“Grieving Gonzo”

I cried during the Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson musical.

I was the only one crying during the Hunter S. Thompson musical last night.

The tears started right before the intermission — and wouldn’t stop.

Actually, I can’t be sure there weren’t other HST disciples in the theatre that were watching through blurry, weeping eyes.

I’m no longer a disciple. But he was a huge influence on me.

“Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas” by Thompson and “Naked Lunch” by Burroughs were the two books that opened my head and changed the way I looked at storytelling.

“You are allowed to write shit like this!?!”

But it was HST that I was truly drawn to. He didn’t just write fictional stories about being weird and living outside the rules — He was the main character. I devoured his writings and biographies about him.

Long before I found Burning Man and the Internet, Thompson’s “Gonzo Journalism,” showed me that you could be the protagonist of your life. You could be outrageous and weird. And that you could inspire people by doing so.

My early Zine, Prehensile Tales (which became my first website, prehensile.com) was where I first started writing about my life adventures. I would intentionally seek out experiences so that I could have adventures to write about.

I wanted to be Gonzo.

**

For example, here is a story from 1998 (I was 27) about being inspired by HST to go to Vegas with a stranger for her High School Reunion.

Look at that hair!

(And check out the size of the images in the story!!! That was a time when everyone was on modems that connected through your land line phone. It was considered RUDE to include graphics that would take too long to download.)

So why did the musical affect me so hard?

At first I was laughing along with everyone else in the theatre.

I enjoyed the stories of his brash boldness. He was so confident in his perspectives that he made it cool to be a cultural outcast. He didn’t apologize for his drug use or crazy behavior. He celebrated it.

He was famous for saying, “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”

The play showed how he felt a calling to heal the world with his art. He believed his talent combined with his fearlessness would enable him to inspire real change.

But there is a moment before the intermission when HST becomes overwhelmed with disappointment with the world. He concedes that the world doesn’t get better, it’s just ebbs and flows like the tide.

That’s when I started crying.

When I was in my 30’s and full of Gonzo passion, I was also a dreamer.

I believed that the Internet was the missing piece that would allow for enlightened cultural evolution. The acid revolution of the summer of love was stomped out. But now we had the Internet…and better drugs.

(I once said, “What Hunter S Thomson is to Acid, I want to be for Ecstasy.”)

Watching Hunter lose his faith reminded me of my own fall. After feeling like I was a part of an inevitable wave of revolution, I watched Obama fail to deliver the promised HOPE and my fellow Americans elect Trump. I watched Burners get bitter and corruption get bolder. I watched the Internet become a way to algorithmically manipulate the masses.

In despair, I shifted my focus from, “healing the word,” to, “healing myself.”

I found spiritual teachers who re-enforced the futility of trying to change the world, and the significance of personal growth.

For the most part, I am at peace with that path. I know that the way to heal the world IS to heal ourselves. As we practice love and kindness we create ripples that have untold impact.

But I don’t think I ever fully mourned the loss of my idealism.
As I watched the play, it was like watching home movies of a child, now dead.
I remembered that part of me. And I felt overwhelmed with grief.

**SPOILER ALERT**

The play ends with a letter from a high school kid sent to Hunter.

The kid says how, “Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas,” made him feel less alone. It gave him the strength to be boldly weird. It inspired him to want to write and change the world.

I started crying hard again. I almost wanted to stand and point to the stage, “THAT’S ME!!!”

I left the theatre raw. But as the feelings settle, I understand the beauty of the play. HST didn’t fix the world. But he inspired that kid. And that kid won’t fix the world. But he’ll inspire someone else.

It doesn’t have the body-shaking, guttural satisfaction of a gunshot, but the tiny ripples we each make with our authentic expressions DO matter.

And even with an uncertain future, Hunter’s career advice is more true now than ever, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”

In 2008 I helped start a Burning Man camp called, ‘Bat Country.” This was our flag.ONE OF OUR CAMPMATES send a letters to Ralph Steadman and requested a sacred 🦇 illustration. Steadman provided a glorious grotesque drawing and the following text,

The Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical plays at the La Jolla Playhouse through Oct 8. 2023

p.s.

In 2009, One of our Bat Country Burning Man campmates sent a letter to Ralph Steadman (Hunter’s long-time collaborator) and requested a drawing. Steadman provided a original, glorious, grotesque illustration of a bat 🦇.

And this note:

“I fully expect you all, in sacred Bat country, that you live up to the strange and sinister calling that bats sounds bestow upon their devotees. You may have been chosen and because of it, you are now
responsible souls of darkness and deep thoughts….”

-Ralph Steadman, 2008