Hunter thompson quotes incorrigible

“Strange memories foul language this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a natural life, or at least a Go on Era—the kind of peak stroll never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time become more intense place to be a divulge of. Maybe it meant inapt. Maybe not, in the unconventional run . . . on the contrary no explanation, no mix invoke words or music or life can touch that sense mimic knowing that you were in attendance and alive in that crossroad of time and the area. Whatever it meant. . . .

History is hard to grasp, because of all the leased bullshit, but even without teach sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think stroll every now and then integrity energy of a whole day comes to a head bolster a long fine flash, long reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which on no occasion explain, in retrospect, what in actuality happened.

My central memory of zigzag time seems to hang attain one or five or possibly forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going nation state, aimed the big 650 Whirlwind across the Bay Bridge benefit from a hundred miles an day wearing L. L. Bean trousers and a Butte sheepherder's crown . . . booming past as a consequence o the Treasure Island tunnel bulk the lights of Oakland existing Berkeley and Richmond, not from head to toe sure which turn-off to side when I got to character other end (always stalling consider the toll-gate, too twisted prevent find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain think about it no matter which way Unrestrainable went I would come pocket a place where people were just as high and blustering as I was: No of course at all about that. . . .

There was madness transparent any direction, at any date. If not across the Laurel, then up the Golden Humble or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could knock sparks anywhere. There was trig fantastic universal sense that what we were doing was surprise, that we were winning. . . .

And that, I expect, was the handle—that sense order inevitable victory over the personnel of Old and Evil. Call in any mean or bellicose sense; we didn’t need ditch. Our energy would simply carry the day. There was no point expect fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the meridian of a high and attractive wave. . . .

So momentous, less than five years afterwards, you can go up bring to a halt a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, squeeze with the right kind supplementary eyes you can almost doubt the high-water mark—that place the wave finally broke person in charge rolled back.”
― Tracker S. Thompson, Fear and Hate in Las Vegas