April 2019 Auction Ends Thursday, April 25th, 5pm Pacific
This lot is closed for bidding. Bidding ended on 4/25/2019
Hunter S. Thompson typed letter signed ''HST'', with additional autograph note, full of poetic-prose that reads like a short story. Dated 25 October 1960, Thompson writes to his friend Paul Semonin, in part,
''a man sits on his ass at Fillmore, drinking ale and digging the street, when he should be out looking for a job.
and Doctor Jazz prowls the foggy streets, seeking food.
O where is the jazz of yesteryear, the lost paycheck of my servile youth? where are the sacked liquor lockers of my Kempian days? whither flies the bunion, the screel and the prickly pin of purity?
no dice, I say, even bibb has written it, alas, no dice. only a terrible leeching sound in the night.
prepare for a run on your foodstuffs, a great army worm from the west. Henkel sells Fillmore Nov. 1 and judgement day is nigh.
a man drives up outside, hoisting his oldsmobile window by use of a fine pushbutton -- now, lo and behold, a Nixon truck passes on Chesnut St. bellowing shit. On Fillmore st. the sun is shining. noon hour, the ale is low.
should presidents cuss and reporters mock? balls, I say. where is that old respect for american leaders, that stupid happiness before the flag of balderdash? Whither!!!
Henkel, upon reading your card, flew into a rage. 'Mailer! That simple bastard! Is Paul crazy?' Pudge does not admire Mailer.
lost my clippings on a bus. worse news. now naked except for lies and patter. good times are not far.
the loin looks for thanksgiving. if henry miller can get away with it, so can I. sit in bed and eat pie -- or sit at fillmore and drink ale.
blessed be the workers, for they shall inherit the leech.
get a job and make me a pallet on the floor. / hungrily, [signed] HST''.
Thompson then adds an autograph note, ''If I wait long enough, I may be drafted into Fitz's army.'' Single page letter measures 8'' x 10.5''. Minute foxing and wear, overall near fine condition.
Exceptional Hunter S. Thompson Letter Signed That Reads Like a Short Story -- ''...lo and behold, a Nixon truck passes on Chesnut St. bellowing shit...now naked except for lies and patter...''
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