Ben Bonkoske

  • The Rum Diary – Book Review / Synopsis

    The Rum Diary is technically Hunter S. Thompson’s first novel, and technically the first of his books that I have read (I listened to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas on audiobook). He wrote the first draft at the age of 22 while he was a journalist reporting on bowling alleys in Puerto Rico. It is not a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, but I did find it rather enjoyable. Thompson’s iconic language is intoxicating and I felt a little hung-over after reading it. It is relatively subdued compared to some of the drug-crazed Gonzo journalism Thompson would write later in his career, but I hope there is more of writing of his in this same vein. It was articulate instead of nerve-racking which I think he leaned on when his persona became bigger than life.

    If you want to be a writer or are looking for inspiration, this book will empower you to follow your dreams. A topic in the book is aging, and the then 22 Thompson writes, “There was an awful suspicion in my mind that I’d finally gone over the hump, and the worst thing about it was that I didn’t feel tragic at all, but only weary, and sort of comfortably detached.” The protagonist speaking here, Paul Kemp, is thirty. It makes me wonder if the quarter-life-crisis has been around longer than I’d known. Still, it is a rather mature concept for Thompson to be grappling writing about so young. A flaw in the story is Paul Kemp is a rather static character. He does not grow or change over the story. That does not take away from the tale. Not a lot happens, but the little things, the changes in the routines of the characters drinking all night and going to work at the paper at noon, are relishing. Hunter is very witty, sarcastic, can make you feel like a rotten punk bastard. Many of the characters are flat, unmemorable and start with the letter S for some reason (making it confusing to the reader). It gives me hope in some odd way that I can’t explain. Like it is telling me to go out and chase the world.

    Synopsis:

    The story starts out with Paul Kemp bound for San Juan when he sees a beautiful girl boarding his same plane. He tries to get her attention but ends up looking foolish. When he arrives, he goes to San Juan Daily News where he is planned to work for the next few months. He meets a photographer named Sala who takes him to Al’s where they drink. Sala introduces him to Yeamon who Sala warns is a little volatile. Paul realizes the Yeamon is with the girl that he saw on the plane. Her name is Chenault.

    It soon becomes apparent that the paper is not properly run and there are rumors that it might fold. Yeamon was working on an article for the paper that came out to twenty-something pages that is useless to the paper so he is fired. Paul and Sala visit Yeamon and Chenault to see how they are holding up without an income. They witness Yeamon slap Chenault because she is too drunk and he locks her in his hut while the boys go out for drinks. They get arrested for not paying a bar tab and are thrown in jail. Bail is a thousand dollars for Sala and Yeamon each, but only three hundred for Paul. The paper covers the bail even though Yeamon doesn’t work there anymore.

    To make up for the bail, Paul takes on a few more writing assignments. He goes to a carnival in St. Thomas with Yeamon and Chenualt. They have a good drunken time the first night but on the second night things get out of control. They go to a party which ends up with Chenualt getting entirely naked while she dances. Paul and Yeamon are thrown out of the party and lose her. They go to the police the next day, worried that she has been raped, but give up and go back to San Juan. She shows up at Paul’s door the following day.

    Paul and her start a short-lived affair. Yeamon find out. Then the paper folds. Chenault leaves Kemp to go to New York. Yeamon ends up in a fight with the owner of the paper that gives the owner a heart attack. Since they are out on bail and risk being thrown in jail again, they flee. Paul plans to go to New York to follow Chenualt.

    Another reservation is that at the end, everything happens so abruptly and then is over. It is technically the climax, but it could have been expanded upon. All in all, a good beach read.

    78/100

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  • ughly

    I used to be much better at getting straight to the punch. I would only write about what mattered. Now, I meander and take the scenic route to get to what I want to say. “Longest way round is the shortest way home.” – James Joyce.

    I get into a bad habit of doing what I want. 2/3 for tonight and I don’t know if I’ll make it to morning. 1. Hot shower 2. Ice cream.

    Why is it that everybody who does drugs is so much cooler and casual about how hard life is? It is almost like they enjoy it. I have never once felt better than someone who gets high. When I was high, I did feel better than everyone though. I hated life when I enjoyed it.

    I suppose it isn’t wise to write about love, falling in it and all. I was just a kid the first time I jumped in that puddle. I don’t think I’ve ever dried off. The good ol’ days were a rotten egg, but as of late, lately isn’t so bad. I’m using muscles I’ve never used before and the heart is a muscle.

    Instagram: Bencbon

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  • uh oh

    Let’s just look on the brightside. It isn’t worth reliving nightmares. Fear is interesting. It is amorphous, follows us through childhood lurking like a shadow, and then consumes us like the sun. I wish we outgrew crying when we got older. I’m a tear salesman. Being a good person is just being nice when you could be mean. I’m recognizing I’m not as smart as I thought I am. I did that all by myself. There is a lot of great things I’ve done. All day I have the luxury of thinking. Learning is a skill I tried but failed at. It is my low IQ. But my heart beats. The best part of my day is when I feel something. I’d burn all the lovely books that make me think for love. I’ve torn many, many pages out of my journals out of frustration (but that is personal). I am at fault. But goddamn do I think highly of myself. And others. One of the worst memories was the realization of how boring and vacant some people are. But there is always beauty. My mind has a bad metabolism and I’m a glutton for beauty. It is not a sustainable objective. But the alternative is just my luck. If I want to take anything from the past year of my life is the ability to find beauty burrowed under a rock. The little earthworms, and kiss them right on the tip of their heads. I suggest you do the same. Make sure to look them in the eye! Sex isn’t everything. I don’t know why it is taking me so long to see it. Just you wait, I’ll die a priest. Abstinence isn’t everything either. In fact, it’s the opposite of everything technically. The less I say, the more.

    Instagram:Bencbon

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  • Monday Night Poetry #7

    If you read this we are both losers

    I cheat, and for some reason

    I never learn

    burn me a CD of burning passion

    and I’ll act irrational

    Romance is a dance danced by man entranced

    flaccid

    My wardrobe is not filled with animals

    or dark secrets anymore

    just holes I fill up,

    Destroyed

    by an annoyance of knowing

    better, and yet

    I remember

    clouded memories

    fervent childhood

    mistakes made

    by faking it

    until it was as real

    as night and day

    -B.B

    Instagram: Bencbon

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  • uh huh

    I don’t dance as often as I’d like to. Not much use without a partner these days. Luckily, when I do dance, it doesn’t need to be to music. Why wait? I just move myself to my passionate discontent, thrashing and bashing to silence. Drinking makes me think I’m a dashing good dancer, when the fact is, that I probably look stupid. But who the fuck cares at that point. “Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.” – H.P Lovecraft. I derive joy from looking insanely stupid.

    I make everything into a competition. NOBODY WILL LISTEN TO MUSIC AS MUCH AS ME!!! Humorous, but pathetic. I danced tonight in my cramped quarters and I thought about how it would make sensational capital for TikTok. I’m just going to say yes, I’m mature enough not to have that accursed time-waster. I have enough time that I unintentionally waste. Today though, no time wasted. I could accredit this to two tall glasses of water and the first cold shower in much too long that woke me up. I think I can aliken my competitive nature to addiction of any sort.

    I realized that I am addicted to hot showers! Humorous, but serious. I learned that two people who cuddle too much can experience withdrawals when they are separated for too long, so I don’t see what would be different with overstaying my welcome in a bathtub. I feel like I’m the only person who can take something as enjoyable as art and have it just kill me a little inside each time I listen to it. When I listen to other people’s music, usually this rigidity melts away. It is just a song for the sake of a song. Thank God. But love songs do make me anticipate tomorrow, and for that I’m thankful, not to mention, they are a good excuse to break free and boogie.

    I guess when you start rethinking old jealousies that ruined you once, you have a little too much time invested in the past. “I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.” – HP Lovecraft. That’s what I should have been more interested in. People who come, or more, stay in your life help build a future, not tear apart the past. It really shouldn’t matter because it doesn’t anymore. Just an unintentional time waster. I’ve learned better, but I don’t know any different. If that makes sense? I know what I knew and I don’t know why that has everything to do with what I’m doing. I look forward to the day I’ve written enough so I can come home to you. Let’s hope I don’t kill myself before that happens, unintentionally of course.

    Instagram:Bencbon

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