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| Hunter S. Thompson self portrait, Louisville, KY. 1963 |
"As things stand now, I am going to be a writer. I'm not sure that I'm going to be a good one or even a self-supporting one, but until the dark thumb of fate presses me to the dust and says, 'you are nothing', I will be a writer."
"My apartment, once the scene of lazy sex and quiet privacy, has erupted during the past two weeks into a virtual cave of howling drunken insanity. There are people sleeping everywhere - on my bed, on the couch, on the cot, and even on sleeping bags on the floor. Everything in the place is covered in stale beer, most of my records are ruined, every piece of linen, towel, or clothing in the place is filthy, the dishes haven't been washed in weeks, the neighbors have petitioned the landlord to have me evicted, my sex life has been absolutely smashed, I have no money, no food, no privacy, and certainly no piece of mind."
-Hunter S. Thompson, letter to Rodger Richards from Cuddebackville
June 3, 1959
"I live 5 miles from town, on the beach, 4-room house, motor scooter, no job, writing freelance stuff for Stateside newspapers, also fiction, so many bugs I can barely breathe, wide here and cooking, no money, vagrant artist from New York also living here, has sailboat, all in all life is not bad."
-Hunter S. Thompson, letter from Loiz Aldea, Puerto Rico
May 25, 1960
"Monday I'll ride my thumb south - Carmel, Monterey, Big Sur, and maybe all the way to Los Angeles. Whatever happens will be all right. I do not care and have no plans. All I want to do is get out on the coast and see the California everybody talks about. I'll go as far as the rides take me, sleep on the beach (sleeping bag), and beg, if necessary, for food."
-Hunter S. Thompson, letter to Sandy Conklin
October 28, 1960
"I am surrounded by lunatics here, people screeching every time I pull a trigger, yelling about my blood-soaked shirt, packs of queers waiting to do me in, so many creditors that I've lost count, a huge Doberman on the bed, a pistol by the desk, time passing, getting balder, no money, a great thirst for all the world's whiskey, my clothes rotting in the fog, a mootrcycle with no light, a landlady who's writing a novel on butcher-paper, wild boar in the hills and queers on the roads, vats of homemade beer in the closet, shooting cats to ease the pressure, the jabbing of Buddhists in the trees, whores in the canyons, Christ only knows if I can last it out."
-Hunter S. Thompson, letter from Big Sur
August 4, 1961
"I am down to 10 U.S. dollars but have developed a theory which will go down as Thompson's Law of Travel Economics. To wit: full speed ahead and damn the cost; it will all come out in the wash."
-Hunter S. Thompson, letter en route to Bogota
May 26, 1962
"I am trying to get out of here on the jungle train, but the hotel won't take my checks so I can't leave. I just sit in the room and ring the bell for more beer. Life has improved immeasurably since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously."
-Hunter S. Thompson, letter from La Paz, Bolivia
August 18, 1962
These excerpts are from letters written by HST when he lived in Puerto Rico, South America and California. Even at his mid-twenties, he was already traveling the world with a typewriter, tremendous talent and a taste for mayhem.
Pick up a biography on him... he's led quite the incredible life, one that I would kill to duplicate.
