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Jim Morrison - Blog Posts
Eldritch being.
As Jim Morrison says "Nobody remembers your name, when you're strange." it reminds me of the times I felt strange.
Now, let me explain; it wasn't because I was alone or felt lonely, I was gorwing up. I was a rider on a storm; specifically experiencing "youth". But, why did I feel strange? And, was I the only one who felt strange?
No, there was a plethora of children playing, feeling strange and fighting for freedom not knowing what was waiting for them at the end of the day.
Why we felt that way, I'm not certain, but I will clarify. Investigating this case is quite arduous. There's a storm following my every single step. I move to the right, it is there, behind my head, staring into my soul and haunting my mind. I go to the left, it is there, beside my ear, making me deaf to every other noise in the background and my thoughts are silenced.
And, I feel strange. Because, we all are strange. Men are wicked; they abandon you at the weirdest situations of your life, stabbing you in the heart and leaving a dirty smell to the point of your nose, significantly abusing your sensitive parts.
Now, was I really strange? Certainly, yes. Because, like I mentioned before, we are all strange. Rain falls on top of our heads, water engulfs our very being, flooding into our eyes and hardening our eyelashes. But, we still embrace it. We claim that we love it. Aren't we strange?
Bizarre, abnormal. People, in fact never wanted to talk to me; I apparently seemed "unfamiliar" (an elegant way to say to a person who is strange). Even my name comes from a word in Greek "xeno" = strange.
It's interesting how these people who dared to think of me as someone abnormal, were all some ignorant things, useless and with no talents. They were all jealous little worms, that liked to act dominant in front of a person who knew how to value time.
Matter of fact, I valued time. I still do. But, I had a façade; I was an innocent, docile and quite girl who always nodded and never raised her voice. I was hiding the real me. The strange version of me.
I embrace fear. I'm attached to danger; the one that makes you feel light and free. The adrenaline that you feel when you trespass the limits. What limits you might say? Every single thing that even comes to your mind.
I feel it in my bones; the rage and the fear combined together crafting chaos around me. And it all grasps. It all stongly tightens around my neck, making me gasp for air. I prefer being strange. I want to value time to pass my entire life into oblivion. I don't really have to worry about having a boring, office life; I'm addicted to thrill.
So, am I a stranger?
Well, if I were with a gorup of "normal" people then yes I would be a stranger; they are all the smame: dark and lizards. They crave for a bit of dominance and money. Time for them doesn't exist, instead they embrace impulsiveness. Aren't they monsters?
I'm alluding to a realm full of masks that hide in their inside an excess of hate and evil personalities, and try guessing what surrounds these outrageous beings? Other masks, but strange ones.
Voilà! WE ARE ALL STRANGE!
Zodiac incense sticks.
I feel unsteady, like my mind.
Rosé wine is sweet with such a pretty color. Every night there's a glass of it on the table accompanying me while I'm taking a bath. I've definitely got everything I need at night. Jeff Buckley's voice soothes me deeply, helping me to relax my body in the warm water. As a matter of fact, when I'm at this time of the day I don't think of anything at all, really. So even now I close my eyes and start dreaming.
My baby boy has come to me, opening up to me and confessing every single problem he has to me.
I'm waiting for him with my arms wide open. He lays his head on my breast and starts silently whimpering.
I just love it when he cries in my arms. I love it when he is vulnerable in front of my eyes, in my presence. Because, it's me he seeks help from. And I am always here to give it to him. What can a woman do when her man comes back home destryoed from the army?
I don't cook for him. In truth, I don't even know how to properly cook. That's a long story for another day.
Without him having gotten in our neighborhood, I just feel his presence. I immediately get out of the hosue and wait for him at my frontyard. I look at his car from afar. I listen to the sound of his car and just that brings shivers to the back of my neck. He sees me waiting for him and impatiently speeds up his pace.
Oh, how much he has changed.
He stops his car in front of me and rapidly gets out of the car. He comes up to me and looks down at me. I study his face and his body. I inhale his musty, masculine perfume. What a bliss that brings into my belly. I instantly got the heebie jeebies.
Looking up at him I notice that he's got tears in his eyes. All my nervousness disappears and I wrap my hands around his body.
I could never get tried of his affection. Or of his beautiful voice. Or of his body. Of anything really.
This is never over.
Thank you for reading this. I'm really grateful of my inspiration that always comes from Jeff Buckley, Jim Morrison, Nirvana or Aerosmith. It is really hard to write sometimes because I've had too many ideas lately and I didn't really have the guts to organze them. But, I tried nonetheless.
hope you enjoyed this!!!!
K.M.
being high whilst watching the doors was probably the best experience of my life
Morrison 🚪 or Bowie 🚀 ????? x
i love them both so much but always jim 💕💕
i want this tramp stamp so bad you don’t understand
ur so beautiful jim why did you have to die 💔
Find me on Feetfinder.com 🦶🏻💋 #FeetFetish @AnnPretteePaws710
I am the lizard King, I can do anything.
Credits: Julian Jung.
Cancel my suscription to resurrection.
“And we laugh like soft mad children, mug in the woolly cotton brains of infancy ...”
Jim Morrison, Jule 28th-30th, 1967, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, CA. 📷 Paul Ferrara
March 1968, NYC, NY.- NY Subway Session in Navy Blue Coat. ©️Paul Ferrara.
March 1968, NYC, NY.- NY Subway Session in Navy Blue Coat. ©️Paul Ferrara.
Jim Morrison, Dorothy Manzarek, Ray's mother Helen Manzarek, and Thor (Jim Manzarek's dog). Palos Verdes, California, 1965. 📷From the archive of Ray Manzarek
Jim Morrison with model Donna Mitchell, VOGUE magazine session, New York, September 1967. Photo by Alexis Waldeck.
16 Magazine Photo Session, New York City, NY, Mid September,1967. 📷 Gloria Stavers
Jay Thompson photographed Chris Crosby and Jim Morrison in New York in September 1967
Asbury Park Convention Hall New Jersey, September 2nd 1967. 📷 Gloria Stavers