A Song For The Occasion.

Because Morrison was a great man. And because I find myself wishing I had been a part of the era, when he was still alive and kicking. (Quite literally, considering the on-stage histrionics. The man wasn't called Dionysus for nothing.) But alas! Even my mom was a young tyke of 8 when he died. And would never have heard of him, had it not been for the errant juvie daughter born about 2 decades later. And I feel sorry that there just isn't enough audio-visual media documenting him.

So, he had an IQ of 149. Sang in baritone. He wrote absurdly profound poetry, spoke like an erudite philosopher, and walked like he ruled the world. He lived to taste the heights of success, and yet adopted a self-destructive lifestyle. It fascinates me. Having been the sort to deride celeb-monomania in the most explicitly graceless of terms, I still speak of Morrison in hushed, reverential tones.

“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”

-James Douglas Morrison

Yeah yeah.. I'm a borderline masochist.
But what this man achieved, my friends, is as close to immortality as it gets. Period.