Flicks

Gonzo, Christmas and the Cow

Up to this time, I am still having a dificult grip with reality that I am spending Christmas (and my mom’s birthday, which also happens to be on the very same day Papa Jesus’ natal feast) in a folksy town in Zambales. With the mango leaves rustling as the cool, mid-day breeze crackle the branches, each howl is speaking to me, reminding me of childhood memories that I continue to cherish up to this day. Yes, this is where I grow up. My playmates called me unpleasant monickers here, like “Tom Tom,” or the fat, dark-skinned kid character in the 80’s afternoon telenovela “Yagit.” Together with my cousins, we explored the inner recesses of the countryside in spite of the early afternoon scorching heat that brought out the stench in us. Not to mention kid games from the likes of hide and seek to the provincial version of cops and robbers. And if it  isn’t a consolation enough, I lavished on every authentic out-of-town food there was on the my aunt’s kitchen table. “This is too good to be true,”
as I said in a satisfied display of sigh. Anything that brings me into a tantric state of peace is here. From the love ones, the food, custom and traditions to the breath-taking sights of the nature. Now I know where I plan to spend my retirement pension.

And with this kind of bliss this laid back town brings, I also got to know Hunter Thompson. To the outside world, he’s the much-revered eccentric political journalist who’s twisted lifestyle and drug-driven utopian principles helped shaped a chaotic ‘Flower Power’ milieu. But in this far-flung countryside, he’s a well-kept spirit that appeared to me one lazy afternoon—while observing a frail-bodied cow munching dried grass to compensate the coziness of the ambience.

Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson chronicles how Thompson’s childhood years and cynical environment made him an American icon of ant-hero proportions. As a kid, he was one of those bullied in school, adding to the fact that together with his other two male siblings, he has no father-figure to look up to after his father passed away at an early age. And with his mother’s “librarian” wage, young Hunter already knew that it was going to be tough times ahead. But he found solace in writing. It was his tool to counter that depression. Afterwards, he developed his no-holds-barred, uncompromising approach to his writing (ergo, his formulation of Gonzo Journalism) so edgy and twisted that it already manifested in his lifestyle of drugs, booze and promiscuous sex. If that’s the form of his prose, his content of reportage, meanwhile, is so accurate and substantial that even the then notorious  motorcycle group Hell’s Angels got the ire of him during Thompson’s “embedding” with the group, denying more than half of what Thompson wrote in the book about their life of crime and debauchery. In the end, he was beaten black and blue which signalled cutting his ties with them.

With his desire of change of the system, he was hooked into American politics. He developed a great level of animosity towards the Vietnam War-oriented Nixon administration, putting his bet on McGovern on the Democrat side of the fence. Though his platform may be radical to some parties, he decided to put matter into his hands in his own little way by campaigning for sherrif in Aspen.

Corruption, the Vietnam War and a very questionable foreign policy during the Nixon Administration—these are just but a few of the reasons which drove Thompson in pursuit of that so-called “American Dream.” This led to his famous penned film “Fear and Loathing Las Vegas” which starred Johhny Depp and Benicio del Toro with the equally-eccentric director Terry Gilliam at the helm.

Lavishing in fame and fortune, his rock and roll attitude and lifestyle got worse than ever. He hit rock bottom to a point that he could never write even a simple, straight news piece. Until his love of guns got the better of him, materializing his premonition that he will die by taking his life by himself.

So here I am, writing underneath the shade of a mango tree pondering upon his relevance. What is it about his life that was so compelling that I still had the time and effort to blog about him? Is his life of inebriation and promiscuity reflects on what I am living right now? Or is it his passionate conquest to find that “American Dream” earned him my admiration? Seriously, does Hunter Thompson have a right to meddle with my Christmas vacation in the first place which, after years of hectic and stressed-filled work, I truly deserve? One thing’s for sure, though: Hunter made me think. Not only thinking about how to develop my craft but what lies for me up ahead. What do I really want to do with my life? Do I still want to hold on to my childhood memories, or pursue that childhood dream? As of the moment, I would want the western wind take my consciousness to wherever it wants it to be. With that being told, I would also like the cow in front of me wonder in bewilderment as I ninja vanish to another place at another time. So much to wish for this Christmas,huh?

© 2008 Blournalist.