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 born yet and are you alive? ~ Jim Morrison
A great poet, who also admired Ginsberg among others, and a minstrel of the truth who loved instead of hated everyone, did not talk so much about the dark sins of those who sought to destroy him ~ As he chose to warn them through his melody and of his prose. Everyone loved the baby faced boy writer and yet this same world truly murdered him as much as if they had done it with their own two hands. The 60’s began with a shot, according to the film’s narrator, actor Johnnie Depp. The power of the youth of the day to use an attempted freedom to show and reveal the hypocrites of the prior culture much falacy seemed only to anger the reflected system and especially in the face of love.
While Jim Morrison of The Doors exhibited a high intelligence ~ It would take about ten years after his death until his own father ever even recognized this. And yet, even while other members of the band had prior classical music training, the amazing Jim Morrison took his raw talent and continually birthed it on a wing and a prayer. Like some others before him, no one came forth and offered to develop him. So he simply developed himself as he went along. He managed to derive his surety of therapy from drugs and alcohol ~ The only problem with the therapeutic treatment through the use of alcohol, that morphised as one remedy, Morrison felt the need a constant.
“People are strange when you’re a stranger.” Jim Morrison saw the cold hearted truth about the faces of the supposed caring and loving who as cold hearted as the day is long only pretend to love what is impossible not to. For anyone who ever walked through the hallway of a tower so dejected ~ While the happy twisted faces of others as if in a mirrored madhouse flutter past laughing. “Faces look ugly when you’re alone.” Denied even the physical stroke of a dark hug, Mr. Morrison knew the dejection of the evil and the heartless and lonely feeling inside, the one they felt the godless need to create, the one that never goes away. To alienate the more gentle and sensitive ones of this nation has seemed to be the goal from the onset of the European invasion of Indian land. And even those as dumb, only use a prop of their own stiff of a theater of religion refusing to fess up while their own secular deaf crowd watches a circus half dead.
This Jim saw that and as the more erotic politician revealed more about the need for people to love and care for and watch out for eachother than a dull church clique at high noon. And with alternate scenes that incarnate from his secret life while hitchiking or taking some more peaceful breaks from mankind between concerts ~ Even he found the benefit of laying on a hot rock while the warmth of the sun delivered him in hiding from the cruel punch to the side of the head. While meanwhile, several personae life legends known more specifically to intimate connoissuers of The Doors weave throughout the stunning documentary and the judgment of an even more guilty and albeit cruel establishment of society. Morrison in fact, knew all about the addiction of his country of birth to violence and cold unkindness.
Most original musical creators of Morrison’s day enjoyed a great sense of freedom and did not much worry about sweating the single composition of one earthly letter of prose. But others who searched daily for any sign of diversion from the path pounced on the one single thing they claimed wrong although right. They sought to destroy the beautiful vessel of creation they saw there, and as a Luciferion spirit drove them in their jealousy of all the emptiness and dried up lifelessness they are ~ They seemed to suck all of the life out of the beauty they wanted, and sought to throw it off to the side of the road as if a melted piece of nothing tire rubber. However, they never seemed to succeed at this, and the establishment of emptiness many of who are now in their own long graves of regret will suffer forever. Rejected and run out of town by the dull, the boring and themselves the lifeless and even more hiding sinful and deeply useless, bands like The Doors simply stayed on the road, and some thrown out of the abode instead of loved unconditionally even relocated to other countries to escape the real demons of the lying devils of this hype.
At the Whiskey A-Go-Go though, Morrison found some comfort, and while obeying the club rule of the day not to play anything mellow at The Whiskey, the amazing miracle of ‘Light My Fire’ emerges and with it begins a pattern of undeniable genious. Jim, a master of the improv, loved to do just that. His unpredicatable performance nuances so superb that his photogenic light, only clouded by a more judgmental establishment, he used all of the rejection of childhood to form an energy strong enough to help him fight the fight he needed to. He worked two worlds to one precious consumate advantage, and he rode the white horse of such melody out of town every time the darkness showed up. And he managed to do this nearly all the way up to the end of his life.
The band formed once the midday sunglitters of destiny with Ray Manzarek on a beach called Venice poured out on the surface of the tapped waters of the prior formed U.C.L.A. relationship between the two. It is also an interesting mystery that while Andy Warhol found himself caught up with the tender charisma of Jim that Jim’s own family failed to see his spawning success both as a writer and as a musical composer of sweet stage delights of which it is said during the film ~ “It carries the listener into the shadowy realm of dreams.”
Again, Morrison’s ability to overcome the stringent look of prune juice shock therapy spoke more of him than of the organized stiffs who tried to stop him. He certainly was to be considered for his ability to usher some through the door to the other side of the other depth. The police who some called to stop his amazing performances struggled through with their endemic hatred for another performer whose gyst they failed to understand as well. Always looking for a better shelter and a safe refuge, lyrics like Let Me Sleep All Night In Your Soul Kitchen produced a more stated affirmation than a question asking for the thing. That of comedian Lenny Bruce, whose also radical First Amendment battle with a group of blind protaganists who only wanted to reiterate or prove as needed all over again, the American right to exercise the given and constitutional rite of the freedom of expression irritated both artists in a way both similar and comparative.
The evil avenue of the continual and needless threats against the intelligence of the highly expressive writer only pushed him to a deeper rebellion. His need to write what he wanted and perform live art as expressed from the most direct inner core of the writer’s soul should not have affected the should and the should nots the way it did. It definitely should not have evoked the need of the prune juice theorists to literally as it was throw him, the starstruck writer of all times out into the marred city streets ~ But from a better point of view, the establishment who committed the crime, and barring him from a higher reconcilliation stand guiltier than the former. Although their low and evil intent quite clear by now, actually did him the much greater favor. As he was able to flee from the group of Frankentstein mashing farmers with hooks and pointed rakes and wantingly pounding shovels, he finally left this country and had a brief period of peace returning to the production of his poetic works. With a qualifying exile, the second time of their established and great rejection of him would bring their suffering and no longer and ever again the writer’s.
The legend that surrounded Jim Morrison and his life ~ While he did many things to enjoy life and stay away in more peaceful places of the earth even just to stay alive and survive, his insight and beauty lives on forever.Of course, to Morrison and the band, the unchemically drugged establishment failed to realize how hilliariously absurd the serious construct of a meaningless self-made order seemed. And as Depp points out during the brilliant documentary ~ Morrison, a most brilliant self-promo agent of all times, set up all of his own concert rituals and worked hard to create his own image on his own.
~ Our fingers, we play minuettes, speaking secret alphabets. Learn to forget. One place left to go. Let me sleep all night in your soul kitchen, stumbling in the neon. I really want to stay here all night, all night. (Soul Kitchen) ~ Jim Morrison
This 2009 Tom DiCillo written and directed documentary film compiles a beautiful score of a more real insight into not so much the man, but more the person of Jim Morrison, The Lizard King. While Morrison composed lyrics and poetically so and reached into the inner depths of a creative liason with his other band members, his strong and untamed personae actually helped him to preach to thousands what the clone of hiding masses refused to do. He often spoke of his obvious knowledge of the politics and against the socialism of his day through evoking concert audiences to stop and think and do something about the state of the country, to take action and make change. Rated R.