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Post by lawoman on Sept 25, 2019 8:37:03 GMT -5
THE CELEBRATION OF THE LIZARD
Lions in the street & roaming
Dogs in heat, rabid, foaming
A beast caged in the heart of a city
The body of his mother
Rotting in the summer ground.
He fled the town.
He went down South
And crossed the border
Left the chaos & disorder
Back there
Over his shoulder.
One morning he awoke in a green hotel
W/a strange creature groaning beside him.
Sweat oozed from its shiny skin.
Is everybody in? (3)
The ceremony is about to begin.
Wake up!
You can't remember where it was.
Had this dream stopped?
The snake was pale gold glazed & shrunken.
We were afraid to touch it.
The sheets were hot dead prisons.
And she was beside me, old,
She's, no; young.
Her dark red hair.
The white soft skin.
Now, run to the mirror in the bathroom,
Look!
She's coming in here.
I can't live thru each slow century
of her moving.
I let my cheek slide down
The cool smooth tile
Feel the good cold stinging blood.
The smooth hissing snakes
of rain…
~~~
Once I had a little game
I liked to crawl back in my brain
I think you know the game I mean
I mean the game called "Go Insane"
Now you should try this little game
Just close your eyes forget your name
forget the world, forget the people
and we'll erect a different steeple.
This little game is fun to do.
Just close your eyes, no way to lose
And I'm right here, I'm going too
Release control, we're breaking through
~~~
Way back deep into the brain
Way back past the realm of pain
Back where there's never any rain
And the rain falls gently on the town
And over the heads of all of us
And in the labyrinth of streams beneath
Quiet unearthly presence of
Nervous hill dwellers in the gentle hills around
Reptiles abounding
Fossils, caves, cool air heights
Each house repeats a mold
Windows rolled
A beast car locked in against morning
All now sleeping
Rugs silent, mirrors vacant
Dust blind under the beds of lawful couples
Wound in sheets
And daughters, smug with semen
Eyes in their nipples
Wait! There's been a slaughter here
Don't stop to speak or look around
Your gloves and fan are on the ground
We're getting out of town
We're going on the run
And you're the one I want to come!
~~~
Not to touch the earth, not to see the sun
Nothing left to do but run, run, run
Let's run, let's run
House upon the hill, moon is lying still
Shadows of the trees witnessing the wild breeze
Come on, baby, run with me
Let's run
Run with me, run with me, run with me
Let's run
The mansion is warm at the top of the hill
Rich are the rooms and the comforts there
Red are the arms of luxuriant chairs
And you won't know a thing till you get inside
Dead president's corpse in the driver's car
The engine runs on glue and tar
Come on along, not going very far
To the east to meet the Czar
Run with me, run with me, run with me
Let's run
Some outlaws live by the side of a lake
The minister's daughter's in love with the snake
Who lives in a well by the side of the road
Wake up, girl! We're almost home
Sun, sun, sun
Burn, burn, burn
Moon, moon, moon
I will get you soon…soon…soon!
I am the Lizard King
I can do anything
~~~
We came down the rivers and highways
We came down from forests and falls
We came down from Carson and Springfield
We came down from Phoenix enthralled
And I can tell you the names of the kingdom
I can tell you the things that you know
Listening for a fistful of silence
Climbing valleys into the shade
~~~
For seven years I dwelt in the loose palace of exile
Playing strange games with the girls of the island
Now I have come again to the land of the fair
And the strong and the wise
Brothers and sisters of the pale forest
Children of night
Who among you will run with the hunt?
Now night arrives with her purple legion
Retire now to your tents and to your dreams
Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth
I want to be ready
Poem by Jim Morrison
WAKE UP
Wake up, you can't remember where it was
Has this dream stopped?
The snake was pale gold
Glazed and shrunken
We were afraid to touch it
The sheets were hot dead prisons
And she was beside me
Ooh, she's not young
Her dark red hair, her white soft skin
Now, run to the mirror in the bathroom, look
She's coming in here
I can't live through each slow century of her moving
I let my cheek slide down
The cool smooth tile
Feel the good cold stinging blood
The smooth hissing snakes of rain
Poem by Jim Morrison
A LITTLE GAME
Once I had a little game
I liked to crawl back in my brain
I think you know the game I mean
I mean the game called 'Go Insane'
Now you should try this little game
Just close your eyes, forget your name
Forget the world, forget the people
And we'll erect a different steeple
This little game is fun to do
Just close your eyes, no way to lose
And I'm right there, I'm going too
Release control, we're breaking through
Poem by Jim Morrison
THE HILL DWELLERS
Way back deep into the brain
Way back past the realm of pain
Back where there's never any rain
And the rain falls gently on the town
And over the heads of all of us
And in the labyrinth of streams
Beneath, quiet unearthly presence
Of nervous hill dwellers in the gentle hills around
Reptiles abounding
Fossils, caves, cool air heights
Each house repeats a mold
Windows rolled
A beast car locked in against morning
All now sleeping
Poem by Jim Morrison
NOT TO TOUCH THE EARTH
Not to touch the earth, not to see the sun
Nothing left to do but
Run, run, run
Let's run, let's run
House upon the hill, moon is lying still
Shadows of the trees
Witnessing the wild breeze
C'mon baby run with me let's run
Run with me
Run with me
Run with me
Let's run
The mansion is warm, at the top of the hill
Rich are the rooms and the comforts there
Red are the arms of luxuriant chairs
And you won't know a thing till you get inside
Dead President's corpse in the driver's car
The engine runs on glue and tar
Come on along, not goin' very far
To the East to meet the Czar
Run with me
Run with me
Run with me
Let's run, whoa!
Some outlaws lived by the side of a lake
The minister's daughter's in love with the snake
Who lives in a well by the side of the road
Wake up girl, we're almost home, ya come
We should see the gates by mornin'
We should be inside the evenin'
Sun, sun, sun
Burn, burn, burn
Soon, soon, soon
Moon, moon, moon
I will get you, soon, soon, soon
I am the Lizard King, I can do anything
Poem by Jim Morrison
NAMES OF THE KINGDOM
We came down the rivers and highways
We came down from forests and falls
We came down from Carson and Springfield
We came down from phoenix enthralled
And I can tell you the names of the Kingdom
I can tell you the things that you know
Listening for a fistful of silence
Climbing valleys into the shade
Poem by Jim Morrison
PALACE OF EXILE
For seven years I dwelt in the loose palace of exile
Playing strange games with the girls of the island
Now I have come again to the land of the fair
And the strong, and the wise
Brothers and sisters of the pale forest, children of night
Who among you will run with the hunt?
Now night arrives with her purple legion
Retire now to your tents and to your dreams
Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth
I want to be ready
Poem by Jim Morrison
AWAKE
Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and
choose the sign of your day
The day's divinity
First thing you see.
A vast radiant beach
in a cool jeweled moon
Couples naked race down by it's quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Smug in the woolly cotton brains of infancy
The music and voices are all around us.
Choose, they croon, the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon,
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake
Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us
Everything is broken up and dances.
Poem by Jim Morrison
POWER
I can make the earth stop in
its tracks. I made the
blue cars go away.
I can make myself invisible or small.
I can become gigantic & reach the
farthest things. I can change
the course of nature.
I can place myself anywhere in
space or time.
I can summon the dead.
I can perceive events on other worlds,
in my deepest inner mind,
& in the minds of others.
I can
I am
Poem by Jim Morrison
THIS IS MY FOREST
This is my forest
a sea of wires
This gaggle of vision
is my flame.
These trees are men,
the engineers.
And a tribe of farmers
on their Sunday off.
Gods - the directors.
Cameras, greek
Centaurs on the boom,
sliding w/ silent
Mobile grace
Toward me -
a leaping clown
In the great sun's
eye.
Grand danger there
in curved thigh.
The avenging finger -
lord.
Poem by Jim Morrison
ODE TO L.A.
I'm a resident of a city
They've just picked me to play
The Prince of Denmark
Poor Ophelia
All those ghosts he never saw
Floating to doom
On an iron candle
Come back, brave warrior
Do the dive
On another channel
Hot buttered pool
Where's Marrakech
Under the falls
the wild storm
where savages fell out
in late afternoon
monsters of rhythm
You've left your
Nothing
to complete w/
Silence
I hope you went out Smiling
Like a child
Into the cool remnant
of a dream
The angel man
w/ Serpents competing
for his palms
& fingers
Finally claimed
This benevolent
Soul
Ophelia
Leaves, sodden
in silk
Chlorine
dream
mad stifled
Witness
The diving board, the plunge
The pool
You were the bleached
Sun
for TV afternoon
horned-toads
maverick of a yellow spot
Look now to where it's got
You
in meat heaven
w/ the cannibals
& Jews
The gardener
Found
The body, rampant, Floating
Lucky Stiff
What is this green pale stuff
You're made of
Poke holes in the goddess
Skin
Will he Stink
Carried heavenward
Thru the halls of music
No chance.
Requiem for a heavy
That smile
That porky satyr's
leer
has leaped upward
into the loam
Poem by Jim Morrison
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Post by lawoman on Sept 25, 2019 8:37:48 GMT -5
STONED IMMACULATE I tell you this, No eternal reward will forgive is now For wasting the dawn.
Back in those days, Everything was simpler and more confused. One summer night, going to the pier, I ran into two young girls. The blonde was called Freedom, The dark one, Enterprise. We talked and they told me this story:
Now listen to this, I'll tell you about Texas Radio and the Big Beat. Soft driven slow and mad, Like some new language.
Reaching your head With the cold, sudden fury Of a divine messenger. Let me tell you about heartache And the loss of god. Wondering, wondering In hopeless night. Out here in the perimeter There are no stars, Out here we is stoned Immaculate.
Poem by Jim Morrison THE HITCHHIKER Thoughts in time and out of season The Hitchhiker stood by the side of the road And leveled his thumb In the calm calculus of reason.
Hi. How you doin'?
I just got back into town,
L.A.
I was out in the desert for awhile
"Riders on the storm"
Yeah. In the middle of it
"Riders on the storm"
Right…
"Into this world we're born"
Hey, listen, man, I really got a problem
"Into this world we're thrown"
When I was out on the desert, ya know
"Like a dog without a bone An actor out on loan"
I don't know how to tell you
"Riders on the storm"
but, ah, I killed somebody
"There's a killer on the road"
No…
"His brain is squirming like a toad"
It's no big deal, ya know
I don't think anybody will find out about it, but…
"take a long holiday"
just, ah…
"Let your children play"
this guy gave me a ride, and ah…
"If you give this man a ride"
started giving me a lot of trouble
"Sweet family will die"
and I just couldn't take it, ya know
"Killer on the road"
And I wasted him
Yeah.
Poem by Jim Morrison BRIGHT FLAGS The great hiway of dawn Stretching to slumber pouring out from her greedy palms a shore, to wander
Hesitation & doubt Swiftly ensconced
O Viking, your women cannot save you out on the great ship
Time has claimed you Coming for you ~~~
And I came to you for peace And I came to you for gold And I came to you for lies And you gve me fever & wisdom & cries of sorrow & we'll be here the next day the next day & Tomorrow ~~~
There's a belief by the Children of Man which states all will be well
Search on man, calm savior Veteran of wars incalculable greed. Search on man, calm savior God-speed & forgive you morning-star, fragrant meadow person girl
Poem by Jim Morrison EXPLOSION The mushroom The unfolding
instant of creation (fertilisation) not an instant separate from breakfast It all flows down & out, flowing
but that instant: not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating merging in cool slime splendour a crushing of steel & glass & ice
(instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide)
far-out splendour
heat & fire are outwards signs of a Small dry mating ~~~
event in a room event in space a circle Magic rite To call up the godhead spirits, demons The shaman calls: "When radio dark night…" We are eating each other. ~~~
The Voice of the Serpent dry hiss of age & steam & leaves of gold old books in ruined Temples The pages break like ash
I will not disturb I will not go
Come, he says softly
an old man appears & moves in tired dance amid the scattered dead gently they stir ~~~
I received an Aztec wall of vision & dissolved my room in sweet derision Closed my eyes, prepared to go A gentle wind inform'd me so And bathed my skin in ether glow ~~~
Drugs are a bet w/ your mind ~~~
The cigarette burn'd my fingertips & dropp'd like a log to the rug below My eyes took a trip to dig the chick Crouch'd like a cat at the next window My ears assembled music out of swarming streets but my mind rebelled at the idiot's laughter The rising frightful idiot laughter Cheering an army of vacuum cleaners ~~~
Mouth fills w/taste of copper. Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters. Gyro on a string, a table. A coin spins. The faces.
There is an audience to our drama. Magic shade mask. Like the hero of a dream, he works for us, in our behalf.
How close is this to a final cut?
I fall. Sweet blackness. Strange world that waits & watches. Ancient dread of non-existence.
If it's no problem, why mention it. Everything spoken means that, it's opposite, & everything else. I'm alive. I'm dying. ~~~
1st wild thrush of fear
-A phone rings There is a knock on the door. It's time to go. No.
Poem by Jim Morrison AN AMERICAN PRAYER
Do you know the warm progress under the stars? Do you know we exist? Have you forgotten the keys to the Kingdom? Have you been borne yet & are you alive? Let's reinvent the gods, all the myths of the ages Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests [Have you forgotten the lessons of the ancient war] We need great golden copulations The fathers are cackling in trees of the forest Our mother is dead in the sea Do you know we are being led to slaughters by placid admirals & that fat slow generals are getting obscene on young blood Do you know we are ruled by T.V. The moon is a dry blood beast Guerilla bands are rolling numbers in the next block of green vine Amassing for warfare on innocent herdsmen who are just dying O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art & perfect our lives The moths & atheists are doubly divine & dying We live, we die & death not ends it Journey we more into the Nightmare Cling to life our passion'd flower Cling to cunts & cocks of despair We got our final vision by clap Columbus' groin got filled w/ green death (I touched her thigh & death smiled) We have assembled inside this ancient & insane theatre To propagate our lust for life & flee the swarming wisdom of the streets The barns are stormed The windows kept & only one of all the rest To dance & save us W/ the divine mockery of words Music inflames temperament (When the true King's murderers are allowed to roam free a 1000 magicians arise in the land) Where are the feasts We were promised Where is the wine The New Wine (dying on the vine) Resident mockery give us an hour for magic We of the purple glove We of the starling flight & velvet hour We of arabic pleasure's breed We of sundome & the night Give us a creed To believe A night of Lust Give us trust in The Night Give of color Hundred hues A rich Mandala For me & you & for your silky pillowed house A head, wisdom & a bed Troubled decree Resident mockery Has claimed thee We used to believe in the good old days We still receive In little ways The Things of Kindness & unsporting brow Forget & allow Did you know freedom exists in a school book Did you know madmen are running our prison W/in a jail, w/in a gaol, w/in a white free protestant Maelstrom We're perched headlong On the edge of boredom We're reaching for death On the end of a candle We're trying for something That's already found us We can invent Kingdoms of our own Grand purple thrones, those chairs of lust & love we must, in beds of rust Steel doors lock in prisoner's screams & muzak, AM, rocks their dreams No black men's pride to hoist the beams While mocking angels sift what seems To be a collage of magazine dust Scratched on foreheads of walls of trust This is just jail for those who must Get up in the morning & fight for such unusable standards While weeping maidens show-off penury & pout ravings for a mad staff Wow, I'm sick of doubt Live in the light of certain South Cruel bindings The servants have the power dog-men & their mean women Pulling poor blankets over our sailors (& where were you in our lean hour) Milking your moustache? Or grinding a flower? I'm sick of dour faces Staring at me from the T.V. Tower. I want roses in my garden bower; dig? Royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted Strangers in the mud These mutants, blood-meal For the plant that's plowed They are waiting to take us into the severed garden Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful Comes death on strange hour Unannounced, unplanned for like a scaring over-friendly guest you've brought to bed Death makes angels of us all & gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws No more money, no more fancy dress This other Kingdom seems by far the best until its other jaw reveals incest & loose obedience to a vegetable law I will not go Prefer a Feast of Friends To the Giant family
[II]
Great screaming Christ Upsy-daisy Lazy Mary will get you up upon a Sunday morning "The movie will begin in 5 moments" The mindless Voice announced "All those unseated, will await The next show" We filed slowly, languidly into the hall. The auditorium was vast, & silent. As we seated & were darkened The Voice continued: "The program for this evening is not new. You have seen This entertainment thru & thru. You've seen your birth, your life & death; you might recall all of the rest - (did you have a good world when you died?) - enough to base a movie on?" An iron chuckle rapped our minds like a fist. I'm getting out of here Where're you going? To the other side of the morning Please don't chase the clouds Pagodas, temples Her cunt gripped him Like a warm friendly hand. "It's all right. All your friends are here." When can I meet them? "After you've eaten" I'm not hungry "O, we meant beaten" Silver stream, silvery scream, Impossible concentration Here come the comedians Look at them smile Watch them dance An indian mile Look at them gesture How aplomb So to gesture everyone Words dissemble Words be quick Words resemble walking sticks Plant them They will grow Watch them waver so I'll always be A word-man Better than a birdman But I'll charge Won't get away W/out lodging a dollar Shall I say it again Aloud, you get the point No food w/out fuel's gain I'll be, the irish loud Unleashed my beak At peak of powers O girl, unleash Your worried comb O worried mind Sin in the fallen Backwoods by the blind She smells debt On my new collar Arrogant prose Tied in a network of fast quest Hence the obsession Its quick to admit Fats borrowed rhythm Woman came between them Women of the world unite Make the world safe For a scandalous life Hee Heee Cut your throat Life is a joke Your wife's in a moat The same boat Here comes the goat Blood Blood Blood Blood They're making a joke Of our universe
[III]
Matchbox Are you more real than me I'll burn you, & set you free Wept bitter tears Excessive courtesy I won't forget
[IV]
A hot sick lava flowed up, Rustling & bubbling. The paper-face. Mirror-mask, I love you mirror. He had been brainwashed for 4 hrs. The LT. puzzled in again "ready to talk" "No sir" - was all he'd say. Go back to the gym. Very peaceful Meditation Air base in the desert Looking out venetian blinds A plane A desert flower Cool cartoon The rest of the World Is reckless & dangerous Look at the Brothels Stag films Exploration
[V]
A ship leaves port Mean horse of another thicket Wishbone of desire Decry the metal fox
Poem by Jim Morrison THE DOORS ‘When the doors of perception are cleansed Things will appear as they are: Infinite.’
∞ William Blake
…
‘There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors.’
∞ Jim Morrison
…
Moment of inner freedom when the mind is opened & the infinite universe revealed & the soul is left to wander dazed & confus’d searching here & there for teachers & friends.
…
People need Connectors Writers, heroes, stars, leaders To give life form. A child’s sand boat facing the sun. Plastic soldiers in the miniature dirt war. Forts. Garage Rocket Ships
Ceremonies, theatre, dances To reassert Tribal needs and memories a call to worship, uniting above all, a reversion, a longing for family and the safety magic of childhood
…
A man rakes leaves into a heap in his yard, a pile, and leans on his rake and burns them utterly.
The fragrance fills the forest children pause and heed the smell, which will become nostalgia in several years.
…
An angel runs Thru the sudden light Thru the room A ghost precedes us A shadow follows us And each time we stop We fall
…
The Endless quest a vigil of watchtowers and fortresses against the sea and time. Have they won? Perhaps. They still stand and in their silent rooms still wander the souls of the dead, who keep their watch on the living. Soon enough we shall join them. Soon enough we shall walk the walls of time. We shall miss nothing except each other.
…
No one thought up being; he who thinks he has Step forward
…
The Crossroads a place where ghosts reside to whisper into the ears of travelers & interest them in their fate
Hitchhiker drinks: “I call again on the dark hidden gods of blood”
-Why do you call us? You know our price. It never changes. Death of you will give you life & free you from a vile fate. But it is getting late.
-If I could see you again & talk w/ you, & walk a short while in your company, & drink the heady brew of your conversations, I thought
-to rescue a soul already ruined. To achieve respite. To plunder green gold on a pirate raid & bring to camp the glory of old.
-As the capesman faces poisoned horns & drinks red victory; the soldier, too, w/ his trophy, a pierced helmet; & the ledge-walker shuddering his way into inward grace
-(laughter) Well, then. Would you mock yourself?
-No.
-Soon our voices must become one, or one must leave.
…
There was preserved
in her
The fresh miracle
of
surprise.
…
open
The Night is young & full of rest I can’t describe the way she’s dress’d She’ll pander to some strange requests Anything that you suggest Anything to please her guest
Poem by Jim Morrison
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Post by lawoman on Sept 25, 2019 8:38:34 GMT -5
THE AMERICAN NIGHT for leather accrues The miracle of the streets The scents & smogs & pollens of existence
Shiny blackness so totally naked she was Totally un-hung-up
We looked around lights now on Top see our fellow travellers ~~~
I am troubled Immeasurably By your eyes
I am struck By the feather of your soft Reply
The sound of glass Speaks quick Disdain
And conceals What your eyes fight To explain ~~~
She looked so sad in sleep Like a friendly hand just out of reach A candle stranded on a beach While the sun sinks low an H-bomb in reverse ~~~
Everything human is leaving her face
Soon she will disappear into the calm vegetable morass
Stay!
My Wild Love! ~~~
I get my best ideas when the telephone rings & rings. It’s no fun To feel like a fool-when your baby’s gone. A new ax to my head: Possession. I create my own sword of Damascus. I’ve done nothing w/time. A little tot prancing the boards playing w/Revolution. When out there the World awaits & abounds w/heavy gangs of murderers & real madmen. Hanging from windows as if to say: I’m bold- do you love me? Just for tonight. A One Night Stand. A dog howls & whines at the glass sliding door (why can’t I be in there?) A cat yowls. A car engine revs & races against the grain- dry rasping carbon protest. I put the book down- & begin my own book. Love for the fat girl. When will SHE get here? ~~~
In the gloom In the shady living room where we lived & died & laughed & cried & the pride of our relationship took hold that summer What a trip To hold your hand & tell the cops you’re not 16 no runaway The wino left a little in the old blue desert bottle Cattle skulls the cliche of rats who skim the trees in search of fat Hip children invade the grounds & sleep in the wet grass ’til the dogs rush out I’m going South!
Poem by Jim Morrison THE FEAR Eternal consciousness in the Void (makes trial & jail seem almost friendly)
a Kiss in the Storm
(Madman at the wheel gun at the neck space populous & arching coolly)
A barn a cabin attic
Your own face stationary in the mirrored window
fear of restroom’s Tragic cold neon
I’m freezing
animals dead
white wings of rabbits
grey velvet deer
The Canyon
The car a craft in wretched SPACE
Sudden movements
& your past to warm you in Spiritless Night
The Lonely HWY Cold hiker
Afraid of Wolves & his own Shadow ~~~
The Wolf, who lives under the rock has invited me to drink of his cool Water. Not to splash or bathe But leave the sun & know the dead desert night & the cold men who play there. ~~~
a ha Come on, now luring the Traveller Mighty Voyager Curious, into its dark womb The graves grinning Indians of night The eyes of night Westward luring into the brothel, into the blood bath into the Dream The dark Dream of conquest & Voyage into night, Westward into Night
Poem by Jim Morrison HORSES LATITUDES The barn is burning The race-track is over Farmers run out w/ buckets of water The horse flesh is burning They’re kicking the stalls (panic in a horse’s eye That can spread & fill an entire sky.)
The clouds flow by & tell a story
about the lightning bolt & the mast on the steeple
Some people have a hard time describing sailors to the undernourished.
The decks are starving Time to throw the cargo over
Now down & the high-sailing fluttering of smiles on the air w/its cool night time disturbance
Tropic corridor Tropic Treasure
What got us this far to this mild equator
Now we need something & someone new when all else fails we can whip the horse’s eyes & make them cry & sleep ~~~
France is 1st, Nogales round-up Cross over the border- land of eternal adolescence quality of despair unmatched anywhere on the perimeter Message from the outskirts calling us home This is the private space of a new order. We need saviors To help us survive the journey. Now who will come Now hear this We have started the crossing Who knows? it may end badly
The actors are assembled; immediately they become enchanted I, for one, am in ecstasy enthralled. Can I convince you to smile?
No wise men now. Each on his own grab your daughter & run ~~~
“Oh God, she cried I never knew what it meant to be real I thought all this was a joke, I never let the horror, or the sweetness & the dignity penetrate my brain”
“Let me up to see the window. Dark Riders pass in the sunset coming home from raiding parties. The taverns will be full of laughter, wine, & later dancing, later dangerous knife throws.
Antonio will be there & that whore, Blue Lady playing cards w/silver decks & smiling at the night, & full glasses held aloft & spilled to the moon. I’m sad, so full of sadness” ~~~
She’s selling news in the market Time in the hall The girls of the factory Rolling cigars They haven’t invented musak yet So I read to them From The BOOK OF DAYS a horror story from the Gothic age a gruesome romance From the LA Plague.
I have a vision of America Seen from the air 28,000 ft. & going fast
A one-armed man in a Texas parking labyrinth A burnt tree like a giant primeval bird in an empty lot in Fresno Miles & miles of hotel corridors & elevators, filled w/ citizens
Motel Money Murder Madness Change the mood from glad to sadness
play the ghost song baby ~~~
a young woman, bound silently, on a hostpital table, obviously pregnant, is gutted & rifled of her empire
objects of oblivion ~~~
Drugs sex drunkenness battle return to the water-world Sea-belly Mother of man Monstrous sleep-waking gentle swarming atomic world Anomic in social life
how can we hate or love or judge in the sea-swarm world of atoms All one, one All How can we play or not play How can we put one foot before us or revolutionize or write ~~~
Does the house burn? So be it. The World, a film which men devise. Smoke drifts thru these chambers Murders occur in a bedroom. Mummers chant, birds hush & coo. Will this do? Take Two. ~~~
each day is a drive thru history
Poem by Jim Morrison UNDERWATERFALL down down down down down down deep below
children of the caves will let their secret fires glow ~~~
An explosion of birds Dawn Sun strokes the walls An old man leaves the Casino A young man reading pauses on the path to the garden ~~~
Bitter winter Fiction dogs are starving The radio is moaning softly calling to the dogs There are still a few animals left in the yard
Sit up all night, talking smoking Count the dead & wait ’til morning Will warm names & faces come again Does the silver forest end? ~~~
December Isles Hot morning chambers of the New Day Idiot first to awaken (be born) w/shadows of new play learned men in Sunday best we’ve had our chance to rest to mourn the passing of day to lament the death of our glorious member (she whispers secret messages of love in the garden to her friends, the bees) The garden would be here forevermore ~~~
Mexican parachute Blue green pink Invented of Silk & stretched on grass Draped in the trees of a Mexican Park T-shirt boys in their Slumbering art ~~~
-I fear that he’s been maim’d beyond all recognition
He hears them come & murmur over his corpse.
Street Pizza. ~~~
funny, I keep expecting a knock on the door well, that’s what you get for living around people
a Knock? would shatter my dreams’ illusions deportment & composure The struggle of a poor poet to stay out of the grips of novels & gambling & journalism ~~~
A quality of ignorance, self-deception may be necessary to the poet’s survival. ~~~
Actors must make us think they’re real Our friends must not make us think we’re acting
They are, though, in slow Time
My wild words slip into fusion & risk losing the solid ground
So stranger, get wilder still
Probe the Highlands ~~~
Bourbon is a wicked brew, recalling courage milk, refined poison of cockroach & tree-bark, leaves & fly-wings scraped from the land, a thick film; menstrual fluids no doubt add their splendour. It is the eagle’s drink. ~~~
Why do I drink? So that I can write poetry.
Sometimes when it’s all spun out and all that is ugly recedes into a deep sleep There is an awakening and all that remains is true. As the body is ravaged the spirit grows stronger.
Forgive me Father for I know what I do. I want to hear the last Poem of the last Poet.
Poem By Jim Morrison THE OPENING OF THE TRUNK -Moment of inner freedom when the mind is opened & the infinite universe revealed & the soul is left to wander dazed & confus’d searching here & there for teachers & friends. ~~~
Moment of Freedom as the prisoner blinks in the sun like a mole from his hole
a child’s 1st trip away from home
That moment of Freedom ~~~
LAmerica Cold treatment of our empress LAmerica The Transient Universe LAmerica Instant communion and communication
lamerica emeralds in glass lamerica searchlights at twi-light lamerica stoned streets in the pale dawn lamerica robed in exile lamerica swift beat of a proud heart lamerica eyes like twenty lamerica swift dream lamerica frozen heart lamerica soldiers doom lamerica clouds & struggles lamerica Nighthawk
doomed from the start lamerica “That’s how I met her, lamerica lonely & frozen lamerica & sullen, yes lamerica right from the start”
Then stop. Go. The wilderness between. Go round the march. ~~~
he enters stage:
Blood boots. Killer storm. Fool’s gold. God in a heaven. Where is she? Have you seen her? Has anyone seen this girl? snap shot (projected) She’s my sister. Ladies & gentlemen: please attend carefully to these words & events It’s your last chance, our last hope. In this womb or tomb, we’re free of the swarming streets. The black fever which rages is safely out those doors My friends & I come from Far Arden w/ dances, & new music Everywhere followers accrue to our procession. Tales of Kings, gods, warriors and lovers dangled like jewels for your careless pleasure
I’m Me! ~~~
Can you dig it. My meat is real. My hands- how they move balanced like lithe demons My hair- so twined & writhing The skin of my face- pinch the cheeks My flaming sword tongue spraying verbal fire-flys I’m real. I’m human But I’m not an ordinary man No No No ~~~
What are you doing here? What do you want? Is it music? We can play music. But you want more. You want something & someone new. Am I right? Of course I am. I know what you want. You want ecstasy Desire & dreams. Things not exactly what they seem. I lead you this way, he pulls that way. I’m not singing to an imaginary girl. I’m talking to you, my self. Let’s recreate the world. The palace of conception is burning.
Look. See it burn. Bask in the warm hot coals.
You’re too young to be old. You don’t need to be told You want to see things as they are. You know exactly what I do Everything ~~~
I am a guide to the Labyrinth
Monarch of the protean towers on this cool stone patio above the iron mist sunk in its own waste breathing its own breath
Poem By Jim Morrison THE ANATOMY OF ROCK The 1st electric wildness came over the people on sweet Friday. Sweat was in the air. The channel beamed, token of power. Incense brewed darkly. Who could tell then that here it would end?
One school bus crashed w/a train. This was the Crossroads. Mercury strained. I couldn’t get out of my seat. The road was littered w/dead jitterbugs. Help, we’ll be late for class.
The secret flurry of rumor marched over the yard & pinned us unwittingly Mt. fever. A girl stripped naked on the base of the flagpole.
In the restrooms all was cool & silent w/the salt-green of latrines. Blankets were needed.
Ropes fluttered. Smiles flattered & haunted.
Lockers were pried open & secrets discovered.
Ah sweet music.
Wild sounds in the night Angel siren voices. The baying of great hounds. Cars screaming thru gears & shrieks on the wild road Where the tires skid & slide into dangerous curves.
Favorite corners. Cheerleaders raped in summer buildings. Holding hands & bopping toward Sunday.
Those lean sweet desperate hours.
Time searched the hallways for a mind. Hands kept time. The climate altered like a visible dance.
Night-time women. Wondrous sacraments of doubt Sprang sullen in bursts of fear & guilt in the womb’s pit hole below The belt of the beast ~~~
Worship w/words, w/ sounds, hands, all joyful playful & obscene-in the insane infant.
Old men worship w/long noses, old soulful eyes. Young girls worship, exotic, indian, w/robes who make us feel foolish for acting w/our eyes. Lost in the vanity of the senses which got us where we are. Children worship but seldom act at it. Who needs temples & couches & T.V. ~~~
We can do it on a sunny floor w/friends & make any sound or movement that comes. Roll on our backs screaming w/mirth glad in the guilt of our madness. Better to be cool in our worship & gain the respect of the ancient & wise wearing those robes. They know the secret of mind-change reality. ~~~
“Have you ever seen God?” -a mandala. A symmetrical angel.
Felt? yes. Fucking. The Sun. Heard? Music. Voices Touched? an animal. your hand. Tasted? Rare meat, corn, water & wine. ~~~
An angel runs Thru the sudden light Thru the room A ghost precedes us A shadow follows us And each time we stop We fall ~~~
No one thought up being; he who thinks he has Step forward ~~~
Shrill demented sparrows bark The sun into being. They rule dawn’s Kingdom. The cars- a rising chorus- Then workmen’s songs & hammers The children of the schoolyard, a hundred high voices, complete the orchestration ~~~
“In that year there was an intense visitation of energy. I left school & went down to the beach to live. I slept on a roof. At night the moon became a woman’s face. I met the spirit of Music.” ~~~
An appearance of the devil on a Venice canal. Running, I saw a Satan or Satyr, moving beside me, a fleshy shadow of my secret mind. Running, Knowing. ~~~
The day I left the beach
A hairy Satyr running behind & a little to the right.
In the holy solipsism of the young
Now I can’t walk thru a city street w/out eying each single pedestrian. I feel their vibes thru my skin, the hair on my neck -it rises.
Poem by Jim Morrison THE CONNECTORS-1 -What is connection?
-When 2 motions, thought to be infinite & mutually exclusive, meet in a moment.
-Of Time?
-Yes.
-Time does not exist. There is no time.
-Time is a straight plantation.
Poem By Jim Morrison JAIL The walls screamed poetry disease & sex an inner whine like a mad machine - dropped in a cave of roaches or rodents
The Computer faces of the men
The wall collage reading matter
The Traders (dealers) ~~~
I am a guide to the labyrinth Come & see me in the green hotel Rm. 32 I will be there after 9:30 p.m.
I will show you the girl of the ghetto I will show you the burning well I will show you strange people haunted, beast-like, on the verge of evolution
-Fear The Lords who are secret among us ~~~
Leaving the phone-booth, I was Struck by a whiff of the weird. Insane old country woman come to nag the haunts of town Hairy legs w/open sores.
From what swamp or under-rock did you crawl to remind us what we choose to leave
Poem by Jim Morrison SIRENS Midnight criminal metabolism of guilt forest Rattlesnakes whistles castanets
Remove me from this hall of mirrors This filthy glass
Are you her Do you look like that How could you be when no one ever could ~~~
Poet of the call-girl storm
She left a note on the bedroom door. “If I’m out, bring me to.” ~~~
I dropped by to see you late last night But you were out like a light Your head was on the floor & rats played pool w/your eyes
Death is a good disguise for late at night
Wrapping all games in its calm garden
But what happens when the guests return & all unmask & you are asked to leave for want of a smile
I’ll still take you then But I’m your friend
Poem by Jim Morrison OPEN The night is young & full of rest I can’t describe the way she’s dress’d She’ll pander to some strange requests Anything that you suggest Anything to please her guest
Poem by Jim Morrison MOSAIC a series of notes, prose-poems stories, bits of play & dialog Aphorisms, epigrams, essays
Poems? Sure
Poem by Jim Morrison MIAMI What can I read her What can I read her on a Sunday Morning
What can I do that will somehow reach her on a Sunday Morning
I’ll read her the news of The Indian Wars
Full of criss-cavalry, blood & gore
Stories to tame & charm & more
On a Sunday Morning ~~~
Some wild fires Searchout a dry quiet kiss on leaving ~~~
Like our ancestors The Indians We share a fear of sex excessive lamentation for the dead & an abiding interest in dreams & visions
Poem by Jim Morrison
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Post by lawoman on Sept 25, 2019 8:39:41 GMT -5
ODE NEW YORK MAIDENS everyone has Their own magic There is no death so nothing matters High Style Flash & forgive me high button shoes clean arrangement messy breeding love’s triumph everlasting hope & fulfillment
Poem by Jim Morrison THE CONNECTORS-2 The diamonds shone like broken glass Upon the midnight street And all atop the walls were wet Their white eyes glint & sleek
Then from afar a gnome appeared An angel flashed on furry feet The boulevard became a river While waiting crowds began to quiver
I was in a motel watching Whiskey in my hand Her breath was soft, the wind was warm Someone in a room was born ~~~
Accomplishments:
To make works in the face of the void To gain form, identity To rise from the herd-crowd
Public favor Public fervor
even the bitter Poet-Madman is a clown Treading the boards ~~~
Cold electric music Damage me Rend my mind w/your dark slumber
Cold temple of steel Cold minds alive on the strangled shore
Veterans of foreign wars We are the soldiers of Rock & Roll Wars ~~~
Whether to be a great cagey perfumed beast dying under the sweet patronage of Kings & exist like luxuriant flowers beneath the emblems of their Strange empire or by mere insouciant faith slap them, call their cards spit on fate & cast hell to flames in usury
by dying, nobly we could exist like innocent trolls propogate our revels & give the finger to the gods in our private bedrooms
let’s rather, maybe, perhaps, get fucking out in the open, & by swelling, jubilantly Magnificently, end them.
Poem by Jim Morrison THE WORLD ON FIRE The world on fire ... Taxi from Africa... The Grand Hotel... He was drunk a big party last night back going back in all directions sleeping these insane hours. I'll never wake up in a good mood again. I'm sick of these stinky boots.
Poem by Jim Morrison THE MOVIE The movie will begin in five moments. The mindless voice announced all those unseated will await the next show.
We filed slowly, languidly into the hall. The auditorium was vast and silent as we seated and were darkened, the voice continued.
The program for this evening is not new. You've seen this entertainment through and through. You've seen your birth your life and death you might recall all of the rest. Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on?
I'm getting out of here. Where are you going? To the other side of morning. Please don't chase the clouds, pagodas.
Her cunt gripped him like a warm, friendly hand.
It's alright, all your friends are here. When can I meet them? After you've eaten I'm not hungry. Uh, we meant beaten.
Silver stream, silvery scream. Oooooh, impossible concentration.
Poem by Jim Morrison IN THIS DIM CAVE In this dim cave we can go no further Here money is key to smooth age. Horses, givers of guilt. Great bags of gold.
I want obedience!
We examine this ancient & insane theatre, obscene like luxuriant churches altars.
I confess to scarves cool floors stroked curtain
The actors are twice-blessed before us. This is too serious & severe.
Great mystery! Timeless passion patterned in stillness.
Poem by Jim Morrison PARIS JOURNAL So much forgotten already So much forgotten So much to forget
Once the idea of purity born, all was lost irrevocably
The Black Musician in a house up the hill
**** in the woodpile Skeleton in the closet
Sorry, Didn't mean you.
An old man, someone's daughter
Arises & sees us still in the room of off-key piano & bad paintings
him off to work & new wife arriving
(The candle-forests of Notre-Dame)
beggar nuns w/moving smiles, small velvet sacks & cataleptic eyes
straying to the gaudy Mosaic calendar Windows
I write like this to seize you
give me your love, your tired eyes, sad for delivery
A small & undiscover'd park-we ramble
And the posters scream safe revolt
& the tired walls barely fall, graffiti into dry cement sand
an overfed vacuum dust-clock
I remember freeways
Summer, beside you Ocean-brother
Storms passing
electric fires in the night
"rain, night, misery- the back-ends of wagons"
Shake it! Wanda, fat stranded swamp Woman
We still need you
Shake your roly-poly Thighs inside that Southern tent
So what.
It was really wild She started nude & put on her clothes
An old & cheap hotel w/bums in the lobby genteel bums of satisfied poverty
Across the street, a famous pool-hall where the actors meet
former ace-home of beat musicians beat poets & beat wanderers
in the Zen tradition from China to the Subway in 4 easy lifetimes
Weeping, he left his pad on orders from police & furnishings hauled away, all records & momentos, & reporters calculating tears & curses for the press:
"I hope the Chinese junkies get you"
& they will for the poppy rules the world
That handsome gentle flower
Sweet Billy!
Do you remember the snake your lover
tender in the tumbled brush-weed sand & cactus
I do.
And I remember Stars in the shotgun night
eating **** til the mind runs clean
Is it rolling, God
in the Persian Night?
"There's a palace in the canyon where you & I were born
Now I'm a lonely Man Let me back into the Garden
Blue Shadows of the Canyon I met you & now you're gone
& now my dream is gone Let me back into your Garden
A man searching for lost Paradise Can seem a fool to those who never sought the other world
Where friends do lie & drift Insanely in Their own private gardens"
The **** bloomed & the paper walls Trembled
A monster arrived in the mirror To mock the room & its fool alone
Give me songs to sing & emerald dreams to dream
& I'll give you love unfolding
Sun
underwater, it was immediately strange & familiar
the black boy's from the boat, fins & mask,
Nostrils bled liquid crystal blood as they rose to surface
Rose & moved strong in their wet world
Below was a Kingdom Empire of still sand & yes, party-colored fishes -they are the last to leave The gay sea
I eat you avoiding your wordy bones
& spit out pearls
The little girl gave little cries of surprise as the club struck her sides
I was there By the fire in the Phonebooth
I saw them charge & heard the indian war-scream
felt the adrenalin of flight-fear
the exhilaration of terror sloshed drunk in the flashy battle blood
Naked we come & bruised we go nude pastry for the slow soft worms below
This is my poem for you Great flowing funky flower'd beast
Great perfumed wreck of hell
Great good disease & summer plague
Great god-damned ****-**** Mother-**** freak
You lie, you cheat, you steal, you kill
you drink the Southern Madness swill of greed
you die utterly & alone
Mud up to your braces Someone new in your knickers
& who would that be?
You know
You know more than you let on
Much more than you betray
Great slimy angel-**** you've been good to me
You really have
been swell to me
Tell them you came & saw & look'd into my eyes & saw the shadow of the guard receding Thoughts in time & out of season The Hitchiker stood by the side of the road & levelled his thumb in the calm calculus of reason. Poem by Jim Morrison THE NEW CREATURES Snakeskin jacket Indian eyes Brilliant hair
He moves in disturbed Nile insect Air ~~~
You parade thru the soft summer We watch your eager rifle decay Your wilderness Your teeming emptiness Pale forest on verge of light decline.
More of your miracles More of your magic arms ~~~
Bitter grazing in sick pastures Animal sadness & the daybed Whipping. Iron curtains pried open. The elaborate sun implies dust, knives, voices.
Call out of the Wilderness Call out of fever, receiving the wet dreams of an Aztec King. ~~~
The banks are high and overgrown rich w/warm green danger. Unlock the canals. Punish our sister's sweet playmate distress. Do you want us that way w/the rest? Do you adore us? When you return will you still want to play w/us? ~~~
Fall down. Strange gods arrive in fast enemy poses. Their shirts are soft marrying cloth and hair together. All along their arms ornaments conceal veins bluer than blood pretending welcome. Soft lizard eyes connect. Their soft drained insect cries erect new fear, where fears reign. The rustling of sex against their skin. The wind withdraws all sound. Stamp your witness on the punished ground. ~~~
Wounds, stags, & arrows Hooded flashing legs plunge near the tranquil women. Startling obedience fom the pool people. Astonishing caves to plunder. Loose, nerveless ballets of looting. Boys are running. Girls are screaming, falling. The air is thick w/smoke. Dead crackling wires dance pools of sea blood. ~~~
Lizard woman w/your insect eyes w/your wild surprise. Warm daughter of silence. Venom. Turn your back w/a slither of moaning wisdom. The unblinking blind eyes behind walls new histories rise and wake growling & whining the weird dawn of dreams. Dogs lie sleeping. The wolf howls. A creature lives out the war. A forest. A rustle of cut words, choking river. ~~~
The snake, the lizard, the insect eye the huntsman's green obedience. Quick, in raw time, serving stealth & slumber, grinding warm forests into restless lumber.
Now for the valley. Now for the syrup hair. Stabbing the eyes, widening skies behind the skull bone. Swift end of hunting. Hug round the swollen torn breast & red-stained throat. The hounds gloat. Take her home. Carry our sister's body, back to the boat. ~~~
A pair of Wings Crash High winds of Karma
Sirens
Laughter & young voices in the mts. ~~~
Saints the Negro, Africa Tattoo eyes like time ~~~
Build temporary habitations, games & chambers, play there, hide.
First man stood, shifting stance while germs of sight unfurl'd Flags in his skull
and quickening, hair, nails, skin turned slowly, whirl'd, in the warm aquarium, warm wheel turning.
Cave fish, eels, & gray salamanders turn in their night career of sleep.
The idea of vision escapes the animal worm whose earth is an ocean, whose eye is its body. ~~~
The theory is that birth is prompted by the child's desire to leave the womb. But in the photograph an unborn horse's neck strains inward w/legs scooped out.
From this everything follows:
Swallow milk at the breast until there's no milk.
Squeeze wealth at the rim until tile pools claim it.
He swallows seed, his pride until w/pale mouth legs she sucks the root, dreading world to devour child.
Doesn't the ground swallow me when I die, or the sea if I die at sea? ~~~
The City: Hive, Web, or severed insect mound. All citizens heirs of the same royal parent.
The caged beast, the holy center, a garden in the midst of the city.
"See Naples & die". Jump ship. Rats, sailors & death.
So many wild pigeons. Animals ripe w/new diseases. "There is only one disease and I am its catalyst", cried doomed pride of the carrier.
Fighting, dancing, gambling, bars, cinemas thrive in the avid summer. ~~~
Savage destiny
Naked girl, seen from behind,
on a natural road
Friends explore the labyrinth
-Movie young woman left on the desert
A city gone mad w/fever ~~~
Sisters of the unicorn, dance Sisters & brothers of Pyramid Dance
Mangled hands Tales of the Old Days Discovery of the Sacred Pool changes Mute-handed stillness baby cry
The wild dog The sacred beast
Find her! ~~~
He goes to see the girl of the ghetto. Dark savage streets. A hut, lighted by candle. She is magician Female prophet Sorceress Dressed in the past All arrayed.
The stars The moon She reads the future in your hand. ~~~
The walls are garish red The stairs High discordant screaming She has the tokens. "You too" "Don't go" He flees. Music renews.
The mating-pit. "Salvation" Tempted to leap in circle.
Negroes riot. ~~~
A file of young people going thru a small woods. ~~~
They are filming something in the street, in front of our house. ~~~
Walking to the riot Spreads to the houses the lawns suddenly alive now w/people running ~~~
I don't dig what they did to that girl Mercy pack Wild song they sing As they chop her hands Nailed to a ghost Tree
I saw a lynching Met the strange men of the southern swamp Cypress was their talk Fish-call & bird-song Roots & signs out of all knowing They chanced to be there Guides, to the white gods. ~~~
An armed camp. Army army burning itself in feasts. ~~~
Jackal, we sniff after the survivors of caravans. We reap bloody crops on war fields. No meat of any corpse deprives our lean bellies. Hunger drives us on scented winds. Stranger, traveler, peer into our eyes & translate the horrible barking of ancient dogs. ~~~
Camel caravans bear witness guns to Caesar. Hordes crawl & seep inside the walls. The streets flow stone. Life goes on absorbing war. Violence kills the temple of no sex. ~~~
Terrible shouts start the journey -if they had migrated sooner
-a high wailing keening piercing animal lament from a woman high atop a Mt. tower
-Thin wire fence in the mind dividing the heart ~~~
Surreptitiously They smile Inviting-Smiling
Choktai leave! evil Leave!No come here Leave her!
A creature is nursing its child soft arms around the head & neck a mouth to connect leave this child alone This one is mine I'm taking her home Back to the rain ~~~
The assassin's bullet Marries the King Dissembling miles of air To kiss the crown. The Prince rambles in blood. Ode to the neck That was groomed For rape's gown. ~~~
Cancer city Urban fall Summer sadness The highways of the old town Ghosts in cars Electric shadows ~~~
Ensenada the dead seal the dog crucifix ghosts of the dead car sun. Stop the car. Rain. Night. Feel. ~~~
Sea-bird sea-moan Earthquake murmuring Fast-burning incense Clamoring surging Serpentine road To the Chinese caves Home of the winds The gods of mourning ~~~
The city sleeps & the unhappy children roam w/ animal gangs. They seem to speak to their friends the dogs who teach them trails. Who can catch them? Who can make them come inside? ~~~
The tent girl at midnight stole to the well & met her lover there They talked a while & laughed & then he left She put an orange pillow on her breast
In the morning Chief w/drew his troops & planned a map The horsemen rose on up The women fixed the ropes on tight The tents are folded now We march toward the sea. ~~~
Catalog of horrors Descriptions of Natural disaster Lists of miracles in the divine corridor Catalog of objects in the room List of things in the sacred river ~~~
The soft parade has now begun on Sunset. Cars come thundering down the canyon. Now is the time & the place. The cars come rumbling. "You got a cool machine". These engine beasts muttering their soft talk. A delight at night to hear their quiet voices again after 2 years.
Now the soft parade has soon begun. Cool pools from a tired land sink now in the peace of evening. ~~~
Clouds weaken & die. The sun, an orange skull, whispers quietly, becomes an island, & is gone.
There they are watching us everything will be dark. The light changed. We were aware knee-deep in the fluttering air as the ships move on trains in their wake. Trench mouth again in the camps. Gonorrhea Tell the girl to go home We need a witness to the killing. ~~~
The artists of Hell set up easels in parks the terrible landscape, where citizens find anxious pleasure preyed upon by savage bands of youths
I can't believe this is happening I can't believe all these people are sniffing each other & backing away teeth grinning hair raised, growling, here in the slaughtered wind
I am ghost killer. witnessing to all my blessed sanction
This is it no more fun the death of all joy has come. ~~~
Do you dare deny my potency my kindness or forgiveness? Just try you will fry like the rest in holiness
And not for a penny will I spare any time for you Ghost children down there in the frightening world
You are alone & have no need of other you & the child mother who bore you who weaned you who made you man ~~~
Photo-booth killer fragile bandit straight from ambush
Kill me! Kill the child who made Thee. Kill the thought-provoking senator of lust who brought you to this state.
Kill hate disease warfare sadness
Kill badness Kill madness
Kill photo mother murder tree Kill me. Kill yourself Kill the little blind elf. ~~~
The beautiful monster vomits a stream of watches clocks jewels knives silver coins & copper blood
The well of time & trouble whiskey bottles perfume razor blades beads liquid insects hammers & thin nails the feet of birds eagle feathers & claws machine parts chrome teeth hair shards of pottery & skulls the ruins of our time the debris by a lake the gleaming beer cans & rust & sable menstrual fur
Dance naked on broken bones feet bleed & stain glass cuts cover your mind & the dry end of vacuum boat while the people drop lines in still pools & pull ancient trout from the deep home. Scales crusted & gleaming green A knife was stolen. A valuable hunting knife By some strange boys from the other camp across the Lake ~~~
Are these our friends racing & shuddering thru the calm vales of parliament
My son will not die in the war He will return numbed peasant voice of Orient fisherman
Last time you said this was the only way voice of tender young girl
Running & speaking infected green jungles
consult the oracle bitter creek crawl they exist on rainwater
monkey-love mantra mate maker of brandy ~~~
The poison isles The poison
Take this thin granule of evil snakeroot from the southern shore
way out miracle will find thee
The chopper blazed over inward click & sure blasted matter, made the time bombs free of leprous lands spotted w/ hunger & clinging to law
Please show us your ragged head & silted smiling eyes calm in fire a silky flowered shirt edging the eyes, alive spidery, distant dial lies ~~~
come, calm one into the life-try
already wifelike latent, leathery, loose lawless, large & languid She was a kindom-cry legion of lewd marching mind-men
Where are your manners out there on the sunlit desert boundless glaxies of dust cactus spines, beads bleach stones, bottles & rust cars, stored for shaping
The new man, time-soldier picked his way narrowly thru the crowded ruins of once grave city, gone comic now w/ rats & insects of refuge
He lives in cars goes fruitless thru the frozen schools & finds no space in shades of obedience
the monitors are silenced the great graveled guard-towers sicken on the westward beach so tired of watching
if only one horse were left to ride thru the waste a dog at his side to sniff meat-maids chained on the public poles
there is no more argument in beds, at night blackness is burned Stare into the parlors of town where a woman dances in her European gown to the great waltzes this could be fun to rule a wasteland
II
Cherry palms Terrible shores & more & many more
This we know that all are free in the school-made text of the unforgiven
deceit smiles incredible hardships are suffered by those barely able to endure
but all will pass lie down in green grass & smile, & muse, & gaze upon her smooth resemblance to the mating-Queen who it seems is in love w/the horseman
now, isn't that fragrant Sir, isn't that knowing w/a wayward careless backward glance
Poem by Jim Morrison NOTES ON VISION Look where we worship. We all live in the city.
The city forms- often physically, but inevitably psychically- a circle. A Game. A ring of death with sex at its center. Drive towards outskirts of city suburbs. At the edge of discover zones of sophisticated vice and boredom, child prosti- tution. But in the grimy ring immediately surround- ing the daylight business district exists the only real crowd life of our mound, the only street life, night life. Diseased specimens in dollar hotels, low boarding houses, bars, pawn shops, burlesques and brothels, in dying arcades which never die, in streets and streets of all-night cinemas. ~~~
When play dies it becomes the Game. When sex dies it becomes Climax. ~~~
All games contain the idea of death. ~~~
Baths, bars, the indoor pool. Our injured leader prone on the sweating tile. Chlorine on his breath and in his long hair. Lithe, although crippled, body of a middle-weight contender. Near him the trusted journalist, confidant. He liked men near him with a large sense of life. But most of the press were vultures descending on the scene for curious America aplomb. Cameras inside the coffin interviewing worms. ~~~
It takes large murder to turn rocks in the shade and expose strange worms beneath. The lives of our discontented madmen are revealed. ~~~
Camera, as all-seeing god, satisfies our longing for omniscience. To spy on others from this height and angle: pedestrians pass in and out of our lens like rare aquatic insects.
Yoga powers. To make oneself invisible or small. To become gigantic and reach to the farthest things. To change the course of nature. To place oneself anywhere in space or time. To summon the dead. To exalt senses and perceive inaccessible images, of events on other worlds, in one's deepest inner mind, or in the minds of others.
The sniper's rifle is an extension of his eye. He kills with injurious vision. ~~~
The assassin(?), in flight, gravitated with unconscious, instinctual insect ease, moth- like, toward a zone of safety, haven from the swarming streets. Quickly, he was devoured in the warm, dark, silent maw of the physical theater. ~~~
Modern circles of Hell: Oswald(?) kills President. Oswald enters taxi. Oswald stops at rooming house. Oswald leaves taxi. Oswald kills Officer Tippitt. Oswald sheds jacket. Oswald is captured.
He escaped into a movie house. ~~~
In the womb we are blind cave fish. ~~~
Everything is vague and dizzy. The skin swells and there is no more distinction between parts of the body. An encroaching sound of threatening, mocking, monotonous voices. This is fear and attraction of being swallowed. ~~~
Inside the dream, button sleep around your body like a glove. Free now of space and time. Free to dissolve in the streaming summer. ~~~
Sleep is an under-ocean dipped into each night At morning, awake dripping, gasping, eyes stinging. ~~~
The eye looks vulgar Inside its ugly shell. Come out in the open In all of your Brilliance. ~~~
Nothing. The air outside burns my eyes. I'll pull them out and get rid of the burning. ~~~
Crisp hot whiteness City Noon Occupants of plague zone are consumed.
(Santa Ana's are winds off deserts.)
Rip up grating and splash in gutters. The search for water, moisture, "wetness" of the actor, lover. ~~~
"Players"-the child, the actor, and the gambler. The idea of chance is absent from the world of the child and primitive. The gambler also feels in service of an alien power. Chance is a survival of religion in the modern city, as is theater, more often cinema, the religion of possession. ~~~
What sacrifice, at what price can the city be born? ~~~
There are no longer "dancers", the possessed. The cleavage of men into actor and spectators is the central fact of our time. We are obsessed with heroes who live for us and whom we punish. If all the radios and televisions were deprived of their sources of power, all books and paintings burned tomorrow, all shows and cinemas closed, all the arts of vicarious existence…
We are content with the "given" in sensation's quest. We have been metamorphosised from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark. ~~~
Not one of the prisoners regained sexual balance. Depressions, impotency, sleeplessness…erotic dispersion in languages, reading, games, music, and gymnastics.
The prisoners built their own theater which testified to an incredible surfeit of leisure. A young sailor, forced into female roles, soon became the "town" darling, for by this time they called themselves a town, and elected a mayor, police, aldermen. ~~~
In old Russia, the Czar, each year, granted- out of the shrewdness of his own soul or one of his advisors'- a week's freedom for one convict in each of his prisons. The choice was left to the prisoners themselves and it was determined in several ways. Sometimes by vote, sometimes by lot, often by force. It was apparent that the chosen must be a man of magic, virility, experience, perhaps narrative skill, a man of possibility, in short, a hero. Impossible situation at the moment of freedom, impossible selection, defining our world in its percussions. ~~~
A room moves over a landscape, uprooting the mind, astonishing vision. A gray film melts off the eyes, and runs down the cheeks. Farewell.
Modern life is a journey by car. The Passengers change terribly in their reeking seats, or roam from car to car, subject to unceasing transformation. Inevitable progress is made toward the beginning (there is no difference in terminals), as we slice through cities, whose ripped backsides present a moving picture of windows, signs, streets, buildings. Sometimes other vessels, closed worlds, vacuums, travel along beside to move ahead or fall utterly behind. ~~~
Destroy roofs, walls, see in all the rooms at once.
From the air we trapped gods, with the gods' omniscient gaze, but without their power to be inside minds and cities as they fly above. ~~~
June 30th. On the sun roof. He woke up suddenly. At that instant a jet from the air base crawled in silence overhead. On the beach, children try to leap into its swift shadow. ~~~
The bird or insect that stumbles into a room and cannot find the window. Because they know no "windows".
Wasps, poised in the window, Excellent dancers, detached, are not inclined into our chamber.
Room of withering mesh read love's vocabulary in the green lamp of tumescent flesh. ~~~
When men conceived buildings, and closed themselves in chambers, first trees and caves.
(Windows work two ways, mirrors one way.)
You never walk through mirrors or swim through windows. ~~~
Cure blindness with a ****'s spittle. ~~~
In Rome, prostitutes were exhibited on roofs above the public highways for the dubious hygiene of loose tides of men whose potential lust endangered the fragile order of power. It is even reported that patrician ladies, masked and naked, sometimes offered themselves up to these deprived eyes for private excitements of their own. ~~~
More or less, we're all afflicted with the psychology of the voyeur. Not in a strictly clinical or criminal sense, but in our whole physical and emotional stance before the world. Whenever we seek to break this spell of passivity, our actions are cruel and awkward and generally obscene, like an invalid who has forgotten how to walk. ~~~
The voyeur, the peeper, the Peeping Tom, is a dark comedian. He is repulsive in his dark anonymity, in his secret invasion. He is pitifully alone. But, strangely, he is able through this same silence and concealment to make unknowing partner of anyone within his eye's range. This is his threat and power.
There are no glass houses. The shades are drawn and "real" life begins. Some activities are impossible in the open. And these secret events are the voyeur's game. He seeks them out with his myriad army of eyes- like the child's notion of a Diety who sees all. "Everything?" asks the child. "Yes, every- thing", they answer, and the child is left to cope with this divine intrusion. ~~~
The voyeur is masturbator, the mirror his badge, the window his prey. ~~~
Urge to come to terms with the "Outside", by absorbing, interiorizing it. I won't come out, you must come in to me. Into my womb-garden where I peer out. Where I can construct a universe within the skull, to rival the real. ~~~
She said, "Your eyes are always black". The pupil opens to seize the object of vision. ~~~
Imagery is born of loss. Loss of the"friendly expanses". The breast is removed and the face imposes its cold, curious, forceful, and inscrutable presence. ~~~
You may enjoy life from afar. You may look at things but not taste them. You may caress the mother only with the eyes. ~~~
You cannot touch these phantoms. ~~~
French Deck. Solitary stroker of cards. He dealt himself a hand. Turn stills of the past in unending permutations, shuffle and begin. Sort the images again. And sort them again. This game reveals germs of truth, and death.
The world becomes an apparently infinite, yet possibly finite, card game. Image combinations, permutations, comprise the world game. ~~~
A mild possession, devoid of risk, at bottom sterile. With an image there is no attendant danger. ~~~
Muybridge derived his animal subjects from the Philadelphia Zoological Garden, male performers from the University. The women were professional artists' models, also actrsses and dancers, parading nude before the 48 cameras. ~~~
Films are collections of dead pictures which are given artificial insemination. ~~~
Film spectators are quiet vampires. ~~~
Cinema is most totalitarian of the arts. All energy and sensation is sucked up into the skull, a cerebral erection, skull bloated with blood. Caligula wished a single neck for all his subjects that he could behead a kingdom with one blow. Cinema is this transforming agent. The body exists for the sake of the eyes; it becomes a dry stalk to support these two soft insatiable jewels. ~~~
Film confers a kind of spurious eternity. ~~~
Each film depends upon all the others and drives you on to others. Cinema was a novelty, a scientific toy, until a sufficient body of works had been amassed, enough to create an intermittent other world, a powerful, infinite mythology to be dipped into at will.
Films have an illusion of timelessness fostered by their regular, indomitable appearance. ~~~
The appeal of cinema lies in the fear of death. ~~~
The modern East creates the greatest body of films. Cinema is a new form of an ancient tradition- the shadow play. Even their theater is an imitation of it. Born in India or China, the shadow show was aligned with religious ritual, linked with celebrations which centered around cremation of the dead. ~~~
It is wrong to assume, as some have done, that cinema belongs to women. Cinema is created by men for the consolation of men. ~~~
The shadow plays originally were restricted to male audiences. Men could view these dream shows from either side of the screen. When women later began to be admitted, they were allowed to attend only to the shadows. ~~~
Male genitals are small faces forming trinities of thieves and Christs Fathers, sons, and ghosts.
A nose hangs over a wall and two half eyes, sad eyes, mute and handless, multiply an endless round of victories.
These dry and secret triumphs, fought in stalls and stamped in prisons, glorify our walls and scorch our vision.
A horror of empty spaces propagates this seal on private places. ~~~
Kynaston's Bride may not appear but the odor of her flesh is never very far. ~~~
A drunken crowd knocked over the apparatus, and Mayhew's showman, exhibiting at Islington Green, burned up, with his mate, inside. ~~~
In 1832, Gropius was astounding Paris with his Pleorama. The audience was transformed into the crew aboard a ship engaged in battle. Fire, screaming, sailors, drowning. ~~~
Robert Baker, an Edinburgh artist, while in jail for debt, was struck by the effect of light shining through the bars of his cell through a letter he was reading, and out of this perception he in- vented the first Panorama, a concave, transparent picture view of the city.
The invention was soon replace by the Diorama, which added the illusion of movement by shifting the room. Also sounds and novel lighting effects. Daguerre's London Diorama still stands in Regent's Park, a rare survival, since these shows depended always on effects of artificial light, produced by lamps or gas jets, and nearly always ended in fire. ~~~
Phantasmagoria, magic lantern shows, spectacles without substance. They achieved complete sensory experiences through noise, incense, lightning, water. There may be a time when we'll attend Weather Theaters to recall the sensation of rain. ~~~
Cinema has evolved in two paths.
One is spectacle. Like the phantasmagoria, its goal is the creation of a total substitute sensory world.
The other is peep show, which claims for its realm both the erotic and the untampered obser- vance of real life, and imitates the keyhole or voyeur's window without need of color, noise grandeur. ~~~
Cinema discovers its fondest affinities, not with painting, literature, or theater, but with the popular diversions- comics, chess, French, and Tarot decks, magazines, and tattooing. ~~~
Cinema derives not from painting, literature, sculpture, theater, but from ancient popular wizardry. It is the contemporary manifestation of an evolving history of shadows, a delight in pictures that move, a belief in magic. Its lineage is entwined from the earliest beginning with Priests and sorcery, a summoning of phantoms. With, at first, only slight aid of the mirror and fire, men called up dark and secret visits from regions in the buried mind. In these seances, shades are spirits which ward off evil. ~~~
The spectator is a dying animal. ~~~
Invoke, palliate, drive away the Dead. Nightly. ~~~
Through ventriloquism, gestures, play with objects, and rare variations of the body in space, the shaman signaled his "trip" to an audience which share the journey. ~~~
In the seance, the shaman led. A sensuous panic, deliberately evoked through drugs, chants, dancing, hurls the shaman into trance. Changed voice, convulsive movement. He acts like a madman. These professional hysterics, chosen precisely for their psychotic leaning, were once esteemed. They mediated between man and spirit-world. Their mental travels formed the crux of the religious life of the tribe. ~~~
Principle of seance: to cure illness. A mood might overtake a people burdened by hisorical events or dying in a bad landscape. They seek deliverance from doom, death, dread. Seek possess- ion, the visit of gods and powers, a rewinning of the life source from demon possessors. The cure is culled from ecstasy. Cure illness or prevent its visit, revive the sick, and regain stolen, soul.
It is wrong to assume that art needs the spectator in order to be. The film runs on without any eyes. The spectator cannot exist without it. It insures his existence.
The happening / the event in which ether is introduced into a roomful of people through air vents makes the chemical an actor. Its agent, or injector, is an artist-showman who creates a performance to witness himself. The people consider themselves audience, while they perform for each other, and the gas acts out poems of its own through the medium of the human body. This approaches the psychology of the orgy while remaining in the realm of the Game and its infinite permu- tations.
The aim of the happening is to cure boredom, wash the eyes, make childlike reconnections with the stream of life. Its lowest, widest aim is for purgation of perception. The happening attempts to engage all the senses, the total organism, and achieve total response in the face of traditional arts which focus on narrower inlets of sensation. ~~~
Multimedias are invariably sad comedies. They work as a kind of colorful group therapy, a woeful mating of actors and viewers, a mutual semimasturbation. The performers seem to need their audience and the spectators- the spectators would find these same mild titillations in a freak show or Fun Fair and fancier, more complete amusements in a Mexican cathouse. ~~~
Novices, we watch the moves of silkworms who excite their bodies in moist leaves and weave wet nests of hair and skin.
This is a model of our liquid resting world dissolving bone and melting marrow opening pores as wide as windows. ~~~
The "stranger" was sensed as greatest menace in ancient communities. ~~~
Metamorphose. An object is cut off fom its name, habits, associations. Detached, it becomes only the thing, in and of itself. When this disintegration into pure existence is at last achieved, the object is free to become endlessly anything. ~~~
The subject says "I see first lots of things which dance…then everything becomes gradually connected". ~~~
Objects as they exist in time the clean eye and camera give us. Not falsified by "seeing". ~~~
When there are as yet no objects. ~~~
Early film makers, who- like the alchemists- delighted in a willful obscurity about their craft, in order to withhold their skills from profane onlookers.
Separate, purify, reunite. The formula of Ars Magna, and its heir, the cinema.
The camera is androgynous machine, a kind of mechanical hermaphrodite. ~~~
In his retort the alchemist repeats the work of Nature. ~~~
Few would defend a small view of Alchemy as "Mother of Chemistry", and confuse its true goal with those external metal arts. Alchemy is an erotic science, involved in buried aspects of reality, aimed at purifying and transforming all being and matter. Not to suggest that material operations are ever abandoned. The adept holds to both the mystical and physical work. ~~~
The alchemists detect in the sexual activity of man a correspondence with the world's creation, with the growth of plants, and with mineral formations. When they see the union of rain and earth, they see it in an erotic sense, as copulation. And this extends to all natural realms of matter. For they can picture love affairs of chemicals and stars, a romance of stones, or the fertility of fire. ~~~
Stange, fertile correspondences the alchemists sensed in unlikely orders of being. Between men and planets, plants and gestures, words and weather. These disturbing connections: an in- fant's cry and the stroke of silk; the whorl of an ear and an appearance of dogs in the yard; a woman's head lowered in sleep and the morning dance of cannibals; these are conjunctions which transcend the sterile signal of any "willed" montage. These juxtapositions of objects, sounds, actions, colors, weapons, wounds, and odors shine in an unheard-of way, impossible ways.
Film is nothing when not an illumination of this chain of being which makes a needle poised in flesh call up explosions in a foreign capitol. ~~~
Cinema returns us to anima, religion of matter, which gives each thing its special divinity and sees gods in all things and beings.
Cinema, heir of alchemy, last of an erotic science. ~~~
Surround Emperor of Body. Bali Bali dancers Will not break my temple.
Explorers suck eyes into the head.
The rosy body cross secret in flow controls its flow.
Wrestlers in body weights dance and music, mimesis, body.
Swimmers entertain embryo sweet dangerous thrust flow. ~~~
The Lords. Events take place beyond our knowledge or control. Our lives are lived for us. We can only try to enslave others. But gradually, special perceptions are being developed. The idea of the "Lords" is beginning to form in some minds. We should enlist them into bands of perceivers to tour the labyrinth during their mysterious noc- turnal appearances. The Lords have secret entrances, and they know disguises. But they give themselves away in minor ways. Too much glint of light in the eye. A wrong gesture. Too long and curious a glance.
The Lords appease us with images. They give us books, concerts, galleries, shows, cinemas. Es- pecially the cinemas. Through art they confuse us and blind us to our enslavement. Art adorns our prison walls, keeps us silent and diverted and indifferent. ~~~
Dull lions prone on a watery beach. The universe kneels at the swamp to curiously eye its own raw postures of decay in the mirror of human consciousness.
Absent and peopled mirror, absorbent, passive to whatever visits and retains its interest.
Door of passage to the other side, the soul frees itself in stride.
Turn mirrors to the wall in the house of the new dead.
Poem by Jim Morrison
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Post by lawoman on Sept 25, 2019 8:40:15 GMT -5
JUST THINKING OF YOU Watching whitecaps roll into the ocean of blue. With a smile on my face just thinking of you. The sweet memories, the tender moments we've shared. They caress me like the soft breeze that fills the air. The loving feeling I get when I hold your hand. The summer night when we walked in the sand. Waves splashing on the rocks along the shoreline. Brings tears to my eyes knowing that your mine. Sharing a love like ours my happy heart sighs. Watching the violet clouds carelessly floating by.
Poem by Jim Morrison ANGELS AND SAILORS Angels and sailors, rich girls, backyard fences, tents.
Dreams watching each other narrowly soft luxuriant cars. Girls in garages, stripped out to get liquor and clothes half gallons of wine and six‑packs of beer. Jumped, humped, born to suffer made to undress in the wilderness.
I will never treat you mean. Never start no kind of scene. I 'll tell you every place and person that I've been.
Always a playground instructor, never a killer . Always a bridesmaid on the verge of fame or over. He manouvered two girls into his hotel room . One a friend, the other, the young one, a newer stranger. Vaguely Mexican or Puerto Rican.
Poor boys thighs and buttock scarred by a father's belt. She's trying to rie. Story of her boyfriend, of teenage stoned death games . Handsome lad, dead in a car. Confusion . No connections . Come here. I love you . Peace on earth . Will you die for me? Eat me. This way. The end .
I'll always be true . Never go out, sneaking out on you, babe . If you'll only show me Far Arden again.
I'm surprised you could get it up. He whips her lightly, sardonically, with belt. Haven't I been through enough? she asks Now dressed and leaving. The Spanish girl begins to bleed. She says her period. It's Catholic heaven.
I have an ancient Indian crucifix around my neck. My chest is hard and brown. Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin. We could plan a murder Or start a religion.
Poem by Jim Morrison BLACK POLISHED CHROME/LATINO CHROME The music was new black polished chrome. And came over the summer like liquid night. The DJ's took pills to stay awake and play for seven days. They went to the studio. And someone knew him. Someone knew the TV showman.
He came to our homeroom party and played records. And when he left in the hot noon sun and walked to his car. We saw the chooks had written F‑U‑C‑K on his windshield. He wiped it off with a rag and smiling cooly drove away He's rich. Got a big car.
My gang will get you. Scenes of rape in the arroyo. Seduction in cars, abandoned buildings. Fights at the food stand. The dust the shoes. Open shirts and raised collars. Bright sculptured hair.
Hey man, you want girls, pills, grass? C'mon... I show you good time. This place has everything. C'mon... I show you.
Poem by Jim Morrison CURSES INVOCATIONS Curses, Invocations Weird bate-headed mongrels I keep expecting one of you to rise. Large buxom obese queens Garden hogs and cunt veterans Quaint cabbage saints Shit hoarders and individualists Drag strip officials Tight lipped losers and Lustfull fuck salesman My militant dandies All strange order of monsters We welcome you to our procession.
Here come the Comedians Look at them smile Watch them dance an Indian mile. Look al them gesture How aplomb So to gesture everyone. Words dissemble Words be quick Words resemble walking sticks. Plant them they will grow Watch them waver so. I’ll always be a word man Better than a bird man.
Poem by Jim Morrison LAMENT Lament for my cock Sore and crucified I seek to know you Aquiring soulful wisdom You can open walls of mystery Stripshow
How to aquire death in the morning show TV death which the child absorbs Deathwell mystery which makes me write Slow train, the death of my cock gives life
Forgive the poor old people who gave us entry Taught us god in the child's praye in the night
Guitar player Ancient wise satyr Sing your ode to my cock
Caress it's lament Stiffen and guide us, we frozen Lost cells The knowledge of cancer To speak to the heart And give the great gift Words Power Trance
This stable friend and the beast of his zoo Wild haired chicks Women flowering in their summit Monsters of skin Each color connects to create the boat which rocks the race* Could any hell be more horrible than now and real?
I pressed her thigh and death smiled
Death, old friend Death and my cock are the world I can forgive my injuries in the name of Wisdom Luxury Romance
Sentence upon sentence Words are the healing lament For the death of my cock's spirit Has no meaning in the soft fire Words got me the wound and will get me well I you believe it
All join now and lament the death of my cock A tounge of knowledge in the feathered night Boys get crazy in the head and suffer I sacrifice my cock on the altar of silence
Poem by Jim Morrison THE GHOST SONG
Awake. Shake dreams from your hair my pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day and choose the sign of your day the day's divinity First thing you see.
A vast radiant beach and cooled jeweled moon Couples naked race down by its quiet side And we laugh like soft, mad children Smug in the wooly cotton brains of infancy The music and voices are all around us.
Choose they croon the Ancient Ones the time has come again choose now, they croon beneath the moon beside an ancient lake
Enter again the sweet forest Enter the hot dream Come with us everything is broken up and dances.
Indians scattered, On dawn's highway bleeding Ghosts crowd the young child’s Fragile eggshell mind
We have assembled inside, This ancient and insane theater To propagate our lust for life, And flee the swarming wisdom of the streets.
The barns have stormed The windows kept, And only one of all the rest To dance and save us From the divine mockery of words, Music inflames temperament.
Ooh great creator of being Grant us one more hour, To perform our art And perfect our lives.
We need great golden copulations,
When the true kings murderers Are allowed to roam free, A thousand magicians arise in the land Where are the feast we are promised?
One more thing Thank you oh lord For the white blind light Thank you oh lord For the white blind light
A city rises from the sea I had a splitting headache From which the future's made
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