernet Sauvignon, nothing cheap! which we later shared with Hunter's Lawyer, the Sheriff and friends that very next night. There were a couple of scribbled notes in his distinctive handwriting near by. On one note he had written, 'Dear Ralph- Sorry I got lost in the night- I got a flat tire. Please help me to evaluate this profoundly rare wine. Love H'. On a second sheet he had written a list. 'Ralph- lettered sheets. numbered sheets . What else do you need? Ah yes- books signed, etc. - thank you. Hunter S Thompson'. Bless him! he was going to do it!!

He had clipped a smaller yellow piece of paper to the others on which he had scrawled, 'You're welcome- the Fruit Fairy'..... because he had stolen our cantaloupe melon.

So the pages had been gathered up and spirited away into the night like a guilty secret. My ole buddy Hunter would deliver, perversely, but he always delivers. A far more interesting signing than your average run-of-the-mill. Thought you would like to know that; it's a double first for a limited edition.

Ralph Steadman,
November 2nd 2004

William Burroughs Shot Print

Titled: 'And something new has been added'

Edition: 120





Each print was shot and signed in pencil by Mr. Burroughs at his home in Lawrence, Kansas in 12 blocks of 10 sheets at a time of Mouldmade Fine Paper from a distance of 6 feet in his socks and wearing khaki battle fatigues. The year was 1995. Don't blame me for the strange limitation numbering which goes- A1 thru A10, B1 thru B10, C1 thru C10 etc until L1 thru L10.

Each print is wildly different in effective firearm damage depending on the weapon used by this great and unpredictable writer.

Size: 30.25 inches X 44.25 inches

This six-color silk-screened print is signed in pencil by both the artist and William S. Burroughs with the added touch of bullet holes placed with loving care by Mr. Burroughs.

Price: $1500

quite an interesting sense of taste

from the illustrated Alice

lent it to somebody a long time ago. still waiting

http://www.gonzo.org/

including this, from somebody who used to be a great writer....look where it's printed, for an indication of what he's become:

Hunter S. Thompson was one of those rare writers who come as advertised. The Addams-family eyebrows in Stephen King's book jacket photos combined with the heeby-jeeby horrors of his stories always made me think of Dracula. When I finally met Mr. King, he was in Miami playing, along with Amy Tan, in a jook-house band called the Remainders. He was Sunshine itself, a laugh and a half, the very picture of innocent fun, a Count Dracula who in real life was Peter Pan. Carl Hiaasen, the genius who has written such zany antic novels as "Striptease," "Sick Puppy," and "Skinny Dip" is in person as intelligent, thoughtful, sober, courteous, even courtly, a Southern gentleman as you could ask for (and I ask for them all the time and never find them). But the gonzo--Hunter's coinage--madness of Hunter Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" (1971) and his Rolling Stone classics such as "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved" (1970) was what you got in the flesh too. You didn't have lunch or dinner with Hunter Thompson. You attended an event at mealtime.

I had never met Hunter when the book that established him as a literary figure, "The Hell's Angels, a Strange and Terrible Saga," was published in 1967. It was brilliant investigative journalism of the hazardous sort, written in a style and a voice no one had ever seen or heard before. The book revealed that he had been present at a party for the Hell's Angels given by Ken Kesey and his hippie--at the time the term was not "hippie' but "acid-head"--commune, the Merry Pranksters. The party would be a key scene in a book I was writing, (The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test). I cold-called Hunter in California, and he generously gave me not only his recollections but also the audiotapes he had recorded at that first famous alliance of the hippies and "outlaw" motorcycle gangs, a strange and terrible saga in itself, culminating in the Rolling Stones band hiring the Angels as security guards for a concert in Altamont, Calif., and the "security guards" beating a spectator to death with pool cues.

http://www.opinionjournal.com/la/?id=110006325

if you read this thing, you'll see how much he does not get Thompson, anymore, if he ever did

Electric KookAid Acid Test did get it, though (along w/the Right Stuff, MauMauing the Flak Catchers, Mauve Gloves,etc., and a few others)....wonder what happened to him


just for fun

http://images.blogads.com/sbxtupszzbippdpn/therawstory/3222371/thumb?rev=rev_6

http://www.playboy.com/features/features/hunterthompson/

PLAYBOY: Did you feel any sympathy as you watched Nixon go down, finally?

THOMPSON: Sympathy? No. You have to remember that for my entire adult life, Richard Nixon has been the national boogeyman. I can't remember a time when he wasn't around -- always evil, always ugly, 15 or 20 years of fucking people around. The whole Watergate chancre was a monument to everything he stood for: This was a cheap thug, a congenital liar.... What the Angels used to call a gunsel, a punk who can't even pull off a liquor-store robbery without shooting somebody or getting shot, or busted.

and he said Bush is MUCH worse than Nixon ever was