Well, I’m still reading Ray Manzerak’s Light My Fire – and, I’m once again captivated by the figure of Jim Morrison (like I was after reading Danny Sugerman’s: No One Here Gets Out Alive). I have to believe that most male adolescents must identify with the Wild Child: the water sprite or imp — who constantly pushed the envelope – whether he was “riding the storm,” or, “out on the perimeter.” Jim M. was certainly a threat to anyone out looking for Mom, apple pie and Chevrolet: Giti can’t stand the persona he projected. But was that the real Jim Morrison? I honestly can’t tell – as Morrison seems like a chameleon, or shape shifter, for those who knew him.
There seem to be many things about Jim Morrison that Ray M. seems oblivious to (but I’m only half-way through the book [and will have to read Densmore’s Riders on the Storm next]). Sure, I appreciate Manzerak’s prose – and, his almost child-like sensibility as he describes his acid-laced music legacy and his primary relationships with Wife Dorothy and Jim M. I also think that I would have characterized many of my seminal experiences in similar, glowing adolescent fashion – but for the fact that I tasted that dark side of humanity.
I was always afraid of acid – watching too many of my acquaintances flaming out on this stuff. I watched these once, vital and creative human beings vacate their bodies – and, occasionally, return to the husks. But Manzerak seems to have ridden the storm out: perhaps because he seems to have been consummately spoiled. Case-in-point — in his book, Manzerak discusses the blues in retrospect — in a most intellectual fashion – acknowledging the various roots and chordings – but not seeming to appreciate the dues one pays to swathe oneself with them.
And Sugerman describes Morrison as a god – one that EACH and EVERY westernized male has sensed in his loins at-some-point-in-time. Heck! Sugerman is so sure of Morrison as deity – that he gets the adolescent male mind wondering if Jim M. hasn’t been reincarnated within all adolescent males!
To this day – I STILL love Morrison’s voice – finding it one-of-the-most distinctive and captivating voices in the age of recording. I also appreciate Jimbo’s lineage of crooners: Bing Crosby; Dino; Elvis; and then, Jimbo – though Manzerak suggests that Jim M. gave up his idolization of Elvis, and, became a Frank Sinatra fan (I don’t see [or hear]) this at all.
Why am I writing about Morrison – when there are so many far more important events and issues to be concerned about? I can’t say for sure…I know there’s oil in the Gulf of Mexico; I know that we’re headed for another stock market crash and double-dip recession; I know that nobody has any money; and, I know that nobody has any solutions.
Morrison didn’t have any solutions either – but he did suggest that he wanted to get his kicks before the whole shitball went up in flames – and perhaps, I am seeking that kind of courage at this juncture of my life: perhaps I’ve just grown so tired of-all-of-the-shit — that I just want to “Go Morrison” – and piss on whatever…it might be time…I have been traveling the Topanga roads that Jim used to…they make me wild…