Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

In 1971 het daar 'n artikel in Rolling Stone tydskrif verskyn wat legendaries sou word: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Voordat ek daaroor skryf wil ek teruggaan na een generasie tevore. Aan die einde van die 1950s het Jack Kerouac se boek On the Road verskyn. Dit is deur geslagte van jongmense aangegryp as 'n inspirasie van 'n manier van vry-lewe, sonder al die moraliteit en bagasie van jou ma en pa. [ Ek onthou hoe Koos Kombuis eenkeer vertel het hoedat dit sy lewe verander het ]

Ek self, soos baie ander, het dit in my twintigs gelees. Dit is so lank terug dat ek feitlik niks daarvan kan onthou nie, behalwe dat ek die boek gehaat het. Ek kan nie eers onthou wat my so gepla het nie - ek dink dit het iets te doen gehad met Kerouac se heldeverering vir sy guru: kleintydse dief slimkop Dean Moriarty. In alles van hierdie ou kon ek die kiem van Charles Manson voel, iemand wat die drang na 'n soort blindheid-wat-pyn-verdoof in mense kan sien en vervul. Maar On the Road was positief, dit het 'n nuwe soort lewe voorspel wat gelewe kon word.

Teen die tyd dat Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas verskyn het het daardie lewensstyl gekom en gegaan en homself uitgewoed. Daar is 'n pragtige paragraaf in die middel daarvan

There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave.

So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark - that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.

Hunter Thompson, die skrywer, was 'n junkie wat Rolling Stone se "sport lessenaar' beman het. Sy "artikel" het begin as 'n reis om 'n motorfiets resies, die Mint 400, te dek. Maar in werklikheid is dit net hy en "my attorney, Dr Gonzo", wat elke moontlike dwelm op aarde uitprobeer en spekuleer oor enige ander vorms van highs wat hulle moontlik kan kry - van pepersprei in die gesig tot menslike bloed wat hulle by Sataniste koop.

My attorney has never been able to accept the notion—often espoused by reformed drug abusers and especially popular among those on probation—that you can get a lot higher without drugs than with them.

Op een stadium vra iemand vir Thompson of hy okay is, hy sweet dat dit klap. Hy stel die man gerus

I went to a doctor and described my normal daily intake of booze, drugs and poison he told me to come back when the sweating stopped. That would be the danger point, he said—a sign that my body’s desperately overworked flushing mechanism had broken down completely

Saam met al sy illussies oor die 1960 het die idee van "objektiewe joernalistiek" vir Thompson gesterf. In die plek daarvan het hy wat hy gedoen het "Gonzo joernalistiek" genoem - 'n mengsel van waarheid en fiksie en vooroordele alles in een.

The only thing I ever saw that came close to Objective Journalism was the closed-circuit TV that watched shoplifters in the General Store at Woody Creek, Colorado. I always admired that machine, but I noticed that nobody paid much attention to it until one of those known, heavy, out-front shoplifters came into the place ... but when that happened, everybody got so excited that the thief had to do something quick, like buy a green popsicle or a can of Coors and get out of the place immediately.

So much for objective journalism.

Die hele idee van Fear en Loathing was om op te hou worry verantwoordelik en regverdig wees en net uit te leef wat uit jou binneste kom - maak nie saak hoe lelik dit was nie.

I'm OK, You're OK? Overrated. 

The importance of Liking Yourself is a notion that fell heavily out of favor during the coptic, anti-ego frenzy of the Acid Era—but nobody guessed, back then, that the experiment might churn up this kind of hangover: a whole subculture of frightened illiterates with no faith in anything.

Thompson was 'n politieke dier en het in die 60s as Sheriff van Aspen gestaan. Maar skielik was daar 'n geslag jonger mense en vir hulle was politiek just a game played by old people, like bridge.

Las Vegas? Thompson verag die plek en beskryf die kombinasie van geld, dobbel en akrobatiese skouspele as "what the whole hep world would be doing on Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war. This is the Sixth Reich"

Soos Raskolnikov in Crime en Punishment probeer Thompson homself oortuig dat die enigste misdaad is om gevang te word. Daar is 'n gebed aan die Here wat hy doen terwyl hy uit die hotel probeer vlug sonder om sy rekening te betaal.

Do me this one last favor: just give me five more high—speed hours before you bring the hammer down. Which is not really a hell of a lot to ask, Lord, because the incredible truth is that I am not guilty. My primitive Christian instincts have made me a criminal. Creeping through the casino at six in the morning with a suitcase full of grapefruit and “Mint 400” T—shirts, I remember telling myself, over and over again, “You are not guilty.” This is merely a necessary expedient, to avoid a nasty scene. 

Thompson het die Fear and Loathing formule oor en oor herhaal in nuwe artikels, totdat hy besef het dat tyd aanbeweeg het. As 'n frase was "fear and loathing", soos "low culture for high-brows", so suksesvol dat dit betekenis verloor het.

Oscar Acosta, sy vriend - die werklike "Dr Gonzo, my attorney", het 'n paar jaar later verdwyn en is nooit weer gesien nie. Gegewe sy lewensstyl het Thompson, soos meeste ander mense, aanvaar dat hy vermoor is. Oor sy vriend het hy gesê

Oscar was one of God’s own prototypes—a high-powered mutant of some kind who was never even considered for mass production. He was too weird to live and too rare to die—and as far as I’m concerned, that’s just about all that needs to be said about him right now.

Beide mans het 'n smaak vir vuurwapens en messe gehad.

And I liked to shoot them—especially at night, when the great blue flame would leap out, along with all that noise...and, yes, the bullets, too. We couldn't ignore that. Big balls of lead/alloy flying around the valley at speeds up to 3700 feet per second.

But I always fired into the nearest hill or, failing that, into blackness. I meant no harm; I just liked the explosions. And I was careful never to kill more than I could eat"

Wat besiel 'n mens om so aan te gaan?

Hamlet dink op die laaste dag van sy lewe aan al sy koggel en narspel en erken

I have shot mine arrow o'er the house and hurt my brother

In al daardie jare van skiet-in-die-donker en nie omgee wie aan die ander kant is nie, het Thompson ooit iemand seergemaak, doelbewus of nie, wonder ek? Ek wil graag glo hy het nie, dat hy op sy manier nog onskuldig was toe hy - baie jare later - uiteindelik homself doodgeskiet het.

Die nota wat hy gelos het, was

No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your (old) age. Relax — This won't hurt