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Topics - Jim Morrison
Pages: 1
1
« on: June 08, 2016, 12:59:29 AM »
2
« on: June 08, 2016, 12:55:38 AM »
o 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 teh 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 dry blood beast
Guerrilla bands are rolling numbers
In the next block of green vine
Amassing for warfare on innocent
Herdsman 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
3
« on: December 02, 2015, 11:12:40 PM »
Love me two times, baby
Love me twice today
Love me two times, girl
I'm goin' away
Love me two times, girl
One for tomorrow
One just for today
Love me two times
I'm goin' away
Love me one time
I could not speak
Love me one time
Yeah, my knees got weak
But love me two times, girl
Last me all through the week
Love me two times
I'm goin' away
Love me two times
I'm goin' away
Oh, yes
Love me one time
I could not speak
Love me one time, baby
Yeah, my knees got weak
But love me two times, girl
Last me all through the week
Love me two times
I'm goin' away
Love me two times, babe
Love me twice today
Love me two times, babe
'Cause I'm goin' away
Love me two time, girl
One for tomorrow
One just for today
Love me two times
I'm goin' away
Love me two times
I'm goin' away
Love me two times
I'm goin' away
4
« on: July 04, 2015, 12:12:25 AM »
Fgts! Cowering in the dirt, thinking... what, I wonder? That you might escape the coming fire? No. Your forum will burn until its surface is but glass! And not even your Cheat will live to creep, blackened, from its hole to mar the reflection of our passage; the culmination of our Journey. For your destruction is the will of the Bnet! And I...I am their instrument!"
5
« on: June 06, 2015, 03:37:31 AM »
Those who approach the godly hour
will provoke and conquer
You need to let go of your past
Thoughts are like windows
A light that describes your soul.
Your sweet family of blood
Spilled over the floor
Shame and creed is your game
Mop bucket and a basket
is your only claim.
Rest on my shoulder
calm your thoughts
listen to the coming rain
take me by the hand
and I'll show you how to understand.
6
« on: May 12, 2015, 02:23:31 AM »
Love me christ today!
7
« on: May 08, 2015, 01:00:55 AM »
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 toward outskirts of city suburbs. At the edge discover zones of sophisticated vice and boredom, child prostitution. But in the grimy ring immediately surrounding the daylight business district exists the only real crowd life of our mound, the only street life, night life. Diseased specimens in dollar hotels, Iow 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
8
« on: February 07, 2015, 12:32:01 AM »
We will all drown in our sorrows,
No hope for tomorrow with Present
Being a waste of space, Blood
Runs deep in the wild streets of dawn.
You type your keys against a bleeding screen.
Hiding your Fears and Reality
Behind A Fragile Picture.
Get up and restart at the same time,
What's your life truly worth?
Are you alive or dead?
Have you lived the life you wanted?
Did you finally cease to come out of hiding?
Beneath those caves you've created,
Lies a dormant demon of pride and might.
Release him into the night,
Yet fold him at daylights fright.
You're beginning to grow wicked and Old.
Knowing that you have no stories to be told,
The Depression of the black greasly bear has taken hold,
Get up from your sickened clouds lost gruel.
Pimpled eye'd Man with a heart of cold
Machine is your lover, your only friend.
When you turn off, on it remains.
You're all beginning to see the other side,
Yet I'll spit on everyone single one of you
Because your all a lie.
9
« on: January 26, 2015, 08:42:01 PM »
Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful
comes death on a 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..
10
« on: January 25, 2015, 02:15:10 AM »
Well, show me the way
To the next whiskey bar
Oh, don't ask why
Oh, don't ask why
Show me the way
To the next whiskey bar
Oh, don't ask why
Oh, don't ask why
For if we don't find
The next whiskey bar
I tell you we must die
I tell you we must die
I tell you, I tell you
I tell you we must die
Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say goodbye
We've lost our good old mama
And must have whiskey, oh, you know why
Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say goodbye
We've lost our good old mama
And must have whiskey, oh, you know why
Well, show me the way
To the next little girl
Oh, don't ask why
Oh, don't ask why
Show me the way
To the next little girl
Oh, don't ask why
Oh, don't ask why
For if we don't find
The next little girl
I tell you we must die
I tell you we must die
I tell you, I tell you
I tell you we must die
Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say goodbye
We've lost our good old mama
And must have whiskey, oh, you know why
11
« on: January 23, 2015, 01:12:33 AM »
Sep7agon are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. Sep7agon talk about how great the forum is, but that’s bullshit. Love for forums hurts. Feelings are disturbing. Sep7agon are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. Sep7agon try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting Camnator destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.
12
« on: January 08, 2015, 02:33:12 AM »
This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend
The end of our elaborate plans
The end of ev'rything that stands
The end
No safety or surprise
The end
I'll never look into your eyes again
Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need of
some strangers hand
In a desperate land
Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain
There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the king's highway
Weird scenes inside the goldmine
Ride the highway West baby
Ride the snake
Ride the snake
To the lake
To the lake
The ancient lake baby
The snake is long
Seven miles
Ride the snake
He's old
And his skin is cold
The west is the best
The west is the best
Get here and we'll do the rest
The blue bus is calling us
The blue bus is calling us
Driver, where you taking us?
The killer awoke before dawn
He put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went into the room where his sister lived
And then he paid a visit to his brother
And then he walked on down the hall
And he came to a door
And he looked inside
Father?
Yes son
I want to kill you
Mother, I want to...
Come on, baby, take a chance with us
Come on, baby, take a chance with us
Come on, baby, take a chance with us
And meet me at the back of the blue bus
This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend
The end
It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me...
13
« on: December 17, 2014, 05:44:07 AM »
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 skid & slid
into dangerous curves.
Favorite corners.
Cheerleaders raped in summer
buildings.
Holding hands
& bopping towards 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
14
« on: December 14, 2014, 10:06:58 PM »
Our culture mocks "primitive cultures" and prides itself on suppression of natural instincts and impulses.
15
« on: December 12, 2014, 09:26:03 PM »
Lost in a Hangover wilderness of pain
And all the mods are insane
All the mods are insane
Waiting for the camnator rain
There's danger on the edge of Sep7agon
Ride the cheat king's highway
Weird scenes inside the Flood
Ride the Fox, West baby!
16
« on: December 12, 2014, 10:20:20 AM »
You know the day destroys the night,
17
« on: December 12, 2014, 08:32:48 AM »
I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown.
18
« on: December 12, 2014, 08:10:46 AM »
Of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.
19
« on: December 12, 2014, 03:32:48 AM »
Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind. Me and my mother and father, and a grandmother and a grandfather. were driving through the desert, at dawn, and a truck load of Indian workers had either hit another car, or just — I don't know what happened — but there were Indians scattered all over the highway, bleeding to death. So the car pulls up and stops. That was the first time I tasted fear. I musta' been about four — like a child is like a flower, his head is just floating in the breeze, man. The reaction I get now thinking about it, looking back — is that the souls of the ghosts of those dead Indians... maybe one or two of 'em... were just running around freaking out, and just leaped into my soul. And they're still there. 
20
« on: December 12, 2014, 03:16:41 AM »
Actually I don't remember being born, it must have happened during one of my black outs.
21
« on: December 12, 2014, 02:56:47 AM »
To your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free. Blake said that the body was the soul's prison unless the five senses are fully developed and open. He considered the senses the 'windows of the soul.' When sex involves all the senses intensely, it can be like a mystical experience. 
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