I always enjoy reading Hunter S. Thompson. Especially when it’s just his raw, unbridled brain letting loose on friends and foes. There’s something about his complete sane madness that I can relate to entirely, which is as unsettling as it is comforting.
Fear and Loathing in America: The Gonzo Letters Volume II
When you are sucked into Thompson’s world, you are sucked in. Reading through those first few years, you will struggle to pull yourself out again into the real world. It becomes immensely clear that Thompson was never anything but himself. His letters written to colleagues and friends move in the same frenzied, furious fashion as any of his other writings. As you’re reading his correspondences, you can feel the keys of the typewriter beating in your chest, you might even wonder for a moment if the pages were dipped in acid or if maybe you’re just insane. It’s a roller coaster of cuss words, friendly invitations to the Owl Farm, and death threats. Because everything Thompson says is fast paced and stream of conscious, it’s hard to tell fact from fiction and you get the sense that that’s what he wanted -that he always lived his life on the brink of reality.