Contradictionary flies
It's not like I can do anything about it, or hide the fact that it bothers me, because it's everywhere. Email, journals, news sites, everywhere I go is reminding me that the man I more than admired just a little bit had decided it best to go the way he did. And I'm also not ruling out the fact that he WANTED it that way, because that's how he was, sort of. Hunter to me was a mentor by proxy, the kind of guy that if you'd met, you could only muster a hello, a handshake, and a thank you.
But alot of people who couldn't see his charm or wit, or fantastic use of the english language as an art and a tool are coming out of the woodworks and telling stories of the one book they know of. Like a kid in a corner telling you that the one piece of candy they have means more to them than it does to you, when you've been trying to get to know the maker of it.
Make sense? No.
So let's try again.
His memory will be best served to my by quotes, random ones in passing that'd leave you turning the pages back to read them again, because they'd strike you as something completely incomprehensible, or make you wonder if he was the only person with thoughts like these he could get down on paper this well. Sometimes, his words were either as soft as pillows, or as harsh and mean as too many stakeknives ingrained into your bedsheets.
But maybe his disdain for the American way and the death of the American dream that seemed to only last for as long as we wanted to believe he could make it last, took what strength he had left in him, which makes it hard for us to have faith in anything related to his ideals at the very moment, but if you can at least look at the situation and smirk a bit, then you're on the right track.
"Victory is good for you, and don't let anybody tell you different." Is the last set of words in his latest book. And something tells me that wherever he's at, he still believe that he's winning.
Please excuse my reserved sadness, and thank you to the people who've thought of me when they'd heard the news. For now we can celebrate the death of an icon, and I'll forget that the two people that kind of prodded me by accident into getting into music and writing have both taken the same way out.
Written for Rumdiary.net
But alot of people who couldn't see his charm or wit, or fantastic use of the english language as an art and a tool are coming out of the woodworks and telling stories of the one book they know of. Like a kid in a corner telling you that the one piece of candy they have means more to them than it does to you, when you've been trying to get to know the maker of it.
Make sense? No.
So let's try again.
His memory will be best served to my by quotes, random ones in passing that'd leave you turning the pages back to read them again, because they'd strike you as something completely incomprehensible, or make you wonder if he was the only person with thoughts like these he could get down on paper this well. Sometimes, his words were either as soft as pillows, or as harsh and mean as too many stakeknives ingrained into your bedsheets.
But maybe his disdain for the American way and the death of the American dream that seemed to only last for as long as we wanted to believe he could make it last, took what strength he had left in him, which makes it hard for us to have faith in anything related to his ideals at the very moment, but if you can at least look at the situation and smirk a bit, then you're on the right track.
"Victory is good for you, and don't let anybody tell you different." Is the last set of words in his latest book. And something tells me that wherever he's at, he still believe that he's winning.
Please excuse my reserved sadness, and thank you to the people who've thought of me when they'd heard the news. For now we can celebrate the death of an icon, and I'll forget that the two people that kind of prodded me by accident into getting into music and writing have both taken the same way out.
Written for Rumdiary.net