Last night, I had the supreme privlige of seeing Joe Iconis' new work, "The Unauthorized Unabridged Hunter S. Thompson Musical", and I am still in shock. Truly one of the best pieces of live theatre I've seen in quite some time, and supremely inspiring. Still, I have walked away (and now slept on the matter) feeling conflicted about many things, just about all of which relate moreso to my own self rather than the musical. (Sorry Joe! This is a boring, personal tirade about my own flaws! Hunter would be proud...?)
Is it an inevitability of the turning of the wheel, that what once was achievable and enviable is no longer any such thing? Can those of us with the fortune (good, bad, or undecided) to have been born into a tech-first world ever really have a shot? Some do, clearly-- having browsed on this site for the first time in years (this site being Neocities) there is undoubtedly a deep well of creativity at the forefront. Maybe it's a simpler issue of a lack of personal discipline, then. My own attention span issues masquerading as a generational problem, rather than simply a "me problem". Maybe.
In my time working as a teacher, I've witnessed first-hand the dissolution of attention spans amongst my young charges, *but* I have also chosen to work with "twice exceptional" students and those with learning disabilities, so perhaps my knowledge base is tainted. Maybe the kids are all right-- even if mainstream media, social media, TikTok, Substack, the NYT, the WaPo, and everyone's grandma swears they can't be. Maybe, just maybe, this evolution is also indicative of a positive change, the interconnected possibilties drawing us out into an international free exchange of ideas!
I mean, I doubt it, but it's nice to dream.
Speaking of dreams; mine have become focused on the days of the computer room, of libraries and skinned knees and meeting up in person and saying "Hey, I'll see you later, don't be a stranger," and really truly meaning it. We were raised on a lifestyle we could never attain, those of us who played in our friends' suburban front yards beneath wide magnolia trees, skipping and sliding along grass wet from waterballoons. I will never be able to reach the level my parents did-- home ownership, a pool in the backyard, singular degrees behind their names, PTA membership. Nostalgia is a powerful drug.
I found out today that another artist who I greatly respected (and had the rare privlege to share a stage with in a past life) has passed on. They were brilliant, funny, cutting in their kindness, a talented poet. This world is measurably lessened in the presence of their absence. Yet another reminder that things could always be better, and they could always be worse.
This is far from an original perspective, but I do think it rings true that we don't fear Death, necessarily. No, we fear two things:
Why do I call these the real fears? Simply put, we are each the centers of our own personal universe...s. How could the rest of the world march on without us?
When I was a kid, I was so sure (at times) that my dad hadn't *actually* died. He was simply hiding somewhere, of course, and while I would be (justifiably) angry upon his return, he would be home. Where he belonged. The idea that the Earth could keep turning without my father present was simply inconceivable.
And yet, it has.
Perhaps this relates back to Friend of the Blog, Hunter S. Thompson by viture of being self-centerd as fuck. By relating to the death of a father. Gonzo-jounralism for the modern era, wherein the platform is HTML and the subject is more personal journal than journalistic integrity. Maybe the real HST was the friends we made along the way.