I can only hope that, upon learning of my imminent execution, Good Samaritans in Colorado will be moved to ship me a plump love apple from their backyard patch - and should they happen to be friendly with Hunter S. Thompson, perhaps persuade him to inject it with a little something beforehand. Hunter will know just what I mean, and trust me, it won't affect the taste of the tomato.**When I wrote those lines, Thompson was alive and blooming. Now, with his sad demise, still more color has faded out of the American scene. Where are the men today whose lives are not beige; where are the writers whose style is not gray?
In this excerpt from Tom Robbins' book, "Wild Ducks Flying Backward," the author expresses a poignant wish tied to his impending execution. He longs for the simple act of receiving a fresh tomato from kind-hearted individuals in Colorado, alluding to Hunter S. Thompson's unique perspective on life. This yearning is mixed with a sense of nostalgia and a playful reference to Thompson's wild persona, hinting at a deeper connection between literature and the vibrancy of life.
Robbins reflects on the loss of colorful personalities in the literary world following Thompson's death, lamenting the absence of writers who challenge the dullness of contemporary society. He questions where the lively voices have gone, implying that today's writers lack the boldness and vibrancy that once enriched American literature. This sentiment underscores a broader cultural concern about art losing its edge and the authentic human experiences that define it.
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All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
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