ABOUT AN AMERICAN PRAYER:

Notes: Some pieces / parts and / or poems were used in the creation of "An American Prayer"; Most of all, many of the poems recorded in this session - and that he paid Jim Morrison, Frank Lisciandro out of his pocket for his birthday - are still unpublished today, since they have never been used in recordings for the band "The Doors", nor the record companies and this session has not come to light either.

The poetry recorded in December 1970, remained unpublished to this day, and one is in the possession of the Courson family,
e other property of the record company (or so it is believed).

Unquestionably, I do not know if it will be used to create more Doorsian music, or if its integrity is simply kept intact as it was recorded in the Village studios that memorable day.

I believe (here I am speculating, I'm sure I am not very misguided) that the sound engineer has a copy of the original master, and it may be that there are quietly a few hours of poetry recordings (more than 2 hours I thought, I was wrong about the duration of this session).

Recording date: December 8, 1970.

Studio: Village Recorders

Location: 1616 Butler Ave. - Los Angeles, California

Sound Engineer: John Haeny.

For his birthday in 1970, Frank Lisciandro buys Jim Morrison's studio time to record his poems.

Like the 1969 poetry tape, various parts of this recording were also used for the raw materials to build the 1978 poetry album.

During this session, Jim Morrison gives a comprehensive reading from his private poetry book An American Prayer, and recites portions of his poetry with Kathy Lisciandro and Florentine Pabst.

This session is not continuous, and is likely to be recorded on numerous reels.

Jim also recorded many of the well-known songs from the previous 1969 recording, such as 'Bird Of prey' and 'Woman in the window'.

Several other poetry compositions are recorded on that date, including Cassandra at the well, and many others of which have yet to be heard by the general public.

NOTE: What you are going to read now, until you get to "list of poems / songs"; It is extracted from an article on the network (internet),
here you have the link, and the original page is, and has the text in English.

So I used the google translator, I hope you like what the person who wrote this on the page called: "Jazz Rock Fusion Guitar" tells here.

Link 2 the page / link to the page:

http://jazz-rock-fusion-guitar.blogspot.com/2017/02/doors-1978-1995-american-prayer.html

Article title:

The Doors - 1978 [1995] "An American Prayer"

An American Prayer is The Doors' ninth and final studio album. In 1978, seven years after the death of singer Jim Morrison and five years after the remaining members of the band parted ways, Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger, and John Densmore reunited and recorded backing tracks on Morrison's poetry (originally recorded in 1969 and 1970).

Other musical pieces and spoken words recorded by the Doors and Morrison were also used in the audio collage, such as dialogue from Morrison's film HWY: An American Pastoral and excerpts from jam sessions.

The album received mixed reviews and still divides critics, however it has achieved platinum certification in the US.

When the album was originally released, Longtime Doors producer Paul A. Rothchild labeled the album a "Jim Morrison rape."

Rothchild claimed that he had listened to all the master tape reels from the 1969 and 1970 poetry sessions, insisting that the remaining three doors did not realize Morrison's original intention for an audio presentation of the poetry.

Morrison himself, before leaving for Paris, had approached the composer Lalo schifrin as a possible collaborator of the musical tracks, destined to accompany the poetry, without the participation of any of the other members of Doors.

In addition, he had developed some conception of the album cover artwork in January 1971, and was in correspondence with artist TE Breitenbach to design this cover in the form of a triptych (a three-panel painting with various images embedded in each panel).

However, John Haeny, who recorded the tapes of the original session with Morrison in 1970, and protected them before the project was resurrected as An American Prayer, insisted that the album "was made by those closest to Jim, both personally and artistically "and" everyone had the best of intentions, "stating:

"Jim would be pleased. Jim would have understood our motivation and appreciated our dedication and sincere handling of his work.

Moody and fascinating, An American Prayer is an interesting album of Jim Morrison reading his poetry about the music of the Doors.

An American Prayer was terminated by the remaining members of The Doors after Morrison's death and finally released in 1978 (it was remastered and re-released in 1995 with bonus tracks).

Those familiar with The Doors' lyrics won't be surprised, but others may be put off because Morrison isn't afraid to use crude imagery and blatantly talk about taboo topics like sex and religion.

Although many dismiss his poetry as mere random musings, Morrison is a talented lyricist with a vivid imagination.

The album also demonstrates how the other musicians in the band create a mood that brings Morrison's dark and twisted visions to life.

The musical excerpts from "Peace Frog" and "Wasp (Texas Radio and the Big Beat)" provide a pleasant air of familiarity, and the definitive live version of "Roadhouse Blues" in the middle of the album provides a welcome respite from the barrage of stories and metaphors.

However, an American prayer must be heard in one sitting to be fully appreciated, preferably at night, when one is alone and can devote full attention to the listening experience.

This album isn't for everyone, but it's a must-have for Doors completists and fans of Jim Morrison's poetry.

It was Robby's idea. Jim had haunted him for a while.

Perhaps he was not a true ghost in the classical sense or definition, but Robby had been dreaming of Jim Morrison reciting his poetry.

Robby called engineer John Haeny to see if he knew where the tapes were that Jim had made on his 27th birthday on December 8, 1970.

Haeny still had the tapes and the first step was made in what would become an album of poetry known by Jim Morrison as "An American Prayer."

An American sentence: the cover (or, * the cover).

* = A very appropriate title to cover yourself in glory on behalf of someone else's work !.

The recordings of December 8, 1970 were made with a view to Jim Morrison recording a solo album of his poetry.

Morrison had gotten a contract with Elektra founder Jac Holzman for the album and wanted to start recording it.

He invited Frank and Kathy Lisciandro, Alain Ronay and Florentine Pabst to the studio for the recording.

Haeny gave Morrison a bottle of Old Bushmills whiskey (on the CD "An American Prayer" on the bonus track, "Ghost Song", the tape was still rolling and Morrison says, "one more thing", then you can hear him have a drink. swallow the bottle; you have to turn up the volume to hear it), and the session lasted about four hours.

If the scene sounds familiar, Oliver Stone used it in his movie "The Doors."

Recordings from the March 1969 recording session were also used, but in the 1970 "birthday sessions" Morrison had reviewed many of the previously recorded poems.

The surviving Doors recorded "An American Prayer" using (in addition to Morrison's poetry sessions) materials from The Doors catalog, recordings of live Doors performances, and sound effects.

They recorded new music using much of the poetry, editing and uniting Morrison's voice in and around the music.

"An American Prayer" was released in November 1978 * and roughly describes Jim Morrison's life from birth ('wake up!'), Childhood, adolescence and coming of age, to being a rock star / symbol sexual, and the elegiac poem "An American Prayer."

"An American Prayer" was released to generally good reviews. Although not widely played on the radio due to Morrison's use of expletives, it was the only Doors album to be nominated for a Grammy and with 250,000 copies sold upon release, it makes it the best-selling spoken word album.

All members of the Doors "family" thought "An American Prayer" was a fitting tribute to Morrison, and his desire to be considered a poet.

The only exception was veteran Doors producer Paul Rothchild, who called "An American Prayer" "Jim Morrison's rape" and compared it to "taking a Picasso and cutting it into postage-stamp-sized pieces, and scattering it across the street. wall of a supermarket ".

Rothchild also cited Morrison's intentions to produce a poetry album as a solo project, separate from The Doors, and without rock music using more classical orchestrations or with avant-garde orchestrations as with Lalo Schifrin (who made the soundtrack to the classics. 60's "Cool Hand Luke" and "Mission Impossible").

Part of Morrison's vision for his poetry album was commissioning a triptych from artist T.E. Breitenbach, shows the elements that Morrison considered important, a moonlit beach with naked couples running, a city at noon "crazy with activity" and a desert scene at night seen through the windshield of a car.

List of Poems/Songs:

Far arden
"In that year we had a great visitation of energy..."
"Back in those days everything was simpler & more confused..."
-Bird Of prey
-Underwaterfall
-Winter photography
Tales of the american night >
"& the cool fluttering rotten wind..."*
"Gently they stir..."*
"My name is the holy shay..."
-Woman in the window
"They haven't invented musak yet..."
Science Of night
"Earth Air Fire Water..."
An american prayer
"Do you know the warm progress under the stars?..."
"Do you know we are ruled by television..."
"I touched her thigh and death smiled..."
"Resident mockery, give us an hour for magic..."
"We used to believe in the good old days..."
"We can invent kingdoms of our own..."
"Cruel bindings..."
"They are waiting to take us into the severed garden..."
"Great screaming christ..."
"An iron chuckle rapped our minds..."
"Here come the comedians..."
"I'll be, the irish loud..."
"Arrogant prose tied in a network..."
"Matchbox..."
"A hot sick lava flowed up..."
"A ship leaves port..."
Lament for the death Of my cock
"Lament for my cock..."
"Lost cells..."
"I can forgive..."
Awake
"Shake dreams from your hair..."
Curses, invocations
"Weird bait-headed mongrels..."
The crossroads
"Meeting you at your parents gate..."
Untitled poems
"I walked thru the panther's living room..."
"The flowering of god-like people..."
"The wild whore laughs..."
"Come for all the world lies..."
"Of the great insane american night..."
"Blessings..."
Untitled Poems
"The politics of ecstacy are real..."
"Ledger domain..."
"Cobra sun / fever smile..."
Cassandra at the well
"Help! help! save us!..."
Untitled Poems
"Where are my dreamers..."
"It was the greatest night of my life..."
"Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding..."
"Cemetary cool & quiet..."
"In this full throated sex'd cry..." >
"For those people who died..."
"All these monstrous words forsaken..."
"Argue with breath..."
"I fell on the earth & raped the snow..."
"If the writer can write..."
"To have just come wondering if the world is real..."
"Round-up, rondolay, rhonda..." >
"Taxi from africa..." >
"Feeling streams led to losers..." >
"Rib-bait squalor the women of the quarter yawned..." >
"Buildings gilded no interuptions..."
"Those who race toward death..."
"The endless quest a vigil..."
"Fence my sacred fire..."
Desire for a perfect life
"Why the desire for death..."

(Incomplete)

* Featuring Kathy Lisciandro & Florentine Pabst On Vocals

Web reference page:

http://mildequator.com/recordinghistory/poetry.html

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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Recorded poetry:

Note: This little part called "Recorded poetry" was taken from this site:

https://thedoorsguide.com/jim-morrisons-poetry/

On two separate occasions, Morrison recorded his own poetry, and some of this was featured in ‘An American Prayer’,
a reunion of the remaining members of The Doors. The first recording session was in 1969, the second in 1970,
and this one included some sketch pieces and was attended by friends.

Some parts of the 1969 session had been used to form the ‘The Lost Paris Tapes’ album, but other parts remain private and unreleased, in the possession of the Courson family.

Note: The rest was taken from a facebook profile (I think it's Russian, I'm not sure), and here is the link:

https://www.facebook.com/drunkenboatpublishers/posts/208934526106748

Oficial history?;

The jim Morrison's second poetry session, recorded on the evening of his 27th birthday at Village Recorders in Los Angeles, CA on December 8, 1970.

Morrison again met with producer John Haeny for what Jim referred to as the combined official start of his poetry album and birthday party.

Within a few weeks, on December 31, 1970, the two men would execute completed contracts with Elektra Records to co-produce Morrison's solo poetry album.

It is this recording session that is famously recreated (and rather dramatically embellished) in Oliver Stone's 1991 film.

Just prior to the session, Haeny buys Morrison a bottle of Bushmills Irish Whiskey as a birthday gift, and they record about an hour-and-a-half's worth of poetry.

Unlike their previous session at Elektra, Haeny records this material in mono without any reverb or other effects in preparation for its use in the final album. Morrison reads his recently self-published poem "An American Prayer" and other work.

In addition to Morrison and Haeny, Frank and Kathy Lisciandro are present along with Florentine Pabst, and several other friends who join the birthday party later in the session.

Photographs taken by Frank Lisciandro show Morrison wearing a jersey with the number 66 on it and a Native American mascot in full warrior headdress on the sleeves.

There is a break at some point in the middle of the session during which Morrison, Haeny, and the Lisciandro go out for some tacos at one of Jim's favorite college haunts, The Lucky U.

When they return to the studio, Morrison continues to record as more friends arrive.

They help read some of Jim's poetry along with Kathy and Florentine who read from "All hail the American Night..."

The following information about what was recorded during Jim morrison's birthday session was compiled from the books Wilderness, and The American Night as well as the published accounts of John Haeny and Frank Lisciandro, and select recordings that have have been released over the years.

But as the complete session remains unheard, this information is largely speculative and likely to be incomplete.

CONTENTS:

"In that year..." (The American Night, p. 55)
"& the cool fluttering rotten wind..." (The American Night, pp. 56-57)
"Lament For The Death Of My Cock" (The American Night, pp. 59-61)
"A wake/Shake dreams from your hair..." (The American Night, p. 62)
"Curses & Invocations" (The American Night, p. 63)
"The Crossroads" (The American Night, p. 64)
"I walked thru the panther's living room..." (The American Night, p. 65)
"The flowering/of god-like people..." (The American Night, p. 66)
"The Wild whore laughs..." (The American Night, p. 67)
"Tales Of The American Night" (The American Night, p. 119)
"Can We Resolve The Past" (The American Night, pp. 121-122)
"Always a playground instructor..." (The American Night, pp. 123-124)
"An American Prayer" (The American Night, pp. 3-18)
"Come/for all the world lies..." (Wilderness, p. 169)
"Of the Great Insane/American Night..." (Wilderness, p. 170)
"Blessings..." (Wilderness, p. 171)
"Science Of Night" (Wilderness, p. 172)
"The Politics of ecstasy are real..." (Wilderness, p. 173)
"Ledger domain..." (Wilderness, p. 175)
"Cobra sun..." (Wilderness, p. 176)
"Cassandra At The Well" (Wilderness, p. 177)
"Where are my dreamers..." (Wilderness, p. 179)
"It was the greatest night of my life..." (Wilderness, p. 180)
"In this full-throated..." (Wilderness, pp. 181-182)
"All these monstrous..." (Wilderness, p. 183)
"Argue w/ breath..." (Wilderness, p. 184)
"I fell on the earth..." (Wilderness, p. 185)
"If the writer can write..." (Wilderness, p. 187)
"To have just come wondering..." (Wilderness, p. 188)
"Round-up, Rondolay, Rhonda..." (Wilderness, pp. 189-193)
"The Endless quest a vigil..." (Wilderness, p. 197)
"Fence my sacred fire..." (Wilderness, p. 198)
"Why the desire for death..." (Wilderness, p. 199)
"In that year..." (Wilderness, pp. 135-138)

[LUCKY U BREAK]

Unknown Poems (No Book Reference)
Unknown Poems [With Tambourine] (No Book Reference)
Unknown Poems (No Book Reference)*
"All hail the American Night..." (Wilderness, p. 146-148)**

*With Unknown Friends.

**With Kathy Lisciandro & Florentine Pabst

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Alternative poems folder:

As i look back (E.track) - Patti smith vocals (08:27) - Year 2021, place unknown.

Cassandra at the well (The world on fire excerpt) (01:07) - An american prayer excerpt, 1978.

Graveyard poem (other source & version) (00:56) - Unknown place, 1970.

Graveyard poem (00:42) - Dec. 8, 1970 poetry session.

Kingdoms of our own (¿Another source) (00:42) - Unknown mix, ¿year.

Texas radio & the big beat (Different source) (01:32) - Unknown, maybe between 1969 snd 1970.

The american nite (E.track) (00:34) - Patti smith vocals (08:27) - Year 2021, place unknown.

The politics of ecstacy (00:10) - Unknown mix, ¿year.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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The village recorder tapes transcription
By James Douglas Morrison.

- Part one -

In that year we had a great visitation of energy.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Back in those days everything
was simpler & more confused.
One summer night,
Going to the pier,
I ran into 2 young girls.
The blonde was called freedom,
The dark one, enterprise.
We talked,
& they told me this story.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Come
for all the world lies
hushed & fallen
green ships dangle
on the surface of
Ocean, & sky - birds
glide smugly among
the planes
Gaunt crippled houses
Strangle the cliffs
In the East, in the cities
a hum of life
starting, now come

* * *
& the cool fluttering rotten wind
in a child’s hand-print on
picture window
& the gun cocked & held
resting on the shoulder,
western style.

& fire in the night waiting,
in a darkened house
for the cruel insane breed
from town to arrive.

& come poking thru smoke
in the fuel & ashes for milk
& the evil leer on their faces
barking w/triumph.
Who will not stop them?.
The hollow tree,
Where we three slept
& dreamed
in the movement of
whirling shadows & grass
Tired rustle of leaves.

An old man stirs the dancers
w/his old dance
darkening
swift shadows lean on the
meat of forests
to allow breathing.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gently they stir,
gently rise.
The dead are new-born
Awakening.
w/ravaged limbs
& wet souls
Gently they sigh
in rapt funeral amazement
Who called these dead to dance?.
Was it the young woman
learning to play the “Ghost
Song” on her baby grand?.
Was it the wilderness children?.
Was it the Ghost-God himself,
Stuttering, cheering,
chatting blindly?.
I called you up to
anoint the earth.
I called you to announce
sadness falling like
burned skin
I called you to wish
you well, to glory in
self like a new monster
& now I call on you
to pray:

* * *
Of the great insane american night
We sing
sending our gift
to its vast promise

Pilots are a problem
The rain & hungry sea
greedy for steel

Say a soft american prayer
A quiet animal sigh
for the strong plane
landing.

We rode on opium tires
from the colossal
airport chess game
at dawn, new from glass
in the broken night

landed then in quiet
fog, beside the times
out of this strange river.

Then gladly thru
a wasted morning
happy to be alive to
signs of life
a dog,
a school girl
are we in Harlem?

* * *
- LAMENT FOR THE DEAD OF MY COCK
Lament for my cock
Sore & crucified
I seek to know you
acquiring soulful wisdom
you can open walls of
mystery
strip-show

How to acquire death
On the morning
Show

T.V. death
which the child
absorbs

death-well
mystery
which makes
me write

Slow train
The death of my cock
gives life

Forgive the poor old people
who gave us entry
Taught us God
& the child’s prayer
in the night

Guitar player
Ancient wise satyr
Sing your ode
to my cock

caress its lament
stiffen & guide
us
we frozen
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lost cells

The knowledge of cancer
to speak to the heart
& give the great gift
words
power
trance.

This stable friend
& the beasts of his zoo
wild-haired chicks
women
flowery in their summit
monsters of skin
each color connects
to create the boat
which rocks the race

could any hell be more
horrible than now
& real.

“I pressed her thigh
& death smiled”

death, old friend
death & my cock
are the world

I can forgive
my injuries
in the name of
wisdom
luxury
romance
Sentence upon sentence
words are healing lament.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For the death of my cock’s spirit
has no meaning in the soft fire.

Words got me the wound
& will get me well
If you believe it.

All join now in lament
for the death of my cock
a tongue of knowledge
in the feathered night

boys get crazy in the head
& suffer
I sacrifice my cock
on the altar
of silence

* * *
BLESSINGS

accept this ancient
wisdom
which has travelled
far to greet us
from the East
w/the sun

Call out to him
from the mountain
high, from high
towers

as the mind
rebels
& wends its way
to freedom

grant us one more day
& hour
the hero of this dream
who heals & guides us

Forgive me, blacks
you who unite
as I fear & gently
fall on darkness

* * *

In that year we had a great visitation of energy.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A vast radiant beach
& a cool jeweled moon
Couples naked raced
down
by its quiet side

And we laugh
like soft, mad children smug
in the wooly cotton brains of infancy.

The music & voices
are all around us.

Choose, they croon
the ancient ones
The time has come again.

Choose now, they croon
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake.

Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us.

Everything is broken up
and dances.

* * *

AN AMERICAN PRAYER

- Do you know the warm progress
under the stars?
Do you know we exist?
Have you forgotten the keys
to the Kingdom?
Have you been borne yet
& are you alive?

Let’s reinvent the gods, all the myths
of the ages
Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests

[Have you forgotten the lessons
of the ancient war]

We need great golden copulations

The fathers are cackling in trees of the forest
Our mother is dead in the sea

Do you know we are being led to
slaughters by placid admirals
& that fat slow generals are getting
obscene on young blood

- Do you know we are ruled by T.V.
The moon is a dry blood beast

Guerrilla bands are rolling numbers
in the next block of green vine
amassing for warfare on innocent herdsmen
who are just dying

O great creator of being
grant us one more hour to
perform our art
& perfect our lives

The moths & atheists are doubly divine
& dying
We live, we die
& death not ends it

Journey we more into the
Nightmare
Cling to life
our passion’d flower
Cling to cunts & cocks
of despair
We got our final vision
by clap
Columbus’ groin got
filled w/green death
(I touched her thigh
& death smiled).

We have assembled inside this ancient
& insane theatre
to propagate our lust for life
& flee the swarming wisdom
of the streets

The barns are stormed
the windows kept
& only one of all the rest

To dance & save us
W/the divine mockery
of words

Music inflames temperament

(When the true King’s murderers
are allowed to roam free
a l000 Magicians arise
in the land)

Where are the feasts
we were promised

Where´s the wine
& the new wine
(dying on the vine)

- Resident mockery
give us an hour for magic

We of the purple glove
We of the starling flight
& velvet hour

We of arabic pleasure’s breed
We of sundome & the night

Give us a creed
to believe

A night of lust
Give us trust in
the night

Give of color
hundred hues

a rich Mandala
for me & you

& for your silky
pillowed house
a head, wisdom
& a bed

Troubled decree
Resident mockery
has claimed thee

We used to believe
in the good old days
We still receive
In little ways

The things of kindness
& unsporting brow
forget & allow

Did you know freedom exists
in a school book
Did you know madmen are
running our prison
w/in a jail, w/in a gaol
w/in a white free protestant
maelstrom

We’re perched headlong
on the edge of boredom

We’re reaching for death
on the end of a candle

We’re trying for something
that’s already found us.

- We can invent kingdoms of our own
grand purple thrones, those chairs of lust
& love we must, in beds of rust

Steel doors lock in prisoner’s screams
& muzak, AM, rocks their dreams
No black men’s pride to hoist the beams
while mocking angels sift what seems

To be a collage of magazine dust
Scratched on foreheads of walls of trust
This is just jail for those who must
get up in the morning & fight for such

unusable standards
while weeping maidens
show-off penury & pout
ravings for a mad
staff

- Wow, I’m sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain
South
Cruel bindings.

The servants have the power
dog-men & their mean women
pulling poor blankets over
our sailors
(& where were you in our lean hour)
Milking your moustache?
or grinding a flower?

I’m sick of dour faces
Staring at me from the T.V.
Tower. I want roses in
my garden bower; dig?
Royal babies, rubies
must now replace aborted
Strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood-meal
for the plant that’s plowed

- They are waiting to take us into the severed garden.
Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful
comes death on a strange hour
unannounced, unplanned for
like a scaring over-friendly guest you’ve
brought to bed

Death makes angels of us all
& gives us wings
where we had shoulders
smooth as raven’s
claws

No more money, no more fancy dress
This other kingdom seems by far the best
until its other jaw reveals incest
& loose obedience to a vegetable law

I will not go
Prefer a feast of friends
to the giant family

II
- Great screaming christ
Upsy-daisy
Lazy mary will you get up
upon a sunday morning.

“The movie will begin in 5 moments”
The mindless voice announced
“All those unseated, will await
the next show”

We filed slowly, languidly
into the hall. The auditorium
was vast, & silent.
As we seated & were darkened
The voice continued:

The program for this evening
is not new. You have seen
this entertainment thru & thru.
You’ve seen your birth, your
life & death; you might recall
all of the rest - (did you
have a good world when you
died?) - enough to base
a movie on?”

- An iron chuckle rapped our minds like a fist.
I’m getting out of here
Where’re you going?
To the other side of morning.
Please don’t chase the clouds
pagodas, temples.

Her cunt gripped him
like a warm friendly
hand.

“It’s all right.

All your friends are here.”

When can I meet them?
“After you’ve eaten”
I’m not hungry
“O, we meant beaten”

Silver stream, silvery scream, oooo
impossible concentration.

- Here come the comedians
look at them smile

Watch them dance
an indian mile.

Look at them gesture
How aplomb
So to gesture everyone.

Words dissemble
words be quick
words resemble walking sticks.

Plant them
they will grow
watch them waver so

I’ll always be a word-man,
better than a birdman

But I’ll charge
Won’t get away
w/out lodging a dollar.

Shall I say it again
aloud, you get the point
No food w/out fuel’s gain.

- I’ll be, the irish loud,
unleashed my beak
at peak of Powers

O girl, unleash
your worried comb
O worried mind
Sin in the fallen
Backwoods by the blind
She smells debt
on my new collar
Arrogant prose
Tied in a network of fast quest
Hence the obsession
Its quick to admit
Fast borrowed rhythm
Woman came between them
Women of the world unite
Make the world safe
For a scandalous life
Hee Heee
Cut your throat
Life is a joke
Your wife’s in a moat
The same boat
Here comes the goat
Blood Blood Blood Blood
They’re making a joke
of our universe.

II
Matchbox
Are you more real than me
I’ll burn you, & set you free
Wept bitter tears
Excessive courtesy
I won’t forget.

IV
A hot sick lava flowed up,
Rustling & bubbling. The idiot took
his mind off his flowers, calling
robins doee. Neat marshall
of enterprise. Thought fall diamond.
You wouldn’t know class - if it fell
on your ass. Indeed. Motel
Swimming pool.
Ass high in junk. The paper face.
Mirror-mask, I love you mirror.
Venetian blinds. Mediterranean
Trot. Trout-fishing. What’s for
lunch.
Index
of Pool (comfort chair, rod [aluminum]
peel, tan, orange flavor golf ball)
Hit his head on a Texas green
“ya wanta fight”
hard gloves, worthy of sinners fight
clean
a hard win
He had been brainwashed for 4 hrs.
The Lt. puzzled in again
“ready to talk”
No sir - was all he’d say.
Go back to the gym.
Very peaceful
Meditation
Shower (of conVenience)
a military station in the desert
looking out venetian blinds
a plane
a desert flower
movie air base
cool cartoon

The rest of the world (?) Travel proving
is reckless & dangerous
Look at the cartoons
of brothels
Stag films
- The ship leaves port
EXPLORATION
V
A mean horse of another thicket
wishbone of desire
decry the metal fox

* * *

In that year we had a great visitation of energy.

A vast radiant beach
& a cool jeweled moon

Couples, naked, raced
down by its quiet side

And we laugh like
soft, mad children

smug in the wooly
cotton brains of infancy.

The music & voices
are all around us.

Choose, they croon
the ancient ones
the time has come again.

Choose now, they croon
beneath the moon
beside an ancient lake.

Enter again the sweet forest
enter the hot dream,
come w/us.

Everything is broken up
& dances.

* * *

WHISKEY & MYSTICS & MEN

Well, I’ll tell you a story of whiskey & mystics & men
And about the believers and how the whole thing began
First there were women and children obeying the moon
Then daylight brought wisdom and fever and sickness too
soon.
You can try to remind me instead of the other, you can
You can help to insure that we all insecure our command
If you don’t give a listen I won’t try to tell your new hand
This is it, can’t you see that we all have our ends in the band
And if all of the teachers and preachers of wealth were
arraigned
We could see quite a future for me in the literal sands
And if all of the people could claim to inspect such regret
Well, we’d have no forgiveness, forgetfulness, faithful
remorse
So I tell you, I tell you, I tell you we must send away
We must try to find a new answer instead of a way.

* * *
- My name is the Holy Shay
I come to town this day
to tell my story to the Judge
judge judge judge judge
the man is not wanted here.

Come to our house say the mandarino
And tell us why it is
you stray so near

And why you run ‘way fast
and come back slow

In the middle of the sun
In the middle of the day
when even an idiot goes indoors.

* * *

The sun sucks snakes
into its eye
What do the dead do
when they die?

* * *

- Earth Air Fire Water
Mother Father Sons & Daughters
Airplane in the starry night
First fright
Forest follow free
I love thee
Watch how I love thee

* * *

- Have you forgotten the lessons of the ancient war
Keep opening doors
in the party skull.

The tunnel of Love.
Strangle the women,
voices, one by one

* * *

“Sing to your Daddy in the house of suede”

Funeral bells are ringing
cemetery deer are singing
Cypress trees of Monterey
The cool wines of disorder
Calmly, looking back
growing slowly
older

* * *

- I want the kiss of war
to unnerve the nation
Demand transfer
to another station

* * *

- The Politics of ecstasy are real
Can’t you feel them working
thru you
Turning night into day
Mixing sun w/the sea.

* * *

& Gentlemen of doubt
shout your warnings
to the women of Crete
who have no need for meat
Sweet sacred meat
Come out! Come out!
& eat

* * *

Ledger domain
Wilderness pain
cruel swimming ambience
sweet swimming fish hook smile
I love you all the while
even w/the little child
by the hand
& squeeze
You’re learning
fast
Keep off the walk
listen to the children talk

* * *

Where are my women
Hiding Hiding
Where are my women
Hiding out
Come out of your little rooms
Come out here
Come out of your little corners
I’ve got
Meat
Sacred meat

* * *

THE CROSSROADS

- Meeting you at your parent’s gate
We will tell you what to do
What you have to do
to survive
Leave the rotten towns
of your father
Leave the poisoned wells
& bloodstained streets
Enter now the sweet forest

* * *

- When warriors leave the field
the soil is rich & rice
will grow again
& gold

* * *

- Cobra sun / fever smile
-No man kill me

“Who is this insane messenger?”

In times like these we need
men around us who can
see clearly & speak the truth.
Out of breath
Raving witness
Who comes?
Asia

* * *

- I walked thru the panther’s living room
And our summer together ended
too soon
Stronger than farther
Strangled by night
Rest in my sunburst
Relax in her secret wilderness
This is the sea of doubt
which threads harps
unwithered
& unstrung
It’s the brother not the past
who turns sunlight into glass
It’s the valley
It’s me
Testimony from
a strange witness

* * *

- The flowering of god-like people
in the muted air
would seem
strange
to an intruder
of certain size
but this is all we have left
to guide us
Now that he is gone

* * *

eads me from
line to line
in time of fever
In the stillness of an insect dream
I seem to hear the women scream
out wonderingly for solace
from the tense soldier

* * *

- Now listen to this:
I’ll tell you about Texas Radio & the Big Beat
Soft driven slow & mad like some new language
Reaching your head w/the cold sudden fury of a divine
messenger

Let me tell you about heartache & the loss of god
Wandering, wandering in hopeless night
The negroes in the forest brightly feathered
Let me show you the maiden w/wrought-iron soul
Out here on the perimeter there are no stars
Out here we is stoned immaculate

* * *

CASSANDRA AT THE WELL

Help! Help! Save us!
Save us!
We’re dying, fella, do something.

Get us out of this!
Save us!
I’m dying.

What have we done now!
We’ve done it, fella, we’ve committed the . . .
Help!
This is the end of us, fella.

I love you fella.
I love you fella.

I love you cause you’re you.

But you’ve got to help us.
What have we done, fella,
What have we done now?

* * *

- Where are my dreamers
Today & tonight

Where are my dancers
leaping madly
whirling & screaming

Where are my women
quietly dreaming
caught like angels
on the dark porch
of a velvet ranch
dance dance dance dance
dance dance dance

* * *

- It was the greatest night of my life
Although I still had not found a wife
I had my friends right there beside me
We were close together

Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile egg shell mind

We scaled the wall
We tripped thru the graveyard

Ancient shapes were all around us
No music but the wet grass
felt fresh beside the fog

Two made love in a silent spot
one chased a rabbit into the dark
a girl got drunk & balled the dead
& I gave empty sermons to my head

Cemetery cool & quiet
hate to leave your sacred lay
Dread the milky coming of the day

I’d love to stay
I’d love to stay
I’d love to stay
* * *

Indian Indian what did you die for
Indian says nothing at all

* * *

WOMAN IN THE WINDOW

I am the woman in the window
See the children playing
soldier sailor young man on your way
to the summer swimming pool

Can you see me standing
in my window can you hear me
laughing
Mmm – mmm

Come upstairs sir, to your room
& I will play for you

Oh, dreamland
golden sceneland
Try to sleepland
take us to dreamland

I am unhappy
far from my woman

Take me to dreamland
land of the Banyan

Land of plentiful
Pleasures of pines and
Potatoes on tables
laden with good things.

Eat at my table
she cried to the vineyards
Calling the workers
home from the meadows

Man you are evil
get away from my garden

Ours is a good place
home of the reindeer

Sell me your pony
your fast golden pony

I need his strength
& his terrible footsteps
Riding the prairie
just me and my angel
Just try & stop us
we’re going to love.

Open your window
woman of Palestine
throw down your raiment
& cover us over.

* * *

Jim: Okay.
Now, let’s go get a taco.

- Part two –

- When radio dark night
existed & assumed control
and we rocked in its web
consumed by static
stroked w/fear

We were drawn down
the distance of long cities
riding home thru the open
night, alone
launching fever & strange
carnage
from the back seat.

* * *

- Awake
Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one

Choose the day, & choose the sign
of your day,
the days
divinity,
1st thing you see.

A burnt tree, like a giant
primeval bird,
a leaf,
dry & bitter, crackling tales
in its warm ways.

Sidewalk gods will do for you.
The forest of the neighborhood,
The empty lost museum, &
The mesa, & the Mt.’s pregnant

Monument above the newsstand
where the children hide
When school ends

* * *

- In this full-throated sex’d cry
we must try again
to speak of the ununited
miles of sleep around
us
Bumbling thru slumber
Blind numbers
In a tiled room
We sit & brood
Refuse to move
The guards refuse
and in the last place
and in the last sweet breath
& in stroke of side-wise crab
and in stars of plenty, stars of greed
in the written books & majesties
in fulfillment on a cliff
on the inside of butter
on smooth backs & camels
in the open vessel
in the vein
in lives untold who witnessed
everything

For those people who die for Nirvana
for the heavenly creed
for you, for me
These lines are written
to convey the message
To ignore the warning
To spree upward into
Tantalizing voices
To visit under-seas
Believe
Things more horrible than war
Things out of the tales
great beasts
suffering extinction

* * *

- Curses, invocations
Weird bait-headed mongrels
I keep expecting one of you
to rise
Large buxom obese queens
garden hogs & cunt veterans
quaint cabbage saints
shit-hoarders & individualists
drag-strip officials
Tight-lipped losers
& lustful fuck salesmen
My militant dandies
all strange order of monsters
hot on the trail of the
woodvine
We welcome you to our procession

* * *

- All these monstrous apologies
Words forsaken or
forgotten
loose walls falling
Tumbling down into
night. Fast friends,
earthly lovers, crash.
Sweet sorrow, blackness
falling soft rivers
of guilt on the
spilled roadside. Down
into fire, cry
down into silence

* * *

- Argue w/breath
nice
while I cry
Midnight!
it must come
like dream
sperm
uncalled
from the center
Borderlands
where liquors
made
flow
it must come
unbidden
like the dawn
soft haste
No hurry
hairs curl
The phone rings
We créate the dawn

* * *

Stiff bundle breeding sorrow
Mare’s milk
- I fell in the earth
& raped the snow
I got married to life
& breathed w/my marrow
I saw young dancers
I am meat & need fuel
Need the whorey glimmer of tears
in women, all ages
Laughter sandwich, fuel
for the lunch of meat minds
Now damn you, dance
Now dance
or die sleek & fat in your
reeking seats, still
buckled for flight

* * *

- To have just come wondering
if the world is real is
sick to see the shape she’s
made of. What wandering
lunacy have we soft created?
Certain no one meant it
sure someone started
Where is he?
Where is he or it when
we need her?
Where are you?
In a flower?
In a flower?
To have just been born
for beauty & see sadness
What is this frail sickness?
Now look. The chocolate bitch
is in heat, bad bitch
for breeding
But we love her best

* * *

- If the writer can write,
& the farmer can sow
Then all miracles concur,
appear, & start happening
If the children eat, if their
time of crying was MidNight
The earth needs them
soft dogs on the snow
Nestled in spring
When sun makes wine
& blood dances dangerous
in the veins or vine

* * *

- The wild whore laughs
like an ancient spinster
Crone, we see you, come again
in the mind
I lie like fever
Dancing your nubile hush
willing to be possessed
untold stories
dare injuns rise
Trampled, like red-skins
sacred fore-skin
Cancer began w/the knife’s
cruel blow & the damaged
rod has risen again
in the East
like a star on fire

* * *
Round-up, Rondolay, Rhonda,
Red, rich roll ruse rune
rake roan ran regard
if you know what I mean.

This is concrete imagery Vermont
The mouth leads this way
eye that way
No good faster the hand too slow
To exist in time we die/construct
prisms, prisons in a
void the truth faster these hang-ups
hold-ups shooting the republic
The president’s dream behind
the throne
four-score fast fever the clinic
the wisdom syphilis doctor nurse
Indians Americans Atlantis
Save us guide us in time of need
prayer to the mind cell body
prayer to center of man prayer
to evening’s last whisper as the
hand silently glides into peaceful
stones I await your coming
w/negligence Speak to me!
don’t leave me here alone
Torture clinic chamber
I know the man
arrested The stale bars his mother
who will help a match a cigarette
I’m going God What is your name

There must be some way to define
stop happening space shades
postures poses suspects

The world behind the word & all
insane utterance
Can’t now coming for us soon leave all over
The Republic is a big cross in a
big cross the nation
The world on fire
Taxi from Africa
The Grand Hotel
He was drunk a big party last
night there.
Pastures fields
skunks snake invisible night birds
night hawks summer disasters
out of doors listen to the lions
roar in the empty fields
of summer.

These are forgotten
lands Speak confidently of
the forest the end the joke
is on me most certainly
There must be someone today who
knows what they do but they can’t
tell you like feeding a child
Wine like sniffing Kotex
Cigars roar field streams
blue babies lists real estate
offices word-vomit
mind soup crawling lice &
Tick bats, book bonds
Feeling streams lead to losers
back going back in all directions
sleeping these insane hours
I’ll never wake up in a good mood
again.
I’m sick of these stinky boots.
Stories of animals
in the woods not stupid but
like Indians peeping out their
little eyes in the night I know
the forest & the evil moon tide.
“We sure look funny don’t we fella?”
Plu-perfect.
Forgotten.
Songs are good streams for a laugh.

The mind bird was a god fella
who minded labyrinths & lived in a well
He knew Jesus knew Newman knew
Me & Morganfield I hope you can
understand these last parables were
hope (less)
Sure if you can regard
them as anything beyond matter surely
not more than twice fold fork follow
& loose-tree
Now here’s the rub rune

Rib-bait squalor the women of the quarter
yawned & meandered swimming dust
Tide for foodscapes to child-feed
No noon for misses The church called
bells inhabitants of the well come
To hell come to the bell funeral, jive
Negroes plenty fluttering their dark
smiles Mindless lepers con-men
The movie is popular this season in
all the hotels rich tourists from
the continent shore up & hold a story
Seance nightly the birds tell &
They know all Telephones crooks
& castanets the lines are wired
Listen hear those voices & all this
long distance from the other half
I love to hear ya ramble boy
missionary stallion. One day the
devil arrived only no tell or
you’ll ruin the outcome He walked
to the pulpit & saved the city
while certainly scoring someone’s
female daughter. When his cloak
was hoisted the snake was seen
& we all slipped back to lethargy.

Buildings gilded no interruptions.

Constructions everywhere.
Our own house
was solid astrology
Tiny flutes
won their starling’s sunrise.
And
in the estuary side-traps stopped
our dinner
He came home w/bags
of meat & sacks of flour & the bread
rose & the family flourished.

* * *

SOLDIER’S WIFE’S LETTER

- And so i say to you
The silk handkerchief was
embroidered in China or Japan
behind the steel curtain And
no one can cross the borderline
w/out proper credentials.

This is to say that we are all
sensate & occasionally sad
& if every partner in crime
were to incorporate promises
in his program the dance
might end & all our friends
would follow.

Who are our friends?
Are they sullen & slow?
Do they have great desire?
Or are they one of the multitude who
walk doubting their impossible
regret.

Certainly things happen
& reoccur in continuous promise;
All of us have found a safe
niche where we can store up
riches & talk to our fellows
on the same premise of disaster.

But this will not do.

No, this
will never do.

There are
continents & shores which
beseech our understanding.
Seldom have we been so slow,
Seldom have we been so far.

My only wish is to see,
far arden again.

The truth is on his chest
The cellular excitement has
totally inspired our magic
Veteran.

And now for an
old trip.

I’m tired of thinking.
I want the old forms to
reassert their sexual cool.

My mind is just - you know.

And this morning before I sign
off I would like to tell you
about Texas Radio & the Big Beat.

It moves into the perimeter of
your sacred sincere & dedicated
Smile like a calm veteran
of the psychic war.

He was
no general for he was not old.

He was no private for he
could not be told.

He was only a man & his
dedication extended to the last
degree.

Poor pretentious soldier,
come home.

The dark Los Angeles
evening is steaming the Church
that we attended & I miss
my boy.
Stupid in green
What the color green?

When I watch the T.V. & I see
helicopters swirling their
brutal & bountiful sensation
over the fields & the comic walls

I can only smile & fix a meal
& think about the child who
will one day own you.

In conclusion, darling,
Let me repeat:
your home is still
here, inviolate & certain
and I open the wide smile of
my remembrance.

This to you
on the anniversary of our first
night.
I know you love me
to talk this way.
I hope
no one sees this message
written in the calm lonely
far out languid summer afternoon.
W/my total love

* * *

About the Village recorder tapes:

Jim recorded his poems and songs at the Village recorder, an audio recording studio in west L.A., california, on december 8, 1970, his twenty- seventh birthday.

He rented the studio, asked music producer and engineer John haeny to engineer the session, and invited a few friends to attend, listen, and celebrate with him.

He read from typewritten pages prepared for him from his notebooks by Katherine lisciandro, who was, at that time, the doors’ office secretary.

This transcript comprises all the material that Jim had prepared to record during the session. You can read more about the evening in the Introduction and hear Jim read the transcript on the digital audio version of this book.

* * *

On the night of his twenty-seventh birthday, December 8, 1970, Jim rented a studio at the Village recorder in west L.A. to tape his poetry and a few songs for an album contracted by elektra records.

He asked music producer and engineer John haeny to record the session; and he invited a few friends — Kathy lisciandro, the doors’ secretary; Florentine pabst, a german journalist; and me—to listen and celebrate with him. I brought a camera.

After almost two hours of reading from typed pages, Jim called a time out: “Okay. Now, let’s go get a taco.”

We walked a couple of blocks to the Lucky U, a mexican restaurant and bar that was a hangout for UCLA film students.

My photos show us taking a break, enjoying tacos and beers, and having a few laughs.

Back in the studio, after another sixty minutes of reading and singing, Jim invited Florentine and Kathy to read with him. They were reluctant until he told them that the poem, “Soldier’s wife’s letter,” had a part for women’s voices.

For a few more minutes they feigned uncertainty, but John Haeny was soon positioning a microphone for them, and Jim was showing them on the typescript pages where he wanted them to start.

The fun began when he asked them to read in unison. A handful of hilarious false starts and the mix of pronunciations — both correct and incorrect — in Florentine’s german-accented english and Kathy’s brooklyn accent — had us all in stiches. In time they got the hang of reading together and sailed through a couple of good takes.

Jim was enchanted. John, noting the late hour, tried to end the session, but the women insisted on hearing a playback of their reading. They glowed and smiled at each other as they listened to the good takes; then they both insisted on hearing the tracks again.

In the dark early morning, John finally kicked us out so he could shut down the recording console and tape machines.

We were tired, yet averse to ending the celebration. Kathy and i drove home to laurel canyon quoting —and often misquoting — Jim’s visionary phrases and lines to each other.

* * *

Over the years, I’ve stopped mentioning the hitchhiker to those who ask me about the “real” Jim morrison. The concept was too cerebral and abstract and it involved too much explanation. Instead, i suggest that they might find and listen to Jim’s interviews and read his poetry.

For a bright and transparently honest view of what it might be like to be Jim Morrison, i recommend taking a trip through “As i look back.” Quick and compelling, this piece is like an album of snapshots of the struggles, successes, insights, and epiphanies Jim collected along his life’s journey.

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ZENks, ZENks, ZENks!, 2 U MY APPRECIATED FRIEND "ANYTIMECOWBOY". :)

Always grateful, & thanking the wonderful beings with open mind, with a big heart and ready to help others "whoever they are"; Today, here & now, that is the attitude, and the reward in your hands ........... Because the source "remembers everyone!", have the absolute certainty that it is, and it will be like that forever.

STEF68, ;)