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I just hit the keyboard with my face. It kinda hurts.
Also, now I am looking for poetry of Jim Morrison and I will present it to the class tomorrow and it will be good. They've never heard a real poet and they will now. Jim is the best poet ever and he needs to be praised for it. Rappers aren't poets no matter how much they want to believe in their minds. Not even the kids can convince me of anything else. Not even the kid who said The Rolling Stones aren't poets.
Whatever. They are. Whether he wants to admit it or not. Now, I just have to find any type of awesome poetry he did. I did see the one he wrote for Brian Jones, which is very lovely. I like how he described things in it.
I’m a resident of a city
They’ve just picked me to play
The Prince of Denmark
Poor Ophelia
All those ghosts he never saw
Floating to doom
On an iron candle
Come back, brave warrior
Do the dive
On another channel
Hot buttered pool
Where’s Marrakech
Under the falls
the wild storm
where savages fell out
in late afternoon
monsters of rhythm
You’ve left your
Nothing
to complete w/
Silence
I hope you went out Smiling
Like a child
Into the cool remnant
of a dream
The angel man
w/ Serpents competing
for his palms
& fingers
Finally claimed
This benevolent
Soul
Ophelia
Leaves, sodden
in silk
Chlorine
dream
mad stifled
Witness
The diving board, the plunge
The pool
You were the bleached
Sun
for TV afternoon
horned-toads
maverick of a yellow spot
Look now to where it’s got
You
in meat heaven
w/ the cannibals
& Jews
The gardener
Found
The body, rampant, Floating
Lucky Stiff
What is this green pale stuff
You’re made of
Poke holes in the goddess
Skin
Will he Stink
Carried heavenward
Thru the halls of music
No chance.
Requiem for a heavy
That smile
That porky satyr’s
leer
has leaped upward
into the loam
They’ve just picked me to play
The Prince of Denmark
Poor Ophelia
All those ghosts he never saw
Floating to doom
On an iron candle
Come back, brave warrior
Do the dive
On another channel
Hot buttered pool
Where’s Marrakech
Under the falls
the wild storm
where savages fell out
in late afternoon
monsters of rhythm
You’ve left your
Nothing
to complete w/
Silence
I hope you went out Smiling
Like a child
Into the cool remnant
of a dream
The angel man
w/ Serpents competing
for his palms
& fingers
Finally claimed
This benevolent
Soul
Ophelia
Leaves, sodden
in silk
Chlorine
dream
mad stifled
Witness
The diving board, the plunge
The pool
You were the bleached
Sun
for TV afternoon
horned-toads
maverick of a yellow spot
Look now to where it’s got
You
in meat heaven
w/ the cannibals
& Jews
The gardener
Found
The body, rampant, Floating
Lucky Stiff
What is this green pale stuff
You’re made of
Poke holes in the goddess
Skin
Will he Stink
Carried heavenward
Thru the halls of music
No chance.
Requiem for a heavy
That smile
That porky satyr’s
leer
has leaped upward
into the loam
That's like, mad poetry right there. I do believe that was one of the best poems I have ever read. Considering that I don't read much of poems, I have seen some really great ones. That my friend, is some quality s**t right there. This is why he is like, the greatest poet. I love how he puts so much into it. It could actually be made into a story. Sad how he ended up dieing at the same age as Brian on the same day and month. Only 2 years apart.
My head hurts a little.
Listening to "When The Music's Over" by The Doors. OMG, IT'S NOT THE STONES FOR ONCE! SFSKFKJFHNKW HTF.
