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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Dec 22, 2004 18:13:56 GMT
On 8th December 1970 Jim Morrison and a few friends armed with reams of paper and bottles of booze took over the Village Recorder Studio in West LA and laid down a birthday present for Jim Morrison by Jim Morrison. Little is known about the session except for the excellent report Frank Lisciandro made in his wonderful book 'An Hour For Magic' which contains a few photos of the session. A tiny bit was used for American Prayer but to this day the bulk of what was recorded remains out of reach of Doors fans and in the hands of Corky Courson. The Rock is Dead bootleg which claimed to be from the December 8th session was in fact from March 1969 and part of the session that made up The Lost Paris Tapes! Would it not be a wonderful tribute to release these tapes on CD or even DVD and share Jim's last moment in the sun with those who care most for his art?
It was the greatest night of my life Although I still had not found a wife I had my friends right there beside me
Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding Ghosts crown the young child's fragile eggshell 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 & made the dead And I gave empty sermons to my head
Cemetery cool & quiet Hate to leave your sacred lay Dread the milky coming of the day
The phone rings We create the dawnI fell on 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 flightIf the writer can write, & the farmer can sow Then all miracles concur, appear, & start happening If the children eat, if there time of crying was Mid<br>Night
A clean paper or pure white wall. One false line, a scratch, a mistake. Unerasable. So obscure by adding million other tracings, blend it, cover over.
But the original scratch remains, written in gold blood, shining.
Desire for a Perfect Life
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Feb 10, 2005 20:36:02 GMT
![](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v653/TheWallsScreamedPoetry/1aa.gif) 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
![](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v653/TheWallsScreamedPoetry/1aab.gif) 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 Mid- Night
The earth needs them soft dogs on the snow Nestled in Spring When sun makes wine & blood dances dangerous in the veins or vine
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jun 17, 2011 9:37:39 GMT
Releasing this session in it's entirety on CD would be a far better tribute to commemorate 40 years since Jim Morrison's death than another rehash of LA Woman.
Of course it would not make as much money and after all that is what it has all boiled down to 40 years later.
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Nov 3, 2012 20:21:58 GMT
This poem is included on the disc that comes with the Morrison Scrapbook. Supposedly it is a segment from the December 8th 1970 session.
We can invent Kingdoms of our own Grand purple thrones, those chairs of lust And love we must, in beds of rust Steel doors lock in prisoner's screams And 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 and pout Ravings for a mad Staff
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Post by Clown Boy on Jun 12, 2020 5:03:06 GMT
It would be so cool if this was released on the 50th anniversary. We should start a petition or something. This beautiful piece of history needs to be heard. I think John Haeny might know something about it.
"I personally guarded those tapes providing them ‘safe custody’ for nearly 25 years until, in the mid-ninety’s, when at the request of Jim’s Estate I finally returned the master tapes to them, with a few confidential conditions attached."
What were those conditions?
I pray this session sees the light of day, now I'm going to get some tacos.
Gently they stir, gently rise. The dead are newborn awakening. With ravaged limbs and 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. And now I call you to pray.
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jun 4, 2024 10:32:19 GMT
![https://i.postimg.cc/66dS9709/02.jpg](https://i.postimg.cc/66dS9709/02.jpg) ![](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v653/TheWallsScreamedPoetry/Aimg4.gif) 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
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