Posts Tagged The Doors
James Douglas “Jim” Morrison (December 8, 1943 – July 3, 1971)
We dream out of a poetry karaoke below the constellated shine, let’s just create one, if there be nay for random words to be yours and mine.
“Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.* The audience, they, were quiet vampires Nights are fiction in a subway, where lovers and pens write their quires.
I talk of spirits woven in the air I am the voice of a diegesis Her laughter, the shadows of a mimesis there are streaks of whiteness in the dark chambray
“I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown”*
Someday on that stone there will be a coda and your ashes will become dandelion dust The day is inflamed, aroused till the final star so will us gain, by the bathos of death, harvest.
“Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.”* THIS IS NOT THE END OF THIS END.
Jim's gravestone bears the Greek inscription: ΚΑΤΑ ΤΟΝ ΔΑΙΜΟΝΑ ΕΑΥΤΟΥ, literally meaning "according to his own daemon" and usually interpreted as "true to his own spirit" (wikipedia :en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Morrison)
©Rangam Chiru, 26/2/12