#Alta Cienega Motel

[deadnburied13]

Jim Morrison's Old Room at the Alta Cienega Motel 1005 N. La Cienega Ave West Hollywood CA 90069.

Jim Morrison lived here on and off from 1968-1970, as the sign on room 32 states. Inside the room, dedicated fans from all over the planet have written loving messages upon the wall.

Whenever Jim's girlfriend, Pamela Courson, kicked him out of their apartment located at 8216 1/2 Norton Ave. It was a place for him to kick back and pass out after a long night at Barney's Beanery. He stayed here many times while recording "L.A. Woman" at their office and recording studio located at 8512 Santa Monica Blvd, just a few blocks away.

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

Jim Morrison's Old Room at the Alta Cienega Motel 1005 N. La Cienega Ave West Hollywood CA 90069.

Jim Morrison lived here on and off from 1968-1970, as the sign on room 32 states. Inside the room, dedicated fans from all over the planet have written loving messages upon the wall.

Whenever Jim's girlfriend, Pamela Courson, kicked him out of their apartment located at 8216 1/2 Norton Ave. It was a place for him to kick back and pass out after a long night at Barney's Beanery. He stayed here many times while recording "L.A. Woman" at their office and recording studio located at 8512 Santa Monica Blvd, just a few blocks away.

[fungalfairy]

Jim Morrison's Old Room at the Alta Cienega Motel 1005 N. La Cienega Ave West Hollywood CA 90069.

Jim Morrison lived here on and off from 1968-1970, as the sign on room 32 states. Inside the room, dedicated fans from all over the planet have written loving messages upon the wall.

Whenever Jim's girlfriend, Pamela Courson, kicked him out of their apartment located at 8216 1/2 Norton Ave. It was a place for him to kick back and pass out after a long night at Barney's Beanery. He stayed here many times while recording "L.A. Woman" at their office and recording studio located at 8512 Santa Monica Blvd, just a few blocks away.

[lawomanphoto]

November 24, 2011 Jim Morrison room, Alta Cienega Motel in West Hollywood, CA

November 24, 2011 Jim Morrison room, Alta Cienega Motel in West Hollywood, CA #JimMorrison #altacienegamotel #westhollywood #losangeles #lawomanphoto #onthisday

Photo by Christy Borgman

[gregarnott]

Jim Morrison's Old Room at the Alta Cienega Motel 1005 N. La Cienega Ave West Hollywood CA 90069.

Jim Morrison lived here on and off from 1968-1970, as the sign on room 32 states. Inside the room, dedicated fans from all over the planet have written loving messages upon the wall.

Whenever Jim's girlfriend, Pamela Courson, kicked him out of their apartment located at 8216 1/2 Norton Ave. It was a place for him to kick back and pass out after a long night at Barney's Beanery. He stayed here many times while recording "L.A. Woman" at their office and recording studio located at 8512 Santa Monica Blvd, just a few blocks away.

[gregory-enot]

Jim Morrison's Old Room at the Alta Cienega Motel 1005 N. La Cienega Ave West Hollywood CA 90069.

Jim Morrison lived here on and off from 1968-1970, as the sign on room 32 states. Inside the room, dedicated fans from all over the planet have written loving messages upon the wall.

Whenever Jim's girlfriend, Pamela Courson, kicked him out of their apartment located at 8216 1/2 Norton Ave. It was a place for him to kick back and pass out after a long night at Barney's Beanery. He stayed here many times while recording "L.A. Woman" at their office and recording studio located at 8512 Santa Monica Blvd, just a few blocks away.

[hollyweirdangeleno]

Jim’s favorite room was #32

[onlovestreetwithjimmorrison]

Did Jim have a preferred brand of toilet paper?

Yeah, whatever the Alta Cienega Motel used.

[onlovestreetwithjimmorrison]

As much as I would love to stay in the same room that dear sweet Jim stayed in, the writing all over the walls makes me claustrophobic. 

[seancekitsch]

Scary Movies: Klaus x Reader fic

for @sheehalloween​

sequel to: I was Never Young

Warnings: cursing, references to dead musicians, takes place directly after the you look like death series but not really spoiling it, smooching a little but otherwise very tame for me

Are you sure this is a good movie?” Klaus asks, perturbed, because he actually spend his own money on a ticket. You only told him this was a great horror movie and that screenings of it were rare. Its two in the afternoon on a hot Los Angeles afternoon.

You would have offered to get his ticket, but you thought the look on his face when you snapped and you ticket materialized was funnier. He’s still not used to your snapping thing, something you don’t even have a name for, but his amazement is enough to encourage you to keep doing it. 

You’ve figured out his upbringing, you know who he is now, but you don’t say anything. Klaus will say something when he wants to, you assume.  You snap again to materialize a singular twizzler, and smirk at him as you place it in the soda you had him buy for you. This isn’t a date, there’s no reason for it to be. But it also isn’t a date. You’re both a little nervous for no reason and he’s paying for things when you know his money is going to dry up sooner rather than later.

The theater is completely empty, and the silver screen is still blank, perfect.

This is your favorite moment.

Klaus leads you to the back of the house and chooses seats directly in the middle.

“When—“ he stops, chews a bit of popcorn, “When my siblings and I used to sneak out and see movies, we figured out this was the best spot to sit! You can— you can see everything.”

You nod, biting off the top of your twizzler so you can use it as a straw. Of course it’s the best spot, and of course his family didn’t know that.

“You know why this is my favorite part of going to the cinema?” you ask him. Klaus fully turns his body towards you, giving you his full attention.

“Because before anything starts it’s just you and all the raw materials. You, the seats, the screen, the film canisters in the projection room.”

“That’s poetic,” Klaus laughs. His hairs gotten longer since the hot dog experience, and you think it suits him.

Another person, a lone man, comes in and takes a seat down closer to the screen.

“Damn, guess we can’t go at it in the back row now!” Klaus jokes, and you almost spit out your coke.

“Was that an option?” you ask, incredulous. And all he does is shrug as if to say he was down with whatever. You certainly hadn’t thought of him like that, and yet, now maybe you will. Something about the power of suggestion.

You have to nip that conversation in the bud, however, because the lighting dims and bathes you both in darkness. Klaus shifts down in his seat and prepares for the scariest movie he’s ever seen.

The projector whirrs to life and the film illuminates the screen.

“I thought you said this was a scary movie!” Klaus gasped when he realized what was playing. He leans over to you, intoxicatingly close, but you don’t lean back in.

“Gone with the Wind is scary. Look at how many slavers there are.”

Both of you cackle as loud as possible, and the one and only other person in the theater turns and glares at you both.

You run out of the theater laughing messes, tugging on each others sleeves and panting as you dart out of there. The intersection is weirdly empty when you exit, despite the lights of La Cienega at this hour.

“Have I ever shown you where I’m staying?” Klaus asks, but he knows he hasn’t. You’ve only met up thrice now since first meeting, and only in public.

You agree, and walk down the boulevard, your diet coke in its death throes and twizzler dying to finally be eaten. He stops at an intersection, and points across the street.

“Home sweet home!” he calls.

“That’s where you’re staying? That place?”

“Yeah, why? You know it?”

Before you is the legendary Alta Cienega Motel, green and beige and completely unassuming attached to a psychic’s parlor. 

“Are you kidding? You know what this. place was?” You're mind boggled that out of all of the things he knows, the wild random history and trivia, he doesn't know what this place is.

He cocks an eyebrow at you as you move closer to the building, urging you to continue. 

“Its only the last place in America Jim Morrison lived before he kicked it early!”

Klaus freezes in the crosswalk. 

Jim? His Jim? The lead singer of his favorite band.

“W-What room?”

“Thirty Two. I can't believe you haven't seen the shrine!”

He hadn't. He’d only seen the revolving door of people in and out of the room three doors down from his, sometimes twenty people in a day. He figured it was some kind of sex work operation and payed it absolutely no mind. Not his business. He’d only been thinking of Jim Morrison the whole time he’d been there, about mortality and his own gifts. He doesn't ever want to meet the man eternally eight years older than him. He’d already met enough heroes in this town and doesn't think he can take another. 

Its cute, the way he looks so dumbstruck. You grab his hand and pull him the rest of the way across the street towards his makeshift housing situation. He stumbles ahead and leads you up the little concrete staircase, passing the infamous room turned shrine on your way. Your neck cranes to keep looking at it, as if it calls to you like a beacon. 

“C’mon, scary movies my ass, I’ll find one for you...” Klaus mutters as he jingles the key in the lock, a dinky little pink puff ball adorning the key as well as the standard motel branded key fob. 

You're giddy as he gets the door open, a light electrical current growing beneath your skin as he pulls you in. The western sunset casting the entire room in an orange glow. Theres not much in the room that make it Klaus, but this just reminds you again that he’s a drifter in this town, unlike you who’d snagged in the canyon and never been free. A few crumpled take out wrappers, a full ash tray, a leather jacket, and a very fuzzy scarf thats incredibly out of season. 

“Make yourself cozy!” He calls, crossing the room to the small tv cabinet near the bed. You sit yourself at the little wooden table and snap yourself a cigarette to light while he plops himself down and crosses his legs in front of the screen. You take a deep drag while you watch him fiddle with all the buttons, fingers moving quickly and deftly as he tunes to box to what he’s looking for.

“Ah-hah! Found it, and it’s not too far into it!” He waves you over hastily, and you drop the cigarette and your soda to get closer. It’s the original night of the living dead, grainy and black and white on the old set. Probably edited for television, but its better than you idea, you have to admit. 

Klaus pulls you down to sit on the floor next to him, your thigh touching his knee and he leans his cheek on your shoulder.

“This ones my favorite,” he mumbles against you. His mouth is up against the fabric of your shirt, and you can feel it like a kiss .

“Mine too, I think,” you agree. Its not, but if you can figure out why exactly its his, it might become yours too. 

You watch most of the rest of the movie like that, sat on the floor and leaning into one another as the zombies start to take over. 

“Fuck, wait get up for a second,” you whisper in the now dark of dusk, your legs getting stiff as you move to sit on the bed, stretching your legs out straight before relaxing them. Klaus is quick to climb up on the bed after you, but he doesn't settle down right away. Instead, he just crouches and lets the glow from the movie illuminate his face.

“What’s up?” you ask, tilting your head slightly puzzled. 

“I...” he trails off, and then suddenly his lips are on yours.

Klaus’ lips are soft, if not a little scarred from him chewing on them, a habit you'd noticed of his when he doesn't have a drink or a smoke in his hand. He’s gentle, almost timid about the kiss. 

He pulls away slowly, as if wanting to hold onto the moment. His eyes remain closed as his lips, puffy, remain pursed. His eyes open, and that look in his eyes that tells you he needs a cigarette fills his irises. He yanks himself back, looking slightly scared.

“Wait,” you beg, and pull him back in for a second kiss. The second kiss, he’s more sure of himself. Klaus kisses back firmly, not roughly, but not as gentle as before. 

When he pulls away this time, he doesn't look panicked, he just leans himself back against your shoulder and turns his attention to the tv again. 

“Fuckin’ Gone with the Wind...” He chuckles. 

Fuckin’ Gone with the Wind, indeed.

[deadnburied13]

Jim Morrison's Old Room at the Alta Cienega Motel 1005 N. La Cienega Ave West Hollywood CA 90069.

Jim Morrison lived here on and off from 1968-1970, as the sign on room 32 states. Inside the room, dedicated fans from all over the planet have written loving messages upon the wall.

Whenever Jim's girlfriend, Pamela Courson, kicked him out of their apartment located at 8216 1/2 Norton Ave. It was a place for him to kick back and pass out after a long night at Barney's Beanery. He stayed here many times while recording "L.A. Woman" at their office and recording studio located at 8512 Santa Monica Blvd, just a few blocks away.

[iluvjimmorrison]

Happiest of birthdays to the man I love most.

8 December 1943-♾

-

Dear mr James Douglas Morrison,

I wish you the happiest birthday, wherever you may be, if it’s in the Père Lachaise Cemetery, amongst Oscar Wilde or if it’s in a little isolated hut, with your poetry. Your music and lyrics have expanded my perception of the world and my mind, and sometimes, I feel your presence around me. I thank you very greatly, for being one of the gentlest and kindest people ( I don’t care what anyone says, Jim was a shy and gentle man, no matter what yalls think!!) to ever grace this planet. Your lyrics are absolutely beautiful, and one day I would hope to converse with you about Friedrich Nietzsche. I wish I could’ve been at one of your concerts, but I hope one day if you and I meet in the void in some 100 years, you could read some of your poetry to me, and sing to me. Listening to you music sends me into a trance, and transports me in another dimension. It also helps me cope with life around me. When I saw the room in the Alta Cienega Motel, I felt you there, and I wish I could’ve written on the walls but the bitch there wouldn’t let me. Hopefully one day we could take a walk in Laurel Canyon in the middle of the night and burn incense somewhere on top of a hill and you could read your poetry to me and we could dance and watch the sunset, or drive anywhere in a VW bus and our cats and dogs. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything.

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

Jim Morrison's Old Room at the Alta Cienega Motel 1005 N. La Cienega Ave West Hollywood CA 90069.

Jim Morrison lived here on and off from 1968-1970, as the sign on room 32 states. Inside the room, dedicated fans from all over the planet have written loving messages upon the wall.

Whenever Jim's girlfriend, Pamela Courson, kicked him out of their apartment located at 8216 1/2 Norton Ave. It was a place for him to kick back and pass out after a long night at Barney's Beanery. He stayed here many times while recording "L.A. Woman" at their office and recording studio located at 8512 Santa Monica Blvd, just a few blocks away.

[kentcool1]

Jim Morrison's last residence in America before his fateful trip to Paris. (at Alta Cienega Motel) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ck7RqTPrfZW/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[lawomanphoto]

August 19, 2018 Alta Cienega Motel in West Hollywood, CA

August 19, 2018 Alta Cienega Motel in West Hollywood, CA #altacienegamotel #westhollywood #losangeles #jimmorrison #room32 #greenhotel #greenmotel #jimmorrisonroom #guidetothelabyrinth #lizardking #theDoors #christyborgman #lawomanphoto #onthisday

Photo by Christy Borgman

[digitalartform]

#thermalprinter #longexposure #graffiti #altacienegamotel #jimmorrison #sophiajade #paperang #paperangp2 #cashregisterreceipts #thermalpaperart @sophiasuccubus #sophiajade (at Alta Cienega Motel) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBrPwucJixV/?igshid=t4e72nhsny54