indeed, he already knows precisely what he wants to write on Jim Morrison's monument.

There is a guy at the bar, late fifties, a huge Jim Morrison fan. Huge. The Doors are the Alpha and Omega of art, of poetry, of music, of life. Except it isn't really the Doors, just Jim Morrison. Don't get him wrong: the other guys in the band were cool, they got to hang out with Jim Morrison.

He has travelled a little; Hawaii, mostly. But his dream trip is Paris. He doesn't necessarily have an affinity for the city: he knows about the Eiffel Tower, sure. But what he really wants to do before he dies is go to Père Lachaise Cemetery, to see Morrison's grave.

I told him I had been there years ago. The cemetery is beautiful in a melancholy way. But I wasn't that impressed with Morrison's grave: all the fans leave trinkets and scribble banal tributes on the monument. I seem to recall an empty bottle or two.

He says that is exactly what he wants to do: indeed, he already knows precisely what he wants to write on Jim Morrison's monument. He has thought about it a lot -- the words are honed. So: drink some wine from a bottle in a bag, write his words.

I tell him he might not get any time alone at the grave: a lot of people linger there. Drinking wine from a bottle in a bag. He is OK with that: kindred spirits, in love with the Lizard King. It will be life-changing, life-affirming, one of those.

Maybe there aren't as many people visiting the grave anymore: a lot of Morrison's fervent fans have no doubt died off over the years. He knows he will make this trip.

But he has another trip to Hawaii in a few months, first.



- james james

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