26.2.13

Are you there, Pam?

 photo jim1_zps406632f5.jpg



CAR CEMETERY

Car cemetery
The abandoned cars
The color of car paint, new at night
under neon
The dead reside in cars
— the old man, filthy,
keeper of the graveyard
Children, curious, throw stones




THANK YOU, O LORD

Thank you, O Lord
For the white blind light
A city rises from the sea
I had a splitting headache
from which the future's made





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 survivor
of the psychic war. He was
no general for he was not old.
He was no private for he
could not be sold.


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.





I am troubled
Immeasurably
By your eyes

I am struck
By the feather
Of your soft
Reply

The sound of glass
Speaks quick
Disdain

And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain.





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.



Jim Morrison


1.2.13

Tim - anos 1970

Censura


Carta selada e enviada de Porto Alegre a Passo Fundo no
dia 10.11.1937, primeiro dia do Estado Novo. Aberta 
pela Censura, que em seguida colocou seu fecho.
Colocada à venda online por 300,00.