Jim

 I find myself thinking about Jim Morrison.

He came from privilege, his dad an Admiral, if you can call it privilege to have been dragged around the globe in the wake of an alpha male.

He told the world his parents were dead, only they weren't.  He grew his hair, dressed in leather, talked Rimbaud, waved his dick around.  A vid I just watched tells me the new persona was fully formed before he found a vehicle for it in the Doors.

Oh, he was so fortunate to happen upon those musicians! They created the sound- the hypnotic sound- the carnival sound- that backed his carrying on. He needed them. Have you read the art he created on his own- the poetry? It's not very good. He'd have been nobody very much without them.

Would he have been happier as a nobody? That's the road untravelled.

As he aged he wanted out of the act. It was making him ill. He wanted to be Jim- only who was Jim? Was Jim even a thing?

There are parallels with Elvis. The King, the Lizard King, two legends built on sand. The Fat Elvis and the Fat Jim of their later years have the same blank moon-face. The face of a Fool.

But we are all fools. If you are a Tarot reader or a Shakespearian you'll know that being the Fool is a good thing.

He stopped showing up for the Doors. Then he went to France. There are reports that at the end he wasn't always drunk or high, but would sit at cafe tables staring into space- scribbling in a note book, writing a new self.

Changing his skin.

As with Elvis there's a theory that he faked his own death. It's not impossible; people do.

You gotta die to live.......