La sorella di Jim Morrison spiega perché il frontman dei Doors ha fatto finta che la sua famiglia fosse tutta morta.
La sorella di Morrison, Chewning, sta promuovendo “The Collected Works of Jim Morrison”, un libro in uscita l’8 giugno, contenente i taccuini e le riflessioni del defunto fratello, la poesia, le idee per la sceneggiatura e i testi.
L’antologia definitiva degli scritti di Jim Morrison con fotografie rare e numerosi estratti manoscritti di poesie e testi inediti e pubblicati dai suoi 28 taccuini privati. C’è anche la versione audiolibro.
Creato in collaborazione con gli eredi di Jim Morrison e ispirato da un elenco scoperto postumo intitolato “Plan for Book”, The Collected Works of Jim Morrison è un’antologia di quasi 600 pagine degli scritti del defunto poeta e iconico frontman dei Doors.
Questa pubblicazione storica è l’opera definitiva della produzione creativa di Morrison e il libro che Jim intendeva pubblicare. In tutto, un avvincente mix di 160 componenti visive accompagna il testo: estratti dai suoi 28 taccuini privati, tutti scritti di suo pugno e pubblicati qui per la prima volta, così come una serie di immagini personali e commenti sull’opera di Morrison lui stesso.
Ecco le ultime parole probabilmente scritte da Jim Morrison
“As I Look Back”
As I look back over my life. I am struck by post cards Ruined snap shots faded posters Of a time, I can’t recall
Before the beach, & birth, was the home for travelers juvenile pen a barracks in limbo of souls sans desire
They instill desire, day by day & night too
Parachute birth
1st moments as war
1st days of pain
Struggle toward consciousness
I am a Scot, or so. I’m told.
Really the heir of Mystery Christians
The child of a Military family . . . .
1st early memories — attention-getting baby hide from mother & elephant walk
back thru time to that child again, staring rotten thru the fence at the angels next door
early memories
Asthma
Albuquerque lawn chairs & lock’d in garage shelves w/girl
Beautiful Mexican girl – her mother
May dance – lost shoe
“Bad boy” – No, he’s a good boy
Think of Nothing – get what you want
The Mail Box
I initiated dirt-clod fights in the canyon & got bombed in the stomach by rocks
Parachutes from silk handkerchief
Kites
Snake in the Glen
“But they were picking on the little kids”
I told stories & led
Treasure hunts for children
I led bicycle packs chasing girls home from school & delighted in spanking them
I rebelled against church after phases of fervor
I curried favor in school & attack’d the teachers
I was given a desk in the corner
I was a fool & The smartest kid in class
I created a mock treasure
Tried to get blood
To hide in woods near school
a monitor stopt me
Walks in D.C. in
Negro streets. The library & book stores. Orange brick in warm sun.
The books & poets magic
Then sex gives greater stimulation
Than you’ve ever known & all peace & books lose their charm & you are thrown back on the eye of vision chooks – depantsing – fights – Blue Bus etc.
Trying to have a ducktail asserted myself by wit
I have tried to learn more about homos but it’s not easy to discuss.
This is true about sex in general, even more than philosophy or religion
Morés change – but not the mystery
History of Rock coinciding w/my adolescence
Came to LA to Film School
I was never really much of a doper
Acid popular, taken at least once or twice by most everyone I knew “grinding your wheels”
I can attest to its power. Saw many astonishing things
Venice Summer
Drug Visions
Roof top songs
The early Notebook
Lost Notebooks
Watching Elvis on T.V.
humorous R & R riots
Name came 1st
Doors of Perception
Our lugubrious snaky
sound. Heavy as ice
as glass.
early struggles & humiliations
Thanks to the girls who fed me.
Making Records
Elvis had sex – wise mature voice at 19.
Mine still retains the nasal whine of a repressed adolescent minor squeaks & furies
An interesting singer
at best – a scream
or a sick croon. Nothing
in-between.
It’s hard, this going back
Tropicana – naked Acid. Christ, it’s you, a female human.
Bo Diddley
Them
London Fog
Whisky – the girls cheated Box office
Love
ROAD DAYS
fear of Plane death
And night was what Night
should be
A girl, a bottle, & blessed sleep
Night of the End — does no one understand wreck studio
A natural leader, a poet, a Shaman, w/the
soul of a clown.
My desire for family
What am I doing in the Bull Ring Arena
Every public figure running for Leader
Spectators at the Tomb -riot watchers
Fear of Eyes Assassination
Artaud’s effortto escape the collective consciousness
I have ploughed My seed thru the heart of the nation.
Injected a germ in the psychic blood vein.
Now I embrace the poetry of business & become – for a time – a “Prince of Industry”
Had the disgrace to be successful.
Back Door Man Never tipped over into revolutionary hysteria.
1st to bring normal academic intelligence to rock. Classical American
I sit looking out office window movie
The soft parade
Longhairs
bands over the city
gangs of outlaws
The meeting
Rid of managers & agents
The horror of business
Public self-analysis
The Problem of Money guilt do I deserve it?
Being drunk is a good disguise.
I drink so I can talk to assholes. This includes me.
Miami blew my confidence but really I blew it on purpose
The Decency Rally “And away we go.”
The Jury – Sniffing the Witnesses
Trying the Devil in Florida
Fear of Jail “No, you’d adjust.”
Relief of trial (bearable) & pleasant life here.
each day is a drive thru history regret for wasted nights & wasted years
I pissed it all away American Music
After 4 yrs. I’m left w/a mind like a fuzzy hammer
Milton’s youth — will I get a chance to write my Paradise Lost
To break w/past (wife & partners) & define self.
The joy of performing has ended.
Joy of films is pleasure of writing.
End w/fond good-bye & plans for future –Not an actor writer – filmmaker
Money from home good luck stay out of trouble
Which of my cellves
will be remember’d
Good-bye America
I loved you
