Insight

Jim
And at the end he got drunk for the simple reason that that is what alcoholics do. Jim Morrison came to see us at the Trip, because he was a film student in L.A. at the time. That's when, as the theory goes, Jim Morrison adopted my look--the black leather pants--from seeing me dancing onstage at the trip. Suddenly, Morrison started throwing empty glasses up the stairs.
      I grabbed him by the arm and yelled, "What the fuck are you doing, for Christ's sake?"
      He ignored me and threw another glass up the stairs, simultaneously letting out another of his bloodcurdling screams. I expected a small army of cops to come charging down. After one final glass and one final scream, Jim turned and was gone. I was frustrated because I wanted to tell him that finally I had met someone who was truly possessed. I loved Jim Morrison dearly, but Jim was not fun to go out with. I hung out with him every night for just about a year, and Jim would go out, lean up against the bar, order eight screwdrivers, put down six Tuinals on the bar, drink two or three screwdrivers, take two Tuinals, then he'd have to pee, but he couldn't leave the othe five screwdrivers, so he'd take out his dick and pee, and some girl would come up and blow his dick, and then he'd finish the other five screwdrivers and then he'd finish up the other four tuinals, and then he'd pee in his pants, and then Eric Emerson and I would take him home.
Jim was a shaman. He had a big dick. That was probably it. But Jim Morrison didn't want to be a god. Jim Morrison wanted to be a poet.
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