Thompson is dead. Escaping the tyranny of being alive, perhaps we should be grateful it was never whatever poisons he abused throughout his life that took him down - that would be too obvious. See that as a positive.
"This had better be some kind of sick hoax" one bystander was heard to mumble. "His words have a way of getting into your head and bouncing around like some messed up pinball after you engage a zero-gravity cheat," he surrendered to whoever would listen upon further questioning.
Through his books came a wisdom that was rare to many, and unheard of to a vast overwhelming populace. His seamless flowing prose inspired many, and his rambling tangents were just the thing for a mind addled by whatever takes your fancy, even if it's simply the love of reading. And if the latter is the case, then stiff cheddar, old bean; "Curse of Lono" just got even harder and more energetically sought on eBay.
Widespread grieving and despair is anticipated as a result of this finale, and journalists everywhere are expected to write their own jabbering nonsense in tribute or honour or whatever is churned out of the mind of the followers.
That is the Law of Nature: Life is a brainless struggle, and "the Meek" will jabber and die like brain-damaged rats in a maze, long before they will ever have time to even think about inheriting the goddamn Earth...
Written on Monday, 21 February 2005