What has struck me, especially about the later work, is that he seemed to have lost his sense of humour about everything. The last few years worth of columns for the San Francisco Examiner still have all the bile and outsider on a rampage feel but they are no longer tempered with irony or fun.
Did the drink and drugs finally take its toll? Did the strange and violent actions in the last years point the way to a depression that couldn't be overcome? Did the accolades and celebrity wear thin as he found himself less relevant in a world where bad craziness was the norm rather than the exception?
In the forward to his second selection of letters, Fear and Loathing in America: The Gonzo Letters Vol. 2
, Thompson writes, "...no matter where I was, or how weird & crazy & dangerous it got, everything would be okay if I could just make it home."Somewhere along the journey, maybe between the Woody Creek Tavern friends and the family constantly waiting for him at home, he lost the way.
Today's listening pleasure: Blind Faith
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