Just got through listening to all four of Bill Hicks’ “studio” albums and I’m amazed again at the wide divide between Bill when he ‘on’ and Bill when he wasn’t… I can admire his ire and anger, his rages at the audiences that hadn’t the faintest clue what he was getting at, while at the same time bemoaning the energy he wasted on them. He only had so many days, so much energy, and it seems to me that a lot of that time, a lot of that life force was wasted railing against those who’d never get him, never get it.
I hear him raging against Bush Sr. and it’s like a practice session for the routines he would’ve done for Dubya… same material, only much more vehement – had he lived so long. I can imagine his outrage at the state we find the world in today and I miss him. Never knew him, never heard of him until after he was dead, but I miss him and wish there were some way to go back and change things, keep him with us.
Then I think about Hunter Thompson and the chicken-shit cowardly way he took himself out of the game… he’d dug himself into the cult of personality that was feeding his self-destructive urges – he could have dug himself out if he’d wanted to. We need him… but in the end, to paraphrase something a friend once wrote, “you couldn’t hang with the gang, so thank you for playing.” It saddens me, it disgusts me, it pisses me off.
From time to time I think we all feel that clock ticking, wonder if what we’ve spent our time on has been worth it in any long-term sense. No real way to know, it’s not like we’ll be around fifty years, a hundred years, two hundred years to find out. But I believe that if we haven’t made some good and positive impression on the lives of our fellow humans while we’re here, then we’ve got no shot at that long-term meaningfulness at all.
Listening to: Requiem for a Dream score – Clint Mansell
Mood: Overall, pretty damn good considering…