Yes, it will eat you.
Today's little essay commemorates Hunter S. Thompson.
He took his own life on this date in 2005.
Ten years without him. His tale "The Great Shark Hunt" is one of the reasons I write. I thought after reading it that any tale of debauchery so sensationalized had to be fiction. My actual words were "I can make up wild shit like that."
The different being I can make stuff up. Hunter? There is a great deal of "inspired by actual events" in some of those pieces..
I'm going to write tonight about a couple characters whose moral compass is suffering from some inherent field deviation.
The correction card reads "correct 180 degrees, all latitudes."
I'd rather drink a big pitcher of Glaucoma: a drink invented at the world marlin championships and featured in the story "The Great Shark Hunt."
Then, who am I kidding. I can't down half a glass without pissing myself and passing out.
I miss a world with Hunter Thompson in it. The one he left became crazier than his writing.
Shoot at something tonight when you're writing.
You can patch the holes in the wall tomorrow.
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