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PART I
JAMES DOUGLAS MORRISON
THE DOORS

Celebration of the Lizard

Lions in the street and 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 and disorder
Back there over his shoulder.

One morning he awoke in a green hotel
With a strange creature groaning beside him.
Sweat oozed from its shiny skin.

Is everybody in?
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.

Now, run to the mirror in the bathroom,
Look!
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 into 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.

Way back deep into the brain
And over the heads of al of us
Back where there's never any pain.
And the rain falls gently on the town.
And in the labyrinth of streams
Beneath, the quiet unearthly presence of
Nervous hill dwellers in the gentle hill around,
Reptiles abounding
Fossils, caves, cool air heights.

Each house repeats a mold
Windows rolled
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.

(siren)

(Don't stop to speak or look around
Your gloves & 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

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

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
C'mon along, we're not going very far
To the East to meet the Czar.

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

Sun, sun, sun
Burn, burn, burn
Soon, soon, soon
Moon, moon, moon,
I will get you
Soon!
Soon!
Soon!

(scream)
Let the carnival bells ring
Let the serpent sing
Let everything

(bells)
(Fade
Desert night
Voices of the fire)
We came down
The rivers & highways
We came down from
Forests & falls

We came down from
Carson & Springfield
We came down from
Phoenix enthralled
& 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

(Sounds of fire, whistles, rattlesnakes, castanets)

'I am the Lizard King
I can do anything
I can make the earth stop in its tracks
I made the blue cars go away

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, & the strong, & the wise.

Brothers & sisters of the pale forest
O Children of Night
Who among you will run with the hunt?

(Cries of accent)

Now Night arrives with her purple legion.
Retire now to your tents & to your dreams.
Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth.
I want to be ready.'

(Music. Fade. End.)


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 with 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


The Lords.
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 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, 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 whore'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, Frennh, 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 permutations.
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 infant'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 nocturnal 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. Especially 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.
Copyright ї 1969-1970 by James Douglas Morrison
LYRICS
Break On Through (To The Other Side)
You know the day destroys the night

Night divides the day

Tried to run

Tried to hide

Break on through to the other side

Break on through to the other side

Break on through to the other side

We chased our pleasures here

Dug our treasures there

But can you still recall

The time we cried?

Break on through to the other side

Break on through to the other side

Yeah!

C'mon, yeah

Everybody loves my baby

Everybody loves my baby

She gets

She gets

She gets

She get high

I found an island in your arms

A country in your eyes

Arms that chained us

Eyes that lied

Break on through to the other side

Break on through to the other side

Break on through, oww!

Oh, yeah!

Made the scene from week to week

Day to day

Hour to hour

The gate is straight

Deep and wide

Break on through to the other side

Break on through to the other side

Break on through

Break on through

Break on through

Break on through


Light My Fire
You know that it would be untrue

You know that I would be a liar

If I was to say to you

Girl, we couldn't get much higher

Come on baby, light my fire

Come on baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire

The time to hesitate is through

No time to wallow in the mire

Try now we can only lose

And our love become a funeral pyre

Come on baby, light my fire

Come on baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire, yeah

The time to hesitate is through

No time to wallow in the mire

Try now we can only lose

And our love become a funeral pyre

Come on baby, light my fire

Come on baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire, yeah

You know that it would be untrue

You know that I would be a liar

If I was to say to you

Girl, we couldn't get much higher

Come on baby, light my fire

Come on baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire

Try to set the night on fire


The End
This is the end

Beautiful friend

This is the end

My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end

Of everything 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...stranger's 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, yeah

There's danger on the edge of town

Ride the King's highway, baby

Weird scenes inside the gold mine

Ride the highway west, baby

Ride the snake, ride the snake

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 callin' us

The blue bus is callin' us

Driver, where you takin' 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

He walked on down the hall, and

And he came to a door...and he looked inside

Father? Yes son? I want to kill you

Mother...I want to...

C'mon, baby, take a chance with us

C'mon, baby, take a chance with us

And meet me at the back of the blue bus

Doin' a blue rock

On a blue bus

Doin' a blue rock

C'mon, yeah

Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill

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

The end of laughter and soft lies

The end of nights we tried to die

This is the end .
People Are Strange
People are strange when you're a stranger

Faces look ugly when you're alone

Women seem wicked when you're unwanted

Streets are uneven when you're down

When you're strange

Faces come out of the rain

When you're strange

No one remembers your name

When you're strange


The Unknown Soldier
Wait until the war is over

And we're both a little older

The unknown soldier

Breakfast where the news is read

Television children fed

Unborn living, living, dead

Bullet strikes the helmet's head

And it's all over

For the unknown soldier

It's all over

For the unknown soldier

Hut

Hut

Hut ho hee up

Comp'nee

Halt

Preeee-zent!

Arms!

Make a grave for the unknown soldier

Nestled in your hollow shoulder

The unknown soldier

Breakfast where the news is read

Television children fed

Bullet strikes the helmet's head

And, it's all over

The war is over

It's all over

The war is over

Well, all over, baby

All over, baby

Oh, over, yeah


Wild Child
All right

Wild child full of grace

Savior of the human race

Your cool face

Natural child, terrible child

Not your mother's or your father's child

Your our child, screamin' wild

An ancient rulage of grains

And the trees of the night


With hunger at her heels

Freedom in her eyes

She dances on her knees

Pirate prince at her side

Stirrin' into a hollow idols eyes

Wild child full of grace

Savior of the human race

Your cool face

Your cool face

Do you remember when we were in Africa?
RIDERS ON THE STORM
Riders on the storm

Riders on the storm

Into this house we're born

Into this world we're thrown

Like a dog without a bone

An actor out alone

Riders on the storm

There's a killer on the road

His brain is squirmin' like a toad

Take a long holiday

Let your children play

If ya give this man a ride

Sweet memory will die

Killer on the road, yeah

Girl ya gotta love your man

Girl ya gotta love your man

Take him by the hand

Make him understand

The world on you depends

Our life will never end

Gotta love your man, yeah

Wow!

Riders on the storm

Riders on the storm

Into this house we're born

Into this world we're thrown

Like a dog without a bone

An actor out alone

Riders on the storm


PART II
KURT COBAIN
NIRVANA
Paper Cuts
(BLEACH)

At my feeding time
She pushed food through the door
And I crawl towards the crack of light
Sometimes I can't find my way
Newspapers spread around
Soaking all that they can
A cleaning is due again - a good hosing down

The lady whom I feel maternal love for
Cannot look me in the eyes
But I see hers and they are blue
And they cock and twitch and masturbate!

I said so
Nirvana

Black windows of paint
I scratched with my nails
I see others just like me
Why do they not try to escape?
They bring out the older ones
They point in my way
They come with a flash of light
And take my family away
And very later I have learned
To accept some friends of ridicule
My whole existence is for your amusement
And that is why I'm here with you!

To take Me with
You're right Nirvana

Smells Like Teen Spirit
(NEVERMIND)
Load up on guns and bring your friends
It's fun to lose and to pretend
She's over bored and self assured
Oh no, I know a dirty word

Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello!

With the lights out, it's less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido


I'm worse at what I do best
And for this gift I feel blessed
Our little group has always been
And always will until the end

Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello!

With the lights out, it's less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido

And I forget just why I taste
Oh yeah, I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard, it's hard to find
Oh well, whatever, nevermind

Hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello!

With the lights out, it's less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido

A denial!

In Bloom
(NEVERMIND)

Sell the kids for food
weather changes moods
Spring is here again
reproductive glands

He's the one
Who likes all our pretty songs
And he likes to sing along
And he likes to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
Don't know what it means, when I say:

We can have some more -- nature is a whore
Bruises on the fruit -- tender age in bloom

He's the one.

Lithium
(NEVERMIND)

I'm so happy 'cause today
I've found my friends ...
They're in my head
I'm so ugly, but that's okay, 'cause so are you ...
We've broken our mirrors
Sunday morning is everyday for all I care ...
And I'm not scared
Light my candles, in a daze
'Cause I've found god

I'm so lonely, but that's okay, I shaved my head ...
And I'm not sad
And just maybe I'm to blame for all I've heard ...
But I'm not sure
I'm so excited, I can't wait to meet you there ...
But I don't care
I'm so horny, but that's okay ...
My will is good

I like it - I'm not gonna crack
I miss you - I'm not gonna crack
I love you - I'm not gonna crack
I killed you - I'm not gonna crack

I'm so happy 'cause today
I've found my friends ...
They're in my head
I'm so ugly, but that's okay, 'cause so are you ...
We've broken our mirrors
Sunday morning is everyday for all I care ...
And I'm not scared
Light my candles in a daze ...
'Cause I've found god

I like it - I'm not gonna crack
I miss you - I'm not gonna crack
I love you - I'm not gonna crack
I killed you - I'm not gonna crack

Drain You
(NEVERMIND)

One baby to another says -
I'm lucky to have met you
I don't care what you think
Unless it is about me
It is now my duty to completely drain you
A travel through a tube
And end up in your infection

Chew your meat for you
Pass it back and forth
In a passionate kiss
From my mouth to yours
I like you

With eyes so dialated,
I've become your pupil
You've taught me everything
Without a poison apple
The water is so yellow, I'm a healthy student
Indebted and so grateful -
Vacuum out the fluids

Chew your meat for you.
Pass it back and forth
In a passionate kiss
From my mouth to yours
I like you

One baby to another says -
I'm lucky to have met you
I don't care what you think
Unless it is about me
It is now my duty to completely drain you
A travel through a tube
And end up in your infection

Chew your meat for you
Pass it back and forth
In a passionate kiss
From my mouth to yours
Sloppy lips to lips
You're my vitamins
I'm like you

Scentless Apprentice
(INUTERO)

Like most babies smell like butter
His smell smelled like no one other
He was born scentless and senseless
He was born a scenless apprentice

Yeah, go away - get away, get away

Every wet nurse refused to feed him
Electrolytes smell like semen
I promise no to sell your perfumed secrets
There are countless formulas for pressing flowers

Yeah, go away - get away, get away


Heart-Shaped Box
(IN UTERO)

She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak
I've been locked inside your Heart-Shaped box for weeks
I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap
I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn back

Hey! Wait!
I've got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice

Meat-eating orchids forgive no one just yet
Cut myself on angel's hair and baby's breath
Broken hymen of your highness I'm left back
Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back

Hey! Wait!
I've got a new complaint
Forever in debt to your priceless advice


Milk It
(IN UTERO)
I am my own parasite
I don't need a host to live
We feed off of each other
We can share our endorphins

Doll steak!
Test meat!

Look on the bright side is suicide
Lost eyesight I'm on your side
Angel left wing, right wing, broken wing
Lack of iron and/or sleeping

I own my own pet virus
I get to pet and name her
Her milk is my shit
My shit it is her milk

Test meat!
Doll steak!

Look on the bright side is suicide
Lost eyesight I'm on your side
Angel left wing, right wing, broken wing
Lack of iron and/or sleeping

Protector of the kennel
Ecto-plasma,
Ecto-skeletal
Obituary every birthday
Your scent is still here in my place of recovery!

Pennyroyal Tea
(IN UTERO)
I'm on my time with everyone
I have very bad posture
Sit and drink Pennyroyal Tea
Distill the life that's inside of me
Sit and drink Pennyroyal Tea
I'm anemic royalty

Give me a Leonard Cohen afterworld
So I can sigh eternally
I'm so tired I can't sleep
I'm a liar and a thief
Sit and drink Pennyroyal Tea
I'm anemic royalty

I'm on warm milk and laxatives
Cherry-flavored antacids
Sit and drink Pennyroyal Tea
Distill the life that's inside of me
Sit and drink Pennyroyal Tea
I'm anemic royalty

Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle
(IN UTERO)

It's so relieving
To know that you're leaving as soon as you get paid
It's so relaxing
To hear that you're asking wherever you get your way
It's so soothing
To know that you'll sue me,
This is starting to sound the same
I miss the comfort in being sad (x3)

In her false witness,
We hope you're still with us,
To see if they float or drown
Our favorite patient,
A display of patience,
Disease-covered Puget Sound
She'll come back as fire,
To burn all the liars,
And leave a blanket of ash on the ground
I miss the comfort in being sad (x3)

It's so relieving
To know that you're leaving as soon as you get paid
It's so relaxing
To know that you're asking wherever you get your way
It's so soothing
To know that you'll sue me,
This is starting to sound the same
I miss the comfort in being sad (x3)

Turn Around
(INCESTICIDE)

Take a step out of yourself
And turn around
Take a look at who you are -
It's pretty scary
So silly,
Revolting,
You're not much
You can't do anything

Take a step outside the city
And turn around
Take a look at what you are
It is revolting
Your really nowhere
So wasteful
So foolish
Poppycock

Who said don't look back?
Don't believe 'em
Go for that crazy sounding restaurant
'Cause they're gonna try and get behind you
Don't you let 'em do it
You know what I'm talking about?
You hear me talking?

It's pretty scary turning oh, so revolting

Take a step outside the country
And turn around
Take a look at what you are
It is Amazing
Take a good look
Your no big deal
Your so petty
That's a laugh

Take a step outside the planet
Turn around and around
Take a look at where you are
It's pretty scary