The Bullshit Expeditionary Force completed its first and probably only succesful mission, a trip to San Francisco for the Hunter S. Thompson wake. They called it an evening of viscious bullshit and it probably was. High point: Ianthe Brautigan, daughter of Richard Brautiigan, the hippie beatnki writer who blew his own brains out twenty years ago.
It was very touching to hear her talk about when HST told her she needed to read "from her vagina" when trying to reach deep inside for feeling.
I understood that right away. At readings, I always like to think I'm reading from my balls, or close to them, at least when I'm feeling good. When not, I read from the nose, which can't be a nice thing to listen to.
A good reading should feel like you're in bed with a very competent lover.
Afterward, you should want a cigarette and a towel.
There were some other very interesting speakers; editors and writers, including the guy who edited several of HSTs better books. He had amusing stories to tell about trying to get the mad genius to produce.
The place was hard-packed with bodies. A lot of old geezers (anyone older than me is a geezer) and a good mix of ages, but the young people were in the minority. Could be because they were late. They were holding people outside in a long line, and only letting new ones in when people left.
Anyway, we all hoisted a few and gave the old scoundrel a proper seeing-off.
San Francisco was a place where HST spent quite a bit of time, so they feel like he's one of theirs.
But now he belongs to everyone just about the same.
It was very touching to hear her talk about when HST told her she needed to read "from her vagina" when trying to reach deep inside for feeling.
I understood that right away. At readings, I always like to think I'm reading from my balls, or close to them, at least when I'm feeling good. When not, I read from the nose, which can't be a nice thing to listen to.
A good reading should feel like you're in bed with a very competent lover.
Afterward, you should want a cigarette and a towel.
There were some other very interesting speakers; editors and writers, including the guy who edited several of HSTs better books. He had amusing stories to tell about trying to get the mad genius to produce.
The place was hard-packed with bodies. A lot of old geezers (anyone older than me is a geezer) and a good mix of ages, but the young people were in the minority. Could be because they were late. They were holding people outside in a long line, and only letting new ones in when people left.
Anyway, we all hoisted a few and gave the old scoundrel a proper seeing-off.
San Francisco was a place where HST spent quite a bit of time, so they feel like he's one of theirs.
But now he belongs to everyone just about the same.
Long live HST in us all.