#Jim Morrisson

[logankisseswade]

Touch Me-The Doors

[lunasilvis]

You're drop dead gorgeous. Hope you get to live a very gay life in France with your love as you wish for.

Right! you know my head. My (future) love can read all of her favorite books in the garden all day and engage in her favorite pastimes. I'll put in the elbow sweat in + around the house and bring her blueberries and home-prepped marinated artichoke hearts from our orchard. That's a whole life

[60scig]

7/31/24

Chipping the wine red color from my fingernails, I sprinkle the polish onto the seats of his truck. I sigh, kicking off my boots–the summer heat seeping into the car was making my legs sweat against the leather. When my right thumb is chipped clean, I shuffle in my seat to peek my head out the open window.

“Are we stranded?” I ask, crossing my arms over the window sill, resting my chin on top of my hands. My little cowboy friend slams the truck hood shut, lifting his hat from his head to wipe the sweat from his forehead; wavy strands of dark hair sticking to his skin. I grin.

“Nothin’ to worry about.” He tells me in an almost inaudible mumble, walking around to return to the driver’s seat. Upon entering, he immediately notices the red sprinkles dusting the terracotta colored seats. Pulling away from the window, grin still plastered on my lips, I splay out my fingers for him to see my messy nails, only my thumb completely clean. He shakes his head, then begins to explain what was wrong with the truck.

I don’t understand a single word. Nodding my head along, I lean forward to reach into the glove compartment, pulling out our crumpled and worn map, unfolding it in front of my face. At some point, he stopped talking and started the truck. It rumbled violently for a brief second, but calmed down to a point where he pulled us back on the road.

“Where we going?” I ask. When he tells me, I place my finger against the location on the map, trailing it down until I meet our current location.

I keep my window down, letting the hot air blow through my hair, tussling the strands and ruining my neat braid. He’s too silent, so I rummage for a tape, making snide comments about his music taste until I stumble across The Doors.

“You look like Jim Morrison.” I observe, pushing the tape into the cassette player.

“Do I?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

I nod. “More handsome, I think.”

A beat of silence. Do I look like Pamela? I don’t ask. I simply admire the toothy chuckle he replies with, watching his fingers readjust on the steering wheel before turning up the music’s volume as loud as I could without it becoming migraine inducing. I let Morrisson’s poetic lyrics drill into my head, pulling down the visor to examine myself in the mirror. Fiery ginger hair now ratted by the wind, milky white skin dusted in freckles–I think I looked like Pamela Courson. Maybe he and I were reincarnated cosmic lovers.

After running my fingers over the texture of my skin, picking at any impurities I felt, I turned back to him. He mouths along to the lyrics of Blue Sunday; maybe he was singing, but I couldn’t hear it over the music’s volume. If it weren’t so loud, you would think that it was his true voice.

I imagine him as my famous rockstar boyfriend for the rest of the ride. Instruments in the trunk, a large van with the rest of the band trailing behind us as we make way to the location of their next show. Maybe one day we too would flee to Paris; I was beginning to grow tired of driving around the Southwest, anyways. So was the truck as it rumbled once more while it rolled into the gas station parking lot, feeling as if it were going to collapse underneath us.

As I stroll through the gas station, basking in the air conditioning, I side eye out the large windows to watch him speaking to an old man with a long greying beard and shiny bald head as they examine the truck once again. The owner, I suppose. While I flip through magazines, trying to decide which one to shove into my bag, I imagine what he’s telling the old man; maybe we’re lovers on our way to Las Vegas, looking to get hitched. Maybe I’m a hitchhiker being escorted to San Francisco. Or, my true hope: he’s the frontman of a band on his way to Los Angeles. There were many excuses to choose from, I thought as I rolled up the latest edition of Vogue and buried it in my bag, but maybe the old man wouldn’t be phased by the truth.

In an area like this, deserted and surrounded by miles of dead shrubbery and exhausting heat, I believed it to be possible that he had come across two suspected killers before.

[mappsiemakesthings]

So Maker Faire is coming up, right? And the spinning group is gonna be there. And we need decorations.

And a suggestion was to craft triangles and make a cute bunting/garland thingy. So i took to the grab bag of fiber i had bought for the kids to play with and got this really felted combed top out of it and seperated colours and carded it and then spun some thicc singles on my Nano2:

... and then plied these:

All in one evening! Go me! xD

I'm not a big pink fan, but i love this 💕💕💕

Not sure if that's enough to oslo stitch a triangle, but I can always make some more.

(I can make yarn! and then make something from it! It's so amazing, that whole process! Damn! *happy swearing in awe of humanity's long history of fiber doings and makings*)

Anyway, maybe (maybe!) I can eventually make enough yarn to needlebind, crochet and knit a small triangle (base with 12-13 cm).

Maybe not. I AM having ideas. Spring is putting ideas in my head (and itches in my eyes and nose)..

Not sure if my energy will be able to keep up, so I'll be happy with any idea actually coming to life ^_^

Going by the old Jim Morrisson Motto of "Take it easy, baby, take it as it comes."

[ninaandjames]

Haunted Hollywood And Its Ghosts Await The Intrepid Tourist

[disco-cola]

Dude I'm literally stressed. Getting older probably is weird for everybody (although I'll always agree with the whole aging is a privilege thing) but it also is extremely weird when you're a classic rock stan. Like sure I was born too late and will forever be too young to really have experienced it but now that I am getting older it still is strange. I've always been lowkey drawn to stuff from previous decades and got interested in Woodstock randomly and then I read I'm with the Band by Pamela des Barres the summer I was 16, then turned 17 and a new year came around and without even planning on it I did a real deep deep dive into music and movies and pop culture and general trivia from the 60s-early 90s and I never submerged from it. It's been 10 years now. Ever since I don't watch modern shows, I don't listen to new music because I simply don't have the desire to. The 60s - early 90s are home even though it has hurt and still does to not really be able to know what it's like to live it. There were times I really tried to be "more modern" but it never lasted for more than a few weeks and I also never really felt like myself so I just came back. But now I'm 27 turning 28 later this year and by now it almost feels as if all the artists I so dearly love are almost like fictional characters, like I listen to the same songs and watch the same interviews and concerts and I still feel the exact same way about it as I did when I was 17, or 21, or 24. Except they are like frozen in time and eternally young in this and I am not. It feels like I am forcibly outgrowing them (and I also feel like a huge loser and insufficient that they were so young when they wrote that particular great song or had that level of success, like oftentimes even younger than I am now). When I was still younger than they were at that time it didn't feel that bad yet. Also it feels weird getting older than rockstars I have had or still have a crush on. Like what do you mean I will soon be older than Jimi Hendrix ever got to be? Older than Jim Morrisson? Until now they have always felt so much more grown than me. Is it weird I still have a crush on Cliff Burton now because he was only 24 when he died? And it doesn't even make a difference if it's people who died young or who actually aged and are still alive. Like sure the latter are still older than me of course and always will be but that fact just escapes me and it feels different and morally confusing to have crushes on the young primetime versions of rockstars now once you "outage" those versions. Like I’ve never ever had crushes on people before who were younger than I am because I was so young myself. And getting to that age where you’re not in your early 20s anymore and being older than some musicians or actors or whatever is just weird, even if it already happened in the past and there’s no actual chance I would ever meet them. When do I have to stop being a fangirlie? Do I have to stop being in love with the rockstars I've loved for years at one point because I get too old? Is that weird? Am I that abnormal for simply not being able to outgrow this whole thing and live in the present? What do I do when I'm 40 when it already feels like this? Ughhhh

[scorpsik]

Jim Morrisson

Progress

[robotpussy]

which soft sadboy would u give sloppy to: jesus, kurt cobain, or jim morrison

not gonna bother with jesus he would much rather spend time with his 12 best friends i know for sure plus he has stuff to sort out with judas and peter

uh kurt cobain is too sad and cynical for me plus i'd try to befriend dave grohl through him.

i guess jim morrisson idk anything about him i don't even think i could name a song by the doors

i know I've already made the wrong choice

[gazellefamily]

A ROOM WITH A VIEW (1985) "Never seen this? No, you sort of have because it's all troped out. Rich smart girl must choose between two guys: One's rich and dull. The other's poor(er) and passionate. It's TITANIC. It's DIRTY DANCING. It's THE NOTEBOOK (probably...never seen it). HoneyBun Carter with gilded age curls stacked up higher than the Duomo. DDL as the cuckiest cuck who ever cucked. He's such a pretentious monacled snob-wuss that he could be a character from a Bazooka Joe comic. Julian Sands sis upposed to be salt of the earth but he seems pretty sugar-coated as himbo carpe-DM fuccboi from when Lord Byron was what Jim Morrisson is now to certain dudes. Denholm Elliot bringing Wallace and Gromitt energy." -Sonny Gazelle

[thewolfcatcher]

Vamos convir, há aqui uma série de problemas.

Não vou nem começar por falar dessa mistura estranha de Natal gótico com temática de Halloween.

As roupas dessas violinistas que dançam são sempre tão kitchs!

A estrutura de violinista que dança em palco em si é boa, pode ser explorada por nós, músicos eruditos que estão a compor e a dominar o novo repertório. É legal dançar e tocar, tocar e cantar, tocar e compor, tocar e escrever narrativas para as nossas músicas e recitais ao vivo. Não porém como a Anitta o faria.

Acho muito problemático estas novas composições/repertório novo, repletos de conteúdo tóxico/sexualizado/gótico, como referência musical para nossos jovens alunos de Conservatórios eruditos. Em si até os Apocalyptica são um problema (como referência de producão cultural) por seu conteúdo tóxico para jovens nos conservatórios.

Eu tenho recomendado a pais que não deixem seus filhos assistir a 90% dos filmes mainstream da Indústria Cultural e Netflix, por causa do seu conteúdo tóxico. A melhor solução é simplesmente não assistir essas coisas, que é a postura da minha igreja, a Congregação Cristã no Brasil, uma igreja cheia de poder de Deus e virtude sobrenatural, que protege com ferocidade a santidade dos seus jovens separando-os completamente do mundo de pecado em que vivemos. Esse é o segredo do sucesso da igreja que frequento. Não há televisão.

Aí os nossos alunos paparicados dos Conservatórios (que tentamos proteger do controle político da maçonaria - marca da besta - feito através do pecado), estão expostos a estas bandas de violinistas kitchs dançantes como referência musical. Que diferença faz entre ser fã das Stellar Strings e da Annita?

Devemos elaborar uma estratégia de proteger os nossos jovens músicos dessas produções anti-culturais sem que sufoquemos a sua criatividade.

Eu ainda não resolvi esse problema, e certamente os nossos inimigos políticos vão explorar esta questão, produzindo mais violinistas eruditos que compõem o seu próprio novo repertório com sexualização e promoção de coisas como homossexualismo e magia negra, para tirar a virtude dos nossos jovens.

Nós temos que censurar o pecado das nossas produções, dançar de uma forma santa como RiverSong, ou sapatear como a Broadway original, não como prostitutas num cabaré. Senão vamos corromper os jovens dos Conservatórios da mesma forma que a Lady Gaga e a Anitta corrompem os jovens sem cultura que ainda não são músicos.

No final a música até é legal, mas é preciso desligar o vídeo kitch.

Nós, como compositores e produtores de novo repertório, devemos lutar pela santidade dos nossos jovens e da nossa arte.

Manter a santidade é imprescindível, senão nunca venceremos a Batalha pelo Woodstock. Foram exatamente as drogas e o amor livre que impediram a geração de 68 de vencer a maçonaria.

Janis joplin e Jim Morrisson não conseguiram vencer a batalha pelo Woodstock.

SEM VIRTUDE SEM PODER.

[senruthmartinsbob]

Whos jim and why is he morrisson

[themoonmail]

The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on an individual level. It's got to happen inside first.

-Jim Morrisson

[mysteriis-moon666]

« Il y eut cette année-là un intense élan d'énergie. Je quittai l'école et partis vivre au bord de la plage. Je dormais sur un toit. Une nuit la lune m'apparut sous les traits d'une femme. » Jim Morrisson

[rosekillerismylife]

God, The Doors is so good. I like the movie, I like the songs, it's just so 60s, ya know? Jim Morrisson is a madman and I cannot really relate to Pam as to why she would stay with him and stick to him even though he cheats on her and hurt her and tried to burn her. It's crazy.

I love watching movies about old bands because almost everytime something goes wrong and I realize that fame can really get to your head and mess with you in a way you sometimes don't even notice. Those movies show that fame changes you even though mostly every famous person claims that they stayed the same regarding their sanity and personaliy. And that's very interesting because many want to be famous but some of them don't quite grasp the effect of fame and what it does to you. Just think about it: Michael Jackson, Jim Morrisson, Freddie Mercury, Prince, Jimi Hendrix, Lisa Lopes, Aaliyah, Whitney Houston, Amy Whinehouse, Tupac and many others probably died because of fame. Even John Lennon technically died because he was famous. Maybe he wouldn't have been shot, maybe he would but I believe that fame has something to do with it.

The death in those movies always comes so suddenly and I'm almost everytime surprised by it, especially if I don't know the band that good. It maybe shows that some things end rather quickly and that we should enjoy life for as long as we got it? I don't know. But it really was a great movie with great music and the actors were really suberb.

[zindabad]

Jim morrisson

[scenesinsidethecrystalmine]

Some of the flowers I've been keeping in my The Life and Death of Jim Morrisson: Break on Through book.