...to live on the far parameter of a world that might have been

Hunter S. Thompson wrote and spoke exactly what was to be seen. Following his instincts and intellect, accepting the missions and omitting the admissions that we all share, he takes it a step forward, a little to the side and onwards and upwards. He spent his energy eluding and focus alluding to those who whisper the secrets. Those which are known to all but spoken by only leaders, and whispered by traders inside with shares of the alchemical pot.

The lid on that can doesn't always require being blown off in order to know that a flush is needed. But a cork on a bottle neck will be properly lanced once the room is cleaned, if the lid should lift alone and the shits hit the fan.

Eternally pessimist and in all ways a daemon tango dancer extra ordinate, Hunter S. Thompson shall ride on in the hearts and minds, souls and bones of those who are in the know of how to unclog a toilet without such a fuss. Hence the world that might have been, still may be.

photo courtesy of Mel's French Fotografix