Time is like a snow flake
It disappears while you are trying to decide what to do with it.
Author: gorgeousgael
THE KENTUCKY DERBY IS DECADENT AND DEPRAVED
Well worth a read! So funny.
https://sensitiveskinmagazine.com/hunter-s-thompson-the-kentucky-derby-is-decadent-and-depraved/
SUICIDE BY GUNSHOT
SUICIDE BY GUNSHOT
The Gonzo man is gone
His height when living was six foot three
Much less when he was dead
His ashes were fired into space
From a canon
In a ceremony
Funded by his old friend
Johnny Depp
He looked down the barrel of a gun
Didn’t like what he saw
And so he pulled that motherfucker trigger
No more games
No more bombs
No more walking
No more fun
No more swimming
Sixty seven is seventeen years past fifty
Seventeen years more
Than needed or wanted
Act your (old) age
Relax
This wont hurt
BANG.
COLLECT TELEGRAM FROM A MAD DOG
HUNTER S THOMPSON ONLY WROTE ABOUT 3 POEMS IN HIS LIFETIME AS FAR AS I CAN TELL. THIS IS THE BEST OF THEM
Collect Telegram from a Mad Dog
by Hunter S. Thompson
Not being a poet, and drunk as well,
leaning into the diner and dawn
and hearing a juke box mockery of some better
human sound
I wanted rhetoric
but could only howl the rotten truth
Norman Luboff
should have his nuts ripped off with a plastic fork.
Then howled around like a man with the
final angst,
not knowing what I wanted there
Probably the waitress, bend her double
like a safety pin,
Deposit the mad seed before they
tie off my tubes
. . .
Suddenly a man with wild eyes rushed
out from the wooden toilet
Foam on his face and waving a razor
like a flag, shouting
. . .
We’ll take our vengeance now!
. . .
We rang for Luboff
on the pay phone, but there was
no contact
. . .
Get a Lawyer, I said. These swine have gone
far enough.
Now is the time to
lay a writ on them,
Cease and Desist
. . .
The legal man agreed
We had a case and indeed a duty to
Right these Wrongs, as it were
The Price would be four thousand in front and
ten for the nut.
I wrote him a check on the Sawtooth
National Bank,
but he hooted at it
While rubbing a special oil on
his palms
To keep the chancres from itching
beyond endurance
On this Sabbath.
. . .
Later, from jail
I sent a brace of telegrams
to the right people,
explaining my position.
October 13, 1965
HUNTER S THOMPSON IN THE PARIS REVIEW
WORKING FOR THE SUBBY/McALPINES FUSELIERS
WORKING FOR THE SUBBY – Johnjo’s tale….available for 99p on Amazon
JOHNJO…is the study of a man from the cradle to the grave. Forced to go on the run from his Comeragh hill farm at an early age, Johnjo washes up in Lincolnshire in war-time England. Working on farms, and often finding himself treated worse than the prisoners-of-war, he goes on the run again. And so begins a life-long association with ‘the lump’ – the dark underbelly of the construction industry. From building motorways and living in camps you ‘wouldn’t keep a decent dog in’, we eventually find him working in London for a ‘subby’ called Bannaher – not having been home to Ireland for more than thirty years. Disillusioned and bitter at having been ground down by the harshness of his life, he, nevertheless, hangs on to a few sparks of defiance. The final straw comes when he sees his friend (lover?) buried alive in the trench they are working in, and he embarks on a rebellious ‘last hurrah
McAlpine’s Fusiliers
As down the glen came McAlpine’s men with their shovels slung behind them
It was in the pub they drank the sub and up in the spike you’ll find them
They sweated blood and they washed down mud with pints and quarts of beer
And now we’re on the road again with McAlpine’s Fusiliers
It was in the pub they drank the sub and up in the spike you’ll find them
They sweated blood and they washed down mud with pints and quarts of beer
And now we’re on the road again with McAlpine’s Fusiliers
I stripped to the skin with the Darky Flynn way down upon the Isle of Grain
With the Horseface Toole I knew the rule, no money if you stop for rain
When McAlpine’s god was a well filled hod with your shoulders cut to bits and seared
And woe to he who looks for tea with McAlpine’s Fusiliers
I remember the day that the Bear O’Shea fell into a concrete stairs
What the Horseface said, when he saw him dead, well it wasn’t what the rich call prayers
I’m a navvy short was the one retort that reached unto my ears
When the going is rough, well you must be tough with McAlpine’s Fusiliers
I’ve worked till the sweat near had me bet with Russian, Czech and Pole
On shuddering jams up in the hydro dams or underneath the Thames in a hole
I grafted hard and I’ve got me cards and many a gangers fist across me ears
If you pride your life, don’t join, by Christ, with McAlpine’s Fusiliers
EVOLUTION
EVOLUTION
I was weaned on country music
Rock-n-roll and poverty
Irish style.
Son, the priest said,
Put that guitar away
And get that hair cut right
And don’t play
‘I Can Get No Satisfaction’
Tonight.
It’s a sin to call yourselves
The Red Devils, he said,
And in his shadows
I could see mother nodding her head.
So we became The Royal Dukes,
Zig-zagging across Munster
And played ‘Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown’
Instead.
This will not do, he roared,
Rattling his pulpit,
The youth of my parish,
Harbingers of the Devil’s music,
What is wrong with Frank Ifield?
Dead music, Father, I told him
And offered to debate it
But he wouldn’t listen.
So I emigrated.
THE SHINY RED HONDA – FREE ON AMAZON
FREE FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS.
DRIVING WHILE BLACK
DRIVING WHILE BLACK
Don’t drive while you’re black
‘Cos you may get stopped on the way back
From wherever you have been
Doing bad things to country and queen
Never drive when you’re black
Looking for white people to attack
‘Cos that’s a crime too
Though it’s okay to drive when you’re blue
Driving while black
Means you could get shot in the back
For turning left or failing to stop
By some trigger-happy, non-black cop
Some other ‘crimes’ while being black;
Smoking while black
Learning while black
Walking while black
Shopping while black
Eating while black
In fact almost any damn thing while black
free on Amazon at present.
THE WALL
THE WALL
I stopped by our wall again today
Staring
Just staring
I saw an image of you
Fleeting
As you hurried by
It was like somebody
Had stood on my grave
You in all your finery
Mirrored on a blank wall
Blank
Just like your face.
http://amzn.eu/3nRDJoW (free copy of my book on Amazon)
My Writing Life 