Jim Morrison – “As I Look Back”

January 16, 2011 at 4:44 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

As I look back
over my life
I am struck by post
cards
Ruined Snap shots

faded posters
Of a time, I can’t recall
~~~

I am a Scot, or so
I’m told. Really
the heir of Mystery
Christians

Snake in the Glen

The child of a
Military family…

I rebelled against church
after phases of
fervor

I curried favor in school
& attack’d the teachers

I was given a
desk in the corner Read the rest of this entry »

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Jim Morrison – “Poems from the Village Reading”

August 8, 2010 at 7:03 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

In that year we had a great visitation of energy.

Back in those days everything
was simpler & more confused.
One summer night, going
To the pier, I ran into
2 young girls. The
blonde was called Freedom,
the dark one, Enterprise.
We talked, & they told
me this story.
~~~ Read the rest of this entry »

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The Doors – “The Doors” (1967)

July 23, 2010 at 12:37 pm (Jim Morrison, Music, Reviews & Articles)

Written by the late, great Greg Shaw for Mojo-Navigator Rock & Roll News in April 1967. Mojo-Navigator was the second major rock & roll fanzine/magazine after Crawdaddy! This was issue #13. There would be one more in August of that year before going under. A few months later, Rolling Stone would begin and the floodgates of rock journalism would open up. Greg Shaw & Mojo were one of the first, and best, though…

I first heard of the Doors last July while visiting Los Angeles. The newly-formed group was playing at the Brave New World and the hand-drawn poster said, “hear the wild new sounds of the Doors.” I didn’t get to see them, but I heard several good reports. Since then ever-growing numbers of people have been praising the Doors, and now with the appearance of their first album the whole music world should soon be talking about them. Read the rest of this entry »

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Jim Morrison – “In This Dim Cave”

May 16, 2010 at 3:46 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

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.

 

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Jim Morrison – “Jamaica”

April 7, 2010 at 10:51 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

The hour of the wolf
has now ended. Cocks
crow. The world is built
up again, struggling in
darkness.

The child gives in to night-
Mare, while the grown
Man fears his fear.

I must leave this island,
Struggling to be born
from blackness.

Fear the good deep dark
American Night
Blessed is Night.

The flood has subsided
The movie panic & the
chauffeured drive
Thru the suburbs

Wild folks in weird dress
by the side of the hiway.

Some of the men wear
Tunics or short skirts.
The women posture on
Their porches in mock-
classical pose.

The driver aims the car
& it guides itself. Tunnels
click by overhead.

Love the deep green gloom
of American Night.

Love frightened corners,
Thrill to the wood-vine.

So much of it good
& so much quantity.
~~~

The Major’s boots are where
he left them.

Pseudo-plantation.

Period prints-white
& black boxing match.

A Negro Dance
~~~

The principal of the school holds his nose.
“A dead cow is in there. I wonder
why they haven’t sent someone to
remove it?”

A vulture streams by,
& another. The white tip
of his claw-like red beak
looks white, like meat.
Swift sad languorous
shadows.

The cat drinks little cat
laps form a sick
Turquoise swimming pool.

(Insane couplings out in the night.)

America, I am hook’d to your
Cold white neon bosom, & suck
snake-like thru the dawn, I
am drawn back home
your son in exile
in the land of Awakening
What dreams possessed you
To merge in the morning?

“I been in a daze”
~~~

A spot, a reef, behind
the nursery door, off
the main bedroom-
“Those are the major’s.”

The bed looms like a white
funereal butterfly barge
at one end of the room.,
hung w/nets & sails.

“We’re outlaws.”

“What church is that?”
“Church of God.”
white bandana, white tambourine

-Walking on the Water-

“In traditional style, we’ll
give them a good political
back-siding”-(laughter)

“Victimization”

a frog in the road
children in church
drums
Sun-Sun
lying like death
on the back seat
Revival.
~~~

A whore-house.
Lord John & Lady Anne’s.
Red-blooded Blue-blooded.
Queen’s bosom.
Is it The Princess?

Golden-blood, like me, he said,
folding the bill again neatly,
the Queen’s ear-a naked
cock stuck in her ass.

Ha Ha Ha Ha.

You’re no more innocent
than a turkey vulture.

A cannon.

The Negro slaves & the English
killed the Indians, & mixed
w/the Spanish, who were soon
forced out.

Yes, big battles

Boom. Boom.

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Jim Morrison – “Crystal Ship”

March 25, 2010 at 7:49 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

Before you slip into unconsciousness
I’d like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss
Another kiss, another kiss


The days are bright and filled with pain
Enclose me in your gentle rain
The time you ran was too insane
We’ll meet again, we’ll meet again
Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You’d rather cry, I’d rather fly
The crystal ship is being filled
A thousand girls, a thousand thrills
A million ways to spend your time
When we get back, I’ll drop a line.

 

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Jim Morrison – “The New Creatures”

February 19, 2010 at 6:59 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

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

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Jim Morrison – “Notebook Poems”

February 1, 2010 at 7:33 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

There are images I need to
create my own reality
~~~

Discovery
Angels & Sailors (rich girls)
Backyard fences, tents
dreams watching each other
narrowly
Soft luxuriant cars
Girls in garages
stripped, out to get
liquor & clothes
Half-gallons of wine
& six-packs of beer
Tender corral. Jumped.
Humped. Born to suffer.
Made to undress in
the wilderness.
~~~

-Hey man you want girls
Pills grass come-on
I show you good time
This place has everything
Come-on, I show you

Burlesque Beat

Can we resolve the past- lurking jaws
joints of Time- the base- to come
of age in a dry place- holes & caves

The music was new black polished
chrome & came over the summer
like liquid night- the D.J.’s
Took pills to stay awake & play
for 7 days.

The General’s son had a sister.
They went down to see him.
They went to the studio & someone
knew him. Someone knew
the T.V. Showman.

He came to our home room party &
played records & when he left,
in the hot noon sun, & walked
to his car, we saw the Chooks
had written F-U-C-K on his
windshield. He wiped it off
w/a white rag & smiling cooly,
drove away.

“He’s rich. Got a big car.”

My friend drove an hour each day
from the Mts. The bus gives
you a hard-on w/books in your
lap. We shot the bird at the
black M.P.

My gang will get you. Scenes
of rape in the arroyo. Seductions
in cars, abandoned buildings.
Fights at the food stand.
The dust. The Shoes
Opened shirts & raised collars.
Bright sculptured hair.
Spades dance best, from the hip.

Someone shot the bird on the
afternoon dance show. They gave
out free records to the best
couple.
~~~

Always a playground instructor,
never a killer. Always a bridesmaid
on the verge of fame, or over,
he maneuvered 2 girls into his
hotel room. One, a friend,
and a newer stranger, vaguely
Mexican or Puerto Rican.

Poor boy’s thighs & buttocks, scarred
by a father’s belt. She’s trying
to rise. Story of her boyfriend
& teen-age stone death games.
Handsome cat, dead in a car.

Come here
I love you.
Peace on earth
Will you die for me
eat me
this way
the end

-I’m surprised you could get it up.
He whips her lightly, sardonically
w/belt.
-Haven’t I been thru enough? she asks.

The dark girl begins to bleed.
It’s Catholic heaven. I have an
ancient Indian crucifix around
my neck. My chest is hard
& brown. Lying on stained &
wretched sheets w/a bleeding Virgin.
We could plan a murder, or
Start a religion.
~~~

I want to tell you
about
Texas Radio & the Big Beat

it comes out of the Virgin Swamps
cool & slow
w/plenty of precision
& a back beat narrow
& hard to master
some call it heavenly
in its brilliance
others mean & rueful
of the Western dream

I love the friends I have
gathered together
On this thin raft
we have constructed pyramids
in honor of our escaping
This is the land where
The pharaoh died-
Children
The river contains specimens
The voices of singing women
call us on the far shore

& they are saying
“Forget the Night
live w/us in Forests
of azure”  (meager food for
souls forgot)

I tell you this;
no eternal reward will
forgive us now for
wasting the dawn

One morning you awoke
& the strange sun
& opening your door…
~~~

“Now listen to this:
I’ll tell you about
Texas Radio & the Big Beat
Soft driven slow & mad
like some new language

Reaching your head
w/the cold & sudden fury
of a divine messenger
Let me tell you about
heartache & the loss
of God
Wandering, wandering
in hopeless night

The negroes in the forest
brightly feathered
let me show you the maiden
w/wrought-iron soul
Out here on the perimeter
there are no stars
Out here we is stoned
immaculate”
~~~

Time works like acid
Stained eyes
You see time fly

The face changes as the heart beats
& breathes

We are not constant
We are an arrow in flight
The sum of the angles of change

Her face changed in the car
eyes & skin & hair remain
the same. But a hundred similar
girls succeed each other.
~~~

The sidewalkers moved faster
We joined the current. Suddenly
the cops, plastic shields & visors,
wielding long thin truncheons
like wands, in formation,
clearing the street the other way.
To get near or stay away.
Cafes were taking in tables
putting chairs on upside
down, pulling the steel playpen
safety bars. Whistles as
the vans arrive. Moustached
soldiers. We leave the scene.
Eyes of youth, wary, gleaming.
The church. A pastoral scene
of guitars, drums, flutes,
harps, & lovers. Past
Shakespeare & Co., the restaurants
w/elegant patrons, cross
street, the small Jazz
district (Story Ville) a
miniature New Orleans.
Negroes in African shirts.
A street brass band.
“Fare well to my web footed friends”
Crowd smiles, jogs, & sings.
Move past. San Michel Blvd.
The Statue. The Seine. Bonfires
of cardboard buzz evilly,
down the blvd. Fire-tenders.
Smell of smoke. Approach closer
nearer. Suddenly screams
long warhoops & the crowd runs
back. And as we flee,
they attack from behind.
Pressed against cafe tables.
Subway & news Kiosk- A
girl beaten, her cries. Can’t
hear blows. Rain. (Man w/bottle)
Join me at the demonstraion

We join groups under trees
& rain. Tall public buildings.

Join us at the demonstration.
~~~

Dreams are at once fruit & outcry
against an atrophy of the senses.

Dreaming is not solution.
~~~

We awoke, talking. Telling dreams.
an explosion during the night

A new siren. Not cop, Fire,
New York ambulance or european
movie riot news but the strange
siren predicting war. She ran
to the window. The yellow thing
had risen.
~~~

Fear is a porch where winds
slide thru in the North
A face at the Window that
becomes a leaf
An eagle sensing its disaster
But soaring gracefully above
A rabbit shining in the night
~~~

Still wet from a strange dream
dawn burst
scarring the chamber’s
roof where all things lie

I sat w/her & sipped cold sherry

Airport.

(Caesura = ante-room to hell)
~~~

Start again: Should the events of those
days…Dream of incest & expulsion
from the tribe. Big Sister. It’s called
the clap. Get on over here, mother-of-pearl.
I was a virgin. It lasted 10 seconds.
Well don’t then. “I can’t relax.” Roll the
leather  pants up tightly for the morrow
hour.
They deserted me, deserted the cause, message
or word for another god. “We’re kicking
you out of our universe!” He ask’d for you.
I’ll bet he did.
~~~

Mystery of the dream
a woman or girl is trying
to appear

The Killer-Mexican, naked
except for shoes.

People, a family not connected
move at hypnotic cross lines
out of still frame

2 men, detectives, following
searching, sifting thru
back & side lit rooms, holding
muted counsel. Hats, suits.
Brothers.

People in a wood, a park.
The Killer lurks in his
own world.

dreams of children & families
return to the sub-world
to assimilate & guide events

New Orleans, sleep, (death’s
friend, death’s sister)
cattle, horses
faces get rubbery, clown-painted,
stupid sly & wise & knowing

The mystery of flight
To be inside the brain of a bird
goal-the end of a goddess
to slide gracefully &
knowledgeably into graveland
The Big Dream
vs
Violent assassination of
Spirit & neck & skull
wounded he arrived
~~~

The dark American Sunset
The night like a vast
conspiracy to dream, hold
court in the swaying sand

Tijuana-the anus of Night
a cartoon of civilization
Whores are bores in the
American Night

What will we see in the
bowels of the night, in
The frosted cave where dreams
are made, right before your
eyes. Prophecy w/out money.

This song must have the sad
common strangeness of currency
coin of the realm. Bitter
embers. Scent of pine smoke
Fire-Night, special breeding
exercises. An excuse for
crime. High School of the
Night. Silence of a school
at night.
~~~

Acid dreams & Spanish Queens
L’America (another?, lone?, voice)
Asthma child, the fumidor
Lamerica
Duchess, rabbit, the woods by the road
Lamerica
Pearl Harbor-Shot of the road
Lamerica
Conceived in a beach Town
Lamerica
Relevance of beach or Lakes
Lamerica
Sinks, snakes, caves w/water
Florida
Homo/-sex/uality
Lamerica
Religion & the Family
Lamerica
Plane crash in the Eastern Woods
Virginia
Bailing-out over rice-fields
Lamerica
Guerrilla band inside the town
Lamerica
Bitter tree of consciousness
Lamerica
A fast car in the night-the road
Lamerica
Progress of The Good Disease
Lamerica
~~~

Those indians, dreams, &
the cosmic spinal bebop in blue.
The cosmic horrors. The cosmic
heebeejeebies. A combo of brain
tissue, blood, shit, sweat
sperm & steel, mixed w/grease
& liquid fire, ovaric calendars
Magnified on inner
Television lust-face, mirrors
into Nothing, great silence
opens layers of prehistoric
chinese monsters. The mouths,
the mouths, the cellular MAW.
A young Witch from
N.Y. is laying novice hexes
on my brain-pan, projecting
images of embryo development
on my psychology.

Her terrified wildness
disturbs my generals.
Baby, now I dig your
nightmare visions, & your
sadness & your bitchery

But, yet, thank you for
These spells. It gets
my pen moving.

The screaming maggot
group-grope called life.

It’s time for the desert wild.

Lust capital.

Time for an island, get
drunk, write & sail.

“I saw the Hell of women
back there.”

Women are obsolete

“Little Wine-dig that girl”

We placate women w/
food & song
w/sex, marriage, babies

You dig kids, Jim

Yeah, some of them are nice

I like your wife

Democracy of souls
~~~

The guided tour
“I am a guide to the labyrinth”

city is inside of body made manifest
meat organs & electrical
power plants

The place where, walking down
death-row (“You look like you’re”),
maps – AMERICUS – a river-vein
we ride along.

give form to the passing world

Freeways are a drama, a new
art form. Signs. Houses.
Faces. Loud gabble of Blacks
at a bus-stop.
~~~

car cemetery
The abandoned cars
The color of car paint, new at night
under neon
The dead reside in cars
-the old man, filthy,
keeper of the graveyard
Children, curious, throw stones
~~~

please like me
says the shrew
what can I do?
I love her.
~~~

Woman’s voice:
The palace of sperm seems warm tonight

Man:
Umm. gloom gloom doom ruin.

Woman:
Marble porches. The grand ball room.
Silver smiles. Trumpets. Dancing

Man
I want only you

Woman
This time come in me like an astronaut
Send snakes in my orbit

Man
We can accomplish miracles
when we’re together.

Woman
Alone

Man
w/the night to guide us
~~~

Don’t start that panic
Love Street parade

No one’s afraid of the law

Someone escaped
To the shore

Your image of me / my image of you
in
one-night scenes
out on the coast

Won’t work anymore

Soft parade
Love Street brigade
~~~

I bring these few rags
back home this evening
& lay them at your feet
Miserable witness
to a day of tragic
sadness & disbelief
Hope you’ll find me wanting
Take me to bed
Get me drunk (lay me out)
~~~

The bride-to-be lies in her bed
listening to
Festivities below
He steals her-in a dream
~~~

Star fish gluttony
What are the word-forms
for co(s)mic encounter
wedding flesh & mind
in one body
~~~

Tender island Night
And a promise of fever
& scars that burst
at blossom depths
& more green silver

Us wrestling in the warm temple of summer
beside the temple
cool inside
-He took my hand.
He spoke to me-

Black horse hooves galloping sun
mad chariot race burning
mad fiery chariot race
mad girl & mad boy
My feathered son flew
too near to the sun.
~~~

a moving
or movement
away from
a station

(weigh station)

Sound of lone car & low radio

A waving (good-bye to relations)
a way from
a waving
a motion

amazement
a moment
amazing
a waving

(call radio breaks in)

Uh, we have a message
brak brak
~~~

He follows a woman into the firmament
The solids, sonnets
elaborate requisitions for the god-soul

ah my bright jewelled town
a Widow’s band
roping sailors & hill-folk together
congeal on this flat spire
to partake of mineral jets
“he’s sick” he should be sleeping
peaceful by air, a movie of dead nights
in a wound, suffer to give out
your red-blue lighter’s flame
w/calm precision
your certainty lives in a match
or a mind
The huts are free evening cliff-dwellers
The trees, losing their variance, die sadly
w/grandeur
O soft redness & palest blue
like a babie’s window
This is the hour you rule
& invite Ventures, quests,
trips to the electric valley down
~~~

“Mana Man”

He gets them into the dark hour
By playing singing stories hypnosis
wilderness     the island
Led out of bondage     (back there)
Viciously peeling fruit

Disguised as “Players”
command Performance

See-thru village
old hot forest of cars

cruel ambience
Leopard snake dance

swift lions of doubt
crouch in the window
& wait
for her to come
~~~

do you have
straight jackets
for the guests
yes we do
~~~

When the still sea conspires an armor
And her sullen and aborted
Currents breed tiny monsters,
True sailing is dead.

Awkward instant
And the first animal is jettisoned,
Legs furiously pumping
Their stiff green gallop,
And heads bob up
Poise
Delicate
Pause
Consent
In mute nostril agony
Carefully refined
And sealed over
~~~

The original temptation was to destroy.
The Cliffs. The Road. The Walls.
Original heroism-to bluff the elements
of fire. To call creatures into the storm.
The original heroism was to fall. To ball.
The All. Natural man.

To participate in the creation.
To screw things up. To bring Things
into being.

The Crossroads where the car hides.
Lies. Resides. A meeting-place
of Worlds. Where dreams are made.
Where anything is possible. Demons
lie.

The car is steel & chrome. The wood-pile.
Top of the pile. The heap. The graveyard.
Where metal is reduced to its common
mute element. To be reborn. A tale
of rebirth in the wilderness. To become
chaos & come back.

2 spade chicks, or a king & queen,
comment from the balcony.

The types of society pass on the boards.
Microcosm in a thimble.
~~~

times change, damaged
cat’s blood rectify in haste
cactus furrows, wild
thrift catalog of grace

The chase bore inward
raise’d wet & westward shadows
To the strange trust
on the south bow

Augment pure shouter’s drawl
& light the candle
Night is comin’ on
& we’re outnumbered

By the waves, each soldier
bristling w/his trowel
To search & claim us
Teach our burial

The mind works wonders
for a spell, the lantern breathes
enlightens, then farewell

Each shipmate oars to under-
stand & eyes unoptic strains
to hear:

We came from over here,
to over there

Then told we wonder
mindless to degree
Most seldom furls
begins a century
~~~

Planes are groaning mothers
In our feeble insect wars.

Nylon condoms stream behind her Trojan
Warriors on their dreadful writhing flight.

Bailed out, sucked
from her metal belly,
one thin wire is left to prophesy return,
jump freely.

Swallowing air in the brief canal.
The ground leaps up like dogs
to snap, the field, & rolling pain.

Swamps, rice fields, danger.
Gunned down, over ten of them
struggling w/the wet placenta

While some land back in oceans.
Skin-divers float, free-float,
in the uterus.

The sea is a Vagina which
may be penetrated at any point.
~~~

Ah, the rule was war, as friendship
faltered. Families quarrelled, as usual,
in their chambers. The race suffered.
We traveled. We left home & beauty.
Ah, into these ships, again, we hastened.
The creation of power is slow-wasted.
Borrowed fillings. Brace for the brine.
Heaven kept, hour dated. Winds fermented
madness & kept parlour rife & rancid.

Crews took leave of sour concubines
& habits. The sea is no place for a lady.
Lads larked & frolicked, pulvering waves
they would seek into the deep.
Ark! Ark!
Cathay or Venice. Worlds beyond, &
Worlds after.

This story has no moral.
Trust not sleep or sorrow.
The fife-man croons the lull to wake
& Brings strong soldiers to a windy beach
~~~

India ink, ink of India
There are no more rich colors
Black neon, blocks away,
Escapes back smooth
in the desert sea.

There’s an appearance of sweat
on Italian silk skin.
Slap the rude face, & twist
into the doorway.

Then reappear, w/drums & glass
in jewels of laughter as one
called “The Gladiator”,
Hair claimed by flame of fire.

(Insulting to be back.
The dreaded, dismal day.)

Jail is a pussy coil,
dry as meat, dog-faced,
clever.

(Handsome dog & the shot gun eye.)

We leap the wall, dog & I,
To hang choking on fence collar chain.
Mate follows leap to suffer
String-throat, hollow, madness cry.

(In this “hollow” we were born.)

Mexican Khaki, the green womb.
Distrust all lovely words like green & womb.

(Obey the father.
Run.)

Escape back into the landscape,
dry as meat, dusty, narrow.

Dog licks shit
Mexican girl whore sucks my prick.

(Open windows on the town.
Open pores on foreign air.)

The car rasps quiet.
Motor destroys itself on rotten fuel.
The pump is ill.
The hose has a steel nozzle.
~~~

Flesh of her rolls flesh away
in waves, The waters part
dry scalps beneath the hair
nude-white & very rare

And when she exits bed, the barge
To bathe in ocean’s tile & under
surgeon’s glare, blinking
I bask on the red floor of a Red Sea

Crime begins in the bed, the home,
It’s a low tide that talks
to rocks, & leaves
rust in its wake, & dry things crackling.
~~~

I fucked the dregs of the ruins
of an empire
I fucked the dust and the
horrible queen
I fucked the chick at the
gates of the Maya
I fucked all your women
& treated the same
w/respect for your warriors
returned from the
Kingdom
fucked w/the Negroes
in cabs of the drivers
Fucked little infants of North
Indo-China
Branded w/Napalm & screaming
in pain
~~~

pencilled heaven
my regards
no when to stop
~~~

There’s someone at the door.
A rapist rushes in.
No pain. No death.

It’s us, over & over again.

We’re coming in.
All right, search the place.
You won’t find anything.

Seeing all perspectives at once.

When everything freezes
& kind of turns back
in on itself.
~~~

feast green beast, spurred on by
sex, seasoned in silence, w/held
from slumber, silent in the deep pale
night beast lanquid a cool a cunt
a forest flower awoken now breathe
utter a word of reproach for fair
swifty flyers agon of night
The dream car the outlaw star
now he sits reclines in a terrible mansion
made more monstrous by the dark stroke
of slumber

The car is a purple foil beast dead in the
night. Neon is its sign his rich home
soft luxuriant car death gave grace
shaken to the soil  He stood in a strange
centre by the meeting pt. of worlds
This crossroads of desert flies the
corpse of sand batteries the ignition
What did happen! He screams at camera
Here she lie bleeding, blue wounds
just to tell us in our floppy hats
it’s over. The cops are rubber animals
w/surgeons cold pride, w/out their
glamour. The ambulance attendants
are sudden amateurs, good-natured in
this foreign chore. The cliffs no longer
contain faces. “I know what jail is
like” & “I know about time”.

So we played the carnival. Car. Carne.
Feast of meat. Celebration of blood.

O lucky ones who enjoy the dumb show

The reptile farm. The snake farm.
Woman & Monkey. The sign. The sign.

Search for the Tree. The place. The sink
Big Dismal

Goes in 2 ways. Spirit & meat. (sex)
You cannot join what can’t be joined
You cannot travel 2 roads
(He road off in all directions)

Hand Grenade
~~~

Very brave
all the rage
to tempt loneliness
upon Front page
gold head lines
w/Ali Khan & all the rest
Onassis, Blues
BB Albert Collins
gin & tonic
give him a high martin i
get him down
the prancing clown
will bring the empire
swooping swirling
Tunnelling Thundering Tumbling
hell, O, down

(That’s as down as I can
get right now, on a
Mainstream, & I am pretty
high, far gone)

Thank god I have the
Sweet warm promise of
a woman there to keep
me warm

So this is where my fine warm
poetry (pottery) has got
me,
led me
back to Madness
& the men who made me
~~~

You think I don’t know that!

your poetry is so obsessed
I like my madmen cold

The abandoned Hotel
flowers dirt on its walls
The labyrinth of bowels
Moves slowly in grim waste
Children play here, wait
& sway here, tiring to her
swoon arched summer
and languid by the bow
Sits Esther, made up
like a queen, port in
a storm, striking fire-bells
in her drawers, chalking
the black street w/wild lies
~~~

O how could this be done to me
great dancer’s Witness
God, you are a satyr in disguise
Thus cruelly & uselessly to
Rend my life awry
I’ll lie here stolen, in cold wind
in the road, until peace freezes
over,
& hallows me.
Rude ghost bastard.
Ah! Who comes now.
~~~

an afternoon of summer
dread
I’m afraid to meet all
the rest of my brothers
in distress
Couldn’t we get in one
big Movie
Blow it all on one
Grand Floozie
& end it all
YAH
YEAH
an autograph sends respects
to her Twin

everyone wants a Christ
& no one will give it to him
Mohammed, the enchanter
Keeper of Harems

Buddha, inkindergardened
under his tree, w/
not a moon-glow,
mindless Thought for you
& me

(This does not mean I want
or wish to be prey to people
God forbid)

& look at the steeple
a mindless wit am I
dickless, looking at the sky
~~~

a hole in the clouds
where a mind hides
Pagodas-temples

in child’s raw hope

animal in a tunnel
defined by the light
around him

These evil subsidies
these shrouds
surround
~~~

If it’s no problem, why mention it.
Everything spoken means that,
it’s opposite, & everything else.
I’m alive, I’m dying.
~~~

The end of the rainbow

put all my screaming phantasies
into one giant
Box-trap

image of self-image-propagation
image of elation

Ungulation
limit 1st tree

image of Utopia
a slaughter of phantoms

innocent-guilty

The Human World
bounded by words
& dust

sweet soft & velvet
dust

medium trust
~~~

Heaven or Hell the circus
of your actions

To Play
(chance is god here)
at Carnival

assuage the guilt
The deep fear

The separate loneliness

open Sinygog
open sesame

The Party of new connection
mind made free
Love cannot save you
from your own fate

Art cannot soothe
Words cannot tame
The Night
~~~

Scour the mind w/diamond
brushes. Cleanse into Mandalas.
Memory keeps us wicked & warm.
The Time temple. Who’ll go 1st?
Cloaked figures huddled by walls.
A head moves clocklike slowly.
I’m coming. Wait for me.
~~~

Lessons on becoming
a revolutionary
an actor
(a prophet!)
or a poet

There’s still good friends
to assist & relieve you
Mercenary whim
for her or for him

First become a
Visionary-Scientist
radiocal biochemical
aviationary sky-diver
Then contact your local pub-
lic accountant (he’ll tell you
how to spread the seeds of doubt)
~~~

Maids are bickering in the hall
The day is warm
Last night’s perfume
I lie alone in this
cool room

My mind is calm & swirling
like the marble pages of an
old book

I’m a cold clean skeleton
scarecrow on a hill
in April
Wind eases the arches
of my boney Kingdom
Wind whistles thru my mind
& soul
My life is an open book
or a T.V. confession
~~~

I wish a storm would
come & blow this shit
away. Or a bomb to
burn the Town & scour
the sea. I wish clean
death would come to me.
~~~

If only I
could feel
The sound
of the sparrows
& feel child hood
pulling me
back again

If only I could feel
me pulling back
again
& feel embraced
by reality
again
I would die
Gladly die
~~~

It has been said that
on birth we are trying
to find a proper womb
for the growth of our
Buddha nature, & that
on dying we find a
womb in the tomb of the
earth. This is my
father’s greatest
fear. It shouldn’t be.
Instead, he should
be trying to find me
a better tomb.
~~~

The end of the dream
will be when it
matters

all things lie
Buddha will forgive me
Buddha will
~~~

-The cycle begins anew

a luring lulling sick-sad maddening
haunting ego-familiar strain
calls the wayward wanderer
home again

a music mosaic made of all image
tunes preceeding

The whistle or warm woman’s cry that
calls the child home from play
~~~

Thank you, O 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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The Doors – “The Doors” (1967) – “Strange Days” (1967) – “Waiting for the Sun” (1968)

January 13, 2010 at 7:17 am (Jim Morrison, Music, Reviews & Articles)

An International Times review from Sept. 6, 1968 by Miles discussing the first 3 Doors albums…


The Doors are one of the finest groups in the world! Shall I remind you? The words — all by the Doors — say more than a thousand underground papers.

The music – listen to their three albums. The first notes we ever heard from the Doors were the ‘Tequila’-like chords opening ‘Break on Through (To the other Side)’ when at once their technique of building tension, bursting through and then climaxing again in a new way soon after, became apparent. Very natural, like breathing.

The openings usually reflect the Rock intros of the late 50’s, but instead of simple 12-bar repetition they change the music at once: feeling, time, tempo, all in flux. Listen to the beautiful guitar solo on ‘Break on Through’ from Robby Krieger, just tinged with nostalgia. And the full backing like huge ripe full grapes bouncing into the cask, each note a complex chord, each with a subtle difference, the seemingly similar notes filled with the complexities of Tintoretto’s deep shadows, strange patterns becoming more apparent. Highlights glisten and bounce off the ochre syllables of Jim Morrison.

The only song they didn’t write on this side was ‘The Whisky Song’ by Weill/Brecht. Their range is enormous, their sound reaches through the beer-taverns of Germany with a thundering beat, whispering the deep-green pines and old stones of the valley’s and encompasses this song with a familiarity and ease of genius.

The 6 1/2-minutes epic ‘Light My Fire’ – driving, whining, wailing guitar – asteroids speaking by laser in deep space – the ‘Voice of the Spheres’. Ray Manzarek dances either side of the beat like a mountain deer at full speed towards the lone pine. A fugue perhaps? Very religious somehow – soaring into Gothic spires with a heavy heavy beat behind: explosions, rolls, stucato, bombs, cross-rhythms, simultaneous time-mix, John Densmore gives him everything, the church shakes and the Holy Ghost guitar beams in like a searchlight through Chartres-rose windows bathing the whole scene in magic white light. Like God, never ending, this number goes on – a ubiquitous presence in other, later, records and in other artists’ music. THE rock and roll number of the new age of enlightenment!

‘The End’ with its Raga intro – delineating the armature, the structure to build on. In comes the drifting, trance-like guitar over an echoing, deeper and deeper backing, gaining ever ever in size – a hall, an amphitheatre, a giant granite structure, a country. In the middle the insistent prophet, speaking the words piercing home like darts into Saint Sebastian wobbling level of consciousness. It is obviously right, the figures in the vast black shadows sway in agreement. What is he saying? The words can’t be THAT direct – about killing father and mother? The message of the Underground (Freudian/symbolic) spelt out in controlled-hysteric-controlled calls. Calls are TO somebody, from Jim Morrison. Clip-plonk driving music taking the kids away – leaving their draft-card ashes and underwear – never the same again, can’t go back to the suburbs. It’s amazing, the power of an 11 1/2 minute track!

Then came Strange Days with the best cover of 1967 and Jim Morrison’s shout electronically repeated, carried electrically up and out, of hearing register – and the next one? Was that him or the remembered echo of the machine?

The gentle slow clear guitar intro to ‘You’re Lost Little Girl’ with its unobtrusive arrangements. The clean solo from Robby is from a high Tibetan pass, the free mind swooping among crags and shortens. Krieger is a Yellow-Hat and on the next track he is rocking along in an R & B tempo on ‘Love Me Two Times’. He backs Ray Manzarek’s harpsichord-like solo in which a new time dimension jumps in and his pulsing inner-beat (Fundamental experience – personal brain/soul rhythm) dictates his fingers superimposed over the beat. The daring of his fondling with time turns Bartok over wet.

Remember Jim’s vocal on ‘Moonlight Drive’? Up-beat driving Presley phrasing with uh-huh’s and ugh’s. The electric music of the sixties, the last third of the 20th century and we are going out in style! Not parody like Zappa, more tribute, like Picasso to Velazquez or Manet to Giorgione.

‘My Eyes Have Seen You’ – built-up built-up repeat “move upstairs, move upstairs”, the guitar bursts through: melodic, beautiful “gazing on a city under television skies”. The meticulous structure built up for ‘The Music’s Over’, the use of silence, no useless notes here, every word clear and true – they want you to hear them: “the scream of the butterfly”.

Now another disc: Waiting for the Sun. They’ve been listening to “The USA” that scratching insistant buzzing! A drastic simplification in style. When a space occurs it is left empty but for thoughts.

Clear voices say what they have to say, no phasing or echoes. Fine-edged editing on ‘Not to Touch the Earth’ – they speed up, the buzz becomes a hard bop tenor sax, but only for three bars, huge shortlived 10 finger organ chords. The musical grid shifts, the electronic sound betrays a mid-European waltz on ‘Wintertime Love’ or even opera in Venice but… the grid shifts and moves on. Chain gang call and response (was it Cannonball Adderley who?) No. Here’s what they are saying – the spoken thoughts of Jim Morrison over high-soloing Robby and a dirge-bass chanting. ‘Five to One’ – “They’ve Got The Guns But We’ve Got The Numbers, Come On Baby, We’re Taking Over….. Goin’ a Make It Baby, In Our Prime”. Thus we have the Doors with us.

“The Music Is Your Special Friend,
Dance On Fire As It Intends,
Music Is Your Only Friend,
Until The End,
Until The End,
Until The END!”

Miles

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Jim Morrison – “Whiskey, Mystics and Men”

January 5, 2010 at 6:54 pm (Jim Morrison, Poetry & Literature)

Well, I’ll tell you a story
of whiskey and mystics and men,
And about the believers and
how the whole thing began.
First there were women and
children obeying the moon,
Then daylight brought wisdom
and fever and sickness CONSUMED.
You can try to remind me
instead of the other, you can.
You can help to insure
that we all insecure our command.
If you don’t give a listen,
I won’t try to tell your new hand.
This is it; can’t you see
that we all have our ends in the band.

And if all of the teachers and
preachers of wealth were arraigned,
We could see quite a future
for me in the literal sands.
And if all the of people
could claime to inspect such regrets,
well, we’d have no forgiveness,
forgetfullness, faithful remorse.
So I tell you, I tell you,
I tell you we must send away.
We must try to find a
new answer instead of a way.

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