HST

http://www.google.de/imgres?imgurl=http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kvr40jKUaP1qzvsijo1_400.jpg&imgrefurl=http://walkwhilereading.tumblr.com/post/317227473/hunter-s-thompson-by-ralph-steadman&usg=__Z3BDVfEL6842qCzOJ8fgDqD9zu4=&h=454&w=320&sz=35&hl=de&sta

http://johnnyandthedinosaurs.tumblr.com/post/10989784058

Starting my research towards Hunter S. Thompson. I feel like I needed an idol.. a saint to pray for in a sense. Writing and journalism seem like a future, and he seems like a pretty good model for what I'm aiming for..

He shook the grounds of political journalism, adding fiction that interlaced with the facts. I think that's why he's so gripping.. he takes life as seen by the public and makes it personal in his writing. The random thoughts we keep to ourselves and deem unimportant mean the world to his journalistic style. He gives his strange thoughts a dignified place in his writing.

That's exactly what I want to do. I feel so awkward and weird on the inside sometimes.. and if I could give that a voice that would be wonderful. I want whatever I am writing about journalistic-ly and intertwine it with my inner monologue to make it special. Like HST.

It seems like that is the only way anyone should write.

Haunted Dreams

I dreamed about her last night, my mother. It had been awhile.. I've seen her before, with her beige blouses and flashes of blonde hair, wandering discreetly through my dreams. And I sensed her.

This time, last night, it was largely different. She was alive again, like her death never occurred. Before she was a phantasm, who never spoke or was truly present. Last night she existed, she owned our home again, she didn't haunt it.

It was horrible, though. In vain, I tried to say, "Mother! You've been gone for so long.. Tell me about yourself, I don't know you like a daughter should.." But she acted awkward, like my questions annoyed her. She just busied herself with the laundry and refused to converse with me. It was torture.

I prefer her as a ghost.