What's in a screenname? the og fa

Chapter 1 - bless the hands that prepared the feast.

To my lifelong idol, the great poet, Backdoor Man, and Lizard King, Jim Morrison.

I've been staring at the blank screen trying to figure out where to start for so long that it reminded me of something else. I am a big sleeptalker. Really, is it any surprise that the words spill out even when I am unconscious. My husband described that I had a phone conversation with then-President Obama, in which I was so starstruck that all I could do was babble stupidity like, "Oh Mr President! I can't believe you took my call! It's such an honor sir!" All in a tongue-tied girly pitch which he reported he had never heard from me before. Jae never knew me when I had a career, but the doctors that I used to work under would have recognized that tone. I think Jae might have been almost passingly jealous of Mr Obama, but really what's the harm in a little hero-worship?

I imagine that is what us going on right now. I cannot be afraid of what you're going to say, because your voice was silenced before I took my first breath. But I once had an altar in your honor in my bedroom, complete with candles and incense and every album and poetry book, all solemnly presided over by steamiest poster of you that I could find, Walk On Fire. And now that I remember that commandment, I hear you speak. Be not afraid and open your ***ing mouth, little girl. Yes, my king.

Passions come and go in my life. I have been obsessed with all of the following at various times, going through phases as all humans do: cats, graphology, foreign languages, the Vietnam War, the 60s, Irish poetry, witchcraft, ophthalmology, anatomy, spiritual traditions, dark movies, stand-up comedians, American history, just a few off the top of my head. Obviously I could go on and on, anyone probably can.

Some of these lasted longer than others, some flamed up quick and burnt out just as easily, some stayed with me forever. I was trying to figure out whether you led me to the Vietnam War or it led me to you, but I'm pretty sure that's how it happened. I was sweet 16 but not for long. Your words crawled in my ears and made themselves at home and started flipping switches. Much as I hated walking, I spent endless hours on a week-long family vacation walking the beach with my Walkman playing your tapes, steadily blowing my innocent mind. Hearing Moonlight Drive for the first time while under the moon on an empty beach might have been a highlight of my life. You crooned:

"Let's swim to the moon
Let's climb through the tide
Penetrate the evening
That the city sleeps to hide
Let's swim out tonight, love
It's our turn to try
Park beside the ocean
On our Moonlight Drive"

Invitation accepted, and what Strange Days they have been. I would not trade them for anything.

Like my passion for music and language itself, my interest in what you had to say has been lifelong. Too bad I had already read every word you left behind the time I was 17 or 18. Your life was too short, another fallen soldier of the addiction wars, just as I could have been. I imagine that your death at 27 is one of the reasons I fully expected to die before seeing 30. I was down to follow your footsteps; I was sure that you were onto something. You said, tell all the people that you see to follow me down.

I read all of your published poetry, and then everything written about you that I could find. Obviously I listened to every recording I could lay my hands on. But because you were dead, eventually I ran out of new material to discover. Six or seven studio albums and three volumes of poetry only took so long to consume, and finally I was full. I've spend the rest of my life digesting the feast. Bless the hands that prepared it.

Jim, I was born with a personal mystery. Since I was tall enough to use a card catalog, I went digging through the world's body of knowledge to find myself. There were times I came close, but not close enough. Not until I found the message you left behind just for me in this one poem. Two words, precisely out of the thousands you left, two words like bread crumbs dropped in the forest of time from one lost-and-seeking soul to another.

When I found them, I knew it, and it was enough. I picked them up and ran and they have changed my life. Not in the way that I expected, but just the way I needed. Looking back, without them my life would be unrecognizable. So many missing faces.

Of all your studio albums with the doors, strangely I like this poetry album best. It's strange because you recorded the poetry to silence, and it was only after your death, when the surviving Doors were starting to pick up a disco sound, that your words were put to music. An album created like that should not work. You were never about disco. You were not around to supervise the way it was produced. It should have been awful, but it's my favorite album, probably because your bandmates did it with such love. This is my favorite song, where I found those breadcrumbs. To me it speaks to the beauty of the diversity among Americans, stupid and desperate and tacky as we are. I think it's an excellent predecessor to Bob Dylan's latest masterpiece, I Contain Multitudes.

I will now stop trying to put into words what your poetry has meant to me. If I haven't yet succeeded, more words are not going to accomplish the trick. So I'm just going to play the song and sit with it, and sit with you, remembering the moment your voice called my true name from beyond the grave and I knew I was not alone in the world. I went forth and located the rest of my tribe, several tribes actually. Thanks Jim. I'll be seeing you around.

PS. I used to wish desperately that I had come of age in the 60s, for many reasons but one being to attend your orgiastic concerts. Now I'm glad I'm here today, because the 2020s need me in the world. But anyway I suspect you had to die before I could be born. Even if we aren't made of the selfsame soulstuff. Had we had ever crossed paths, the universe might have winked out of existence.

PPS. Ending on a comic note, because life is too short to be taken seriously, and so am I! After the internet became a staple, and I can't remember when that was but it was too late for me, I found a four-minute video clip from an interview you gave. It was the first "new" material I had discovered in decades. And it elaborated on the bread crumbs, in a way that eliminated any possible doubt what they meant. You and I never occupied the planet at the same time, but we were still on the same page. Sixteen-year-old me would have really loved to have heard those details, but I'm glad I didn't find it until then. It would have stripped me the opportunity to solve the mystery for myself.

PPPS. No lyrics to see here, children. I suggest you listen instead.

*****

YouTube Search Instructions:

CURSES INVOCATIONS AMERICAN PRAYER

JIM MORRISON FAT IS BEAUTIFUL
(look for longer version)