Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part. 4

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

« – Mister? Are you all right?

  • What the fuck happened?
  • A client called me saying she could hear screams coming from you room. I entered and…
  • The fire! Fuck! The fire? Is everyone all right ? Did you take my notebook out of this hellhole?
  • What? No, there is no fire!
  • What the…
  • You are in your room sir, everything all right here. Except you of course.
  • But the TV and the furnitures were on fire and…
  • Jack, the TV is on its stand, there is no fire!
  • I’ve tried to open the window but I couldn’t…
  • Yes, client complaint often about our windows. That why it’s smell like cigarette and shit like that, can’t open it so they… »

Jack T. stopped listening to the young man, because he saw the spot on the ceiling transforming into a picture perfect demoniac face, horns and all.

« – Fuck ! I want to change room right now!

  • Ho ho! Jack! You dull boy! All work and no play, hasn’t changed much it’s seems! »

The writer looked at the young man who’s face was metamorphosing into his wife head and using her voice.

« – You haven’t changed! Asshole!

  • What? Leave! What are you doing here!
  • But I’m your wife!
  • Was…
  • You son of a bitch »

He received a slap on the right cheek and some spit on his face.

« – What the Fuck Rosie! You know you’ve got a restraining order against me, I can’t be close to you!

  • See, I’m gonna call the cops! You will never see the kid again!
  • Bitch! »

Jack pulls up a gun, point it at his wife face and shoot.

The brain matter splatter everywhere and the dead body transform itself as the poor hotel clerk.

« – Shit shit shit! Sorry!

  • What the hell is going on here!
  • I’ve… shoot a man!
  • What?
  • Oh my God Please help me!
  • Hell no ! I’m calling the cops!
  • No! I’m sick!
  • God damn right you sick you son of a bitch! »

The hotel room door shatters and enters a giant snake.

« – What…

  • Sssssss shut up! »

The author points his gun at the snake.

« – No darling please!

  • Stop ! Stop using my wife voice! »

The reptile jump at him and wrap himself around Jack body and tighten his grip. The bones crack and Jack can’t breathe anymore.

And he woke up. The bedsheets are drenched. No dead body, no giant snake.

Feeling terrified, he decides to have a smoke. Maybe with this, he would be sure that he isn’t dreaming.

He doesn’t waste time, put the cigarette between his lips, take the lighter, light up the smoke and inhale.

He coughed. His lungs and throat weren’t used to the smoke anymore.

His heartbeat who was going haywire slowed dawn and the writer exhaled the poisonous vapor and sighted.

Everything was calm. He felt a sensation of appeasement, the nicotine doing their work.

He builds up some courage to take his notebook to write the strange and horrific dreams he had just experienced.

Just as he put the pencil’s lead on the paper, Jack hears a soft knock on the door.

The adrenaline immediately spread their powerful forces into every part of his body.

He waited a few seconds. Maybe he had confused a soft knock with a random noise from outside.

Silence.

And an another knock, more noisy this time.

« – Yeah? Said Jack in a very low voice.

  • Mister, it’s the hotel’s clerk.
  • Did… what do you want?
  • Is everything all right for you?
  • Yeah… why?
  • Just heard some… noise. You know…
  • Well… what kind of noise?
  • Like someone… like you weren’t alone…
  • Ha… no as far as I know I am alone.
  • It’s okay… if there someone with you… you know, one of those ladies of the night…
  • No! God no! No I promise you I’m all alone here.
  • You wouldn’t be the first customer doing that y’know.
  • No! No! I don’t have prostitutes in my room.
  • If you say so… Wouldn’t be surprised y’know. Fame and money get you some puss…
  • I said no God damn it!
  • Won’t you shut the hell up over there!
  • Sorry madame ! I’m just checking out with a client.
  • Well it’s the fucking middle of the night! Damn! You guys gonna have some bad rating on internet!
  • Oh! Well, we’re used to it there so, go on.
  • Jesus! I will get you fired!
  • Ok boomer whatever.
  • Little asshole!
  • What a distinguished vocabulary you have here!
  • Don’t mess with me boy!
  • It’s okay!
  • No it’s not!
  • Holy shit!
  • Boy you think you can fuck with me?
  • Sorry madame!
  • It’s America asshole! We carry guns for a reason!
  • Yes, right, I’m sorry!
  • Jack! I’ve told you I would found you! »

Gunshots erupt, door bust open. Jack’s ex-wife enters the room.

« – Is this a fucking dream?

  • You shit! It’s probably more of a nightmare.
  • Shit! What the fuck is going on!
  • I haven’t forgotten Jacky boy! »

The woman shoots right at the writer.

Jack woke up. In sweat, once again.

Jaskiers

Publicité

There’s A Killer On The Road (A Short Story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

« – Go now, let’s go !

  • What the fuck happened over there, shit !
  • Come on faster !
  • Yeah, but will you tell me where are Tim and Bryan for Christ’s sake ?
  • Dude, it’s all turned into a shit show in there !
  • Well I guess I already know that because you came back alone ! What was those gunshots that I’ve heard ? It was supposed to be a fine calculated job, no victim !
  • Dude, we thought we had it all under control. Everybody knew the plan and what he had to do but that… fucking security guard decided to be a hero ! Like he was paid enough to care about a robbery !
  • If you let you guard down man, they’ll take you out for sure.
  • What do you fucking know about a bank a robbery ! Shut the hell up and do your job, driving !
  • Well excuse me for being worried about bringing home one dude instead of three ! What happened to them !
  • Faster !
  • I’m at full speed ! Get out if you think you could run faster you shit ! Answer me ! Where are Tim and Bryan ?!
  • Tim got shot in the right shoulder by the security guard and Bryan was instantly killed by a bystander in the bank.
  • What ? And you came out of it unharmed !
  • Tim was badly injured but he could still fire his gun. We exchanged a copious numbers of bullets with the cops and the civilian. We killed the officer first, the bystander emptied is Smith&Wesson on us, Bryan took a bullet in the head… He died instantly. When the civilian started to reload, we took the opportunity to shower him with bullets and that wannabe hero died. Then, time started running out so Tim was guarding the civilians, I took care of the banker who opened the safe, took the money in my duffle bag and when I’ve came back, Tim was bleeding badly. I think that he had been hit sooner during the fire exchange with ether the civilian or the guard. At first, I’ve thought it was in the shoulder but he was hit in the left lung. Had to choose between him and the money so I’ve choose him but he refused and told me to go. To secure the money you see. He told me good luck and said he would cover my exit just in case someone decided to play hero… and here I am now.
  • Fuck. For real ? Men you’re full of shit ! I knew you were a coward at the second I laid eyes on you !
  • Men fuck you ! I did what had to be done !
  • Come on, you could have carried Tim with you !
  • Dude, I was literally carrying millions of dollars in a bag ! Money is heavy but you wouldn’t know this because you are our fucking gateway driver !
  • Man, I can fire a gun, be careful with what you said ! Can’t believe you left Tim to get die or… Wait… shit ! Was he the one who fired his gun just before you came running to the car ?
  • Yes I’ve told you, he was covering me !
  • You fucking lier ! He was trying to shoot you because you’re the one who killed Bryan ! »

Rami died on the spot, shot by Aubrey.

« – You haven’t see that one coming isn’t it ? Getaway driver my ass ! »

Throwing the body out of the car, Aubrey drove West.

Nothing was going accordant to the plan, he saw the flashing lights of law enforcement cars reflecting on his rear view mirror.

Taking his handgun, he fired at the blinding lights. He received a salve of bullets as an answer.

The car stopped going forward almost immediately.

He had a two possibility now. Run or facing the cops.

To this day, the faith of the five million dollars is still unknown. But they’re tainted in blood, sweat, tears and betrayal, like every currency in this world.

Jaskiers

Meet The Unknown ( A Short Story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

Inspired by The Wanderer above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich

Young man, young man. Go on adventures, take your youthfullness with you, see those lands that nobody never had the chance to discover. See for yourself. Not for another. Young man, go and don’t look back unless the landscape is worth a view ! Leave Young Man ! Live young man !

Young man, that’s how is grandpa’ used to call him. Those words came from a letter that he wroted to him, August, his grandson.

August loved to read this letter over and over. It gaved him a feeling of greatfullness, of mindfulness, of legitimity. He wanted to travel the world because his grandfather advised him to. Granting him with the autorisation to go on adventure, alone.

This letter was writed by a dying old men, full of love and wise advice for his grandson.

August spoked to his dad about this letter. It wasn’t really an easy relationship between his father and the old man. Exactly like it was between August and is dad. History as a tendancy to repeat itself now and then, to reciprocate the same kind of patterns.

August’s dad read the letter, frowned and gave the letter back to his son.

– Do whatever you want with this old man advice. Maybe his right, maybe not. Do as you please. Either way, I know you’ll do what you want even if I advised you against doing something this dangerous.

Of course, August would have love to have the opportunity to follow his grand father advice. He dreamed about sailing in the most dangerous seas, the most cruels and beautifull montains, the most mysterious forest, meeting curious and shady stranger. Living the adventure.

August left alone his family household directly after the end of the school year.

Taking the bear minimum, he started his journey on foot, he had planned to travel to Alaska. He wanted to face the cold weather and the unapologetic environnement of the wild snowy landscape of the great North. Leaving his warm californian lifestyle to confront the terrifying cold of the alaskian weather.

Maybe, he would meet those husky dogs, maybe he will encounter the notorious grizzly bear, and some royal looking moose. See some natives of this land who will teach him their way of living, learning the ropes of surviving in the wilderness.

And then ? Take the sea. Like an Hermann Melville, without any single experience of the sea. Not to hunt whales, but to live throughout the hardship of being a sailor. Why not enduring the devastating waves and winds of a storm ?

All in all, he wanted stories. Stories he could write and talk about like a Jack London.

August wasn’t blinded by the situation he would put himself in. He knew that it will not be an easy walk in the park.

But what’s an adventure without risk or danger ?

His journey will also be a learning curve, learning who he was, deep inside. And only him and his God would judge him troughout his adventure.

Young man, go West, or North, South, Est. Maybe all at the same time ! But move young man. Mouvement is life ! Take what’s yours : freedom !

Jaskiers

People are strange (A short story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

Letter received and diffused by The New-York Pines after the gruesome discovery of a dead body in Greenwich Village :

Greetings New-Yorkers and to the whole wide world ;

I discovered that I must be a strange fellow since my art wasn’t recognized the way I thought it would be.

This is annoying to put your heart and soul into something and seeing it end up being a disaster.

Maybe because people are strange, or maybe this is all me. I’m confused…

I’ve carefully choosed my subject and the scenery. The message that I wanted to share with the world completely falled apart. Nobody seems to have really understood my work, my art. I have put a lot of heart and effort into it. But people don’t seems to appreciate this art of mine.

It was beautifull, at least from my point of view.

Carefully hanged on an old telegraphic wire linking two building, hanging in the air and crossing a busy and scenic commercial street, there was exposed my masterpiece, for you all to see.

A torso that I, the « misunderstood artist » sculpted and carved into the most noble components. A component that no artist ever use, or very rarely.

Just a torso a real human torso, suspended in the air in the same pose as the Christ on his cross.

It took some time to do this… finding the right materials, the place… It took some thinking to hang my art piece in the right place. I won’t really go into details, a magician keep is secret, and so does the artist.

What kind of message I wanted to vehiculate ? This is the kind of questions no artists should answer ! Let it to your audience to build their own opinion. Why does the artist always need to explain his work ? It’s too easy if we revealed the true meaning of our art ! Let the individual to make is own assumption. That’s why art exist : make up your own minds, find the meaning, your personnal one.

Does a piece of art always have to make sense ? Hell no ! It have a meaning for sure, unconsciously, we give it one when we’re creating it. Personally, I let my instincts take the wheel of my creativity. Can’t go wrong if it is from a feeling deep within my soul that my art come to life.

But, like I said before, people are strange. Jim Morrison used to sing about this. He probably knew how strange it was to be an artist, a successful one, and seeing all those peoples, fans, journalists, critics, others artists, criticizing your work and at the same time your life. Wich is stupid !

Let me give you and advice : you have to differentiate the personnal life of an artists from his work. Those are two completely different entities.

And as for the way an artist express himself, one should not judge them to harshly.

Of course I say that in my own defense because I know that I have traumatised peoples by hangin a real human torso in a middle of a busy street.

Lessen, it was an experience, yes a awfull one but I did get reactions !

Next time, I’ll kill the guy in front of your innocents and pathetic eyes !

What I did was art. And it’s a disrespectful to call me a narcissistic and perverted killer !

I have made New-York a trend Again ! I’m the new Andy Warhol !

I am a king maker ! That is the name that I want you all, fucking maggots, to call me : The King Maker !

Sincerely ;

The King Maker.

Jaskiers

They want blood John ! (A short story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

« Dear Thomas and all of the Espire’s redaction;

You’re maybe wondering why I did that to the Perish redaction.

Let me explain myself before being judge, rightfully so, by the public.

I was a writer for that paper for two decades.

The begining here was delightfull. I was able to write whatever I wanted to write about. My work was never disputed by the former boss, M. Anthelm.

I wrote story about everything I wanted to. This was also a great time to learn about story telling and the craft of creating shorts fictions for a wide audience.

My relations with the staff was ideal for a writer. They were open, respectful and dedicated to help me and my work evolve. Nothing was out of bundary, no subject was banished, I had the opportunity to broaden my horizon and my audience. And the pay was decent.

Those years passed by fast, as all the years happen to do when you have a lot of work.

M. Anthelm was a mentor, a friend, a confident. Always up to publish new things. As I said, they was no bundaries.

Freedom. That was the magazine was all about. That was what America was all about. That’s the way we all saw it back in those days. Freedom of speech. A real free press.

Old boss, like I loved to call him, had to retire, cancer. Fucking lung cancer. I told him many times : Anthelm, good ol’ boss, stop smoking, that’s not healthy, tobacco isn’t a medecine ! They have been lying to us, it destroy your lungs and all ». But of course, being a old man, and a boss of a successful newspaper/magazine, he told me, very politely, to focus on my work instead of focusing on him. Fair.

The next week of that conversation, I had writed a short story about a man dying of cancer because of the cigarette. He was dying, leaving his family not only with a painfull grieving to do but also with greats difficulties. The man died, and the family was torn apart because they faced problems they could not overcome. The used-to-be stable and perfect family ended up being splitted into clans and it finished with all members facing theirs demons.

A writer have to be a little bit of a prophet sometimes.

M. Anthelm died, we all grieved, we stayed united and strong until the new boss came around.

Here is the start of my demise.

M. Catheren took the place of my good ol’ boss. Right at the begining, things have gone down south with him.

To be honest, I didn’t liked his face, his nonchalant and arrogant attitude. I think he had the same feelings for me.

He hated the first story I gaved to him. And the second, and all the others. I wasn’t able to have a single story publish during three months !

I asked to talk with him, it wasn’t like with the good ol’ boss, I had to pass trought is assistant, who had to communicate to him my desire to have a meeting. It took three days to finaly have hold of him.

I took the opportunity to ask him what was is problem with my stories and what does he really wanted from me and my writing.

He started by telling me that the time had changed, and that, all of us, had to adapt to that new world.

The time didn’t changed since he became the boss, he was so vain that he thought that just by becoming the head of the magazine, everyone working for him had to change, change in his direction. For a boss, this could be seen as normal but he was far, far from being a man, a leader, like M. Anthelm.

That was something, being told that when I worked here for decades. But he finally told me, what he really wanted from my writing :

« They want blood John ! Make some cow-boy, outlaws, gangster, cops stories, those stories that’s spill blood at every words ! The people Johnny, they want to be entertained ! Bring out the guns ! Violence ! That’s what’s sell now ! And you better be good at it ! You have to prove your worth toward me ! This is America Johnny, we work hard, harder than our neighboor, and we work well ! We make sacrifices so we can all succeed in our collective project which is, like I’ve said the day I became the boss, to be the number one magazine in America ! Fuck the others ! Especially Espire ! Esquire is managed by M. Thomas, a prick, a coward, someone that call himself a intellectual ! Ah ! Fuck ‘em Johnny ! I don’t want my magazine to be a den of intelectuals ! I want it to be the fast food of the magazine industry ! You can do that John right ? You’re with me right ? Ah ! You old cunt, you better be if you don’t wanna finish unemployed. A unemployed writer life is a life heading for the gutter ! Johnny, you don’t want to finish like that. Now, write me some bloody stories. No more talk, we need content, and the content that our everchanging audience really want. Out now ! Let’s get to work will ya’! »

Yes, those where is words. This men, coming from nowhere, that nobody in the industry knew, had the nerves to gave me lessons about how our magazine worked.

I had to do something but he said one true thing : I would have ended up in the gutter if I didn’t followed his directions.

This is why a write this letter to you, M. Anthelm. You and your magazine have been our fierce rival. We can never be good without a great rival. And God know you were a great opponent.

Why do I wrote those last lines like it was over ?

This letter will be my testimony, explaining why I did this.

Hopefully, when you’ll receive this letter, my plan would have come to term, successfully.

Yes, I have killed M. Catheren. He wanted me to spill blood, he got served.

I ended my life after my killing. Didn’t wanted to finish in prison for a young arrogant piece of shit.

Publish that letter, or do whatever you want with it. Make some money from that tragedy, scrap it to the last dollar you could produce with it.

Hopefully you will resume your outstanding work. The work of a real litterature’s magazine !

Long live the free writers ! Long live freedom. Long live America !

Yours truly;

Johnny V. Covack.

Jaskiers

Just Some Unfortunates Sons Getaway (short story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

« – Arthur my men ! You got the goods haven’t you ?

  • Have a guess Shepard.
  • You’ve god that ironic smirk, the same that you have when you have a good hand !
  • Jesus Shep’ ! You should’ve become a shrink.
  • Yeah, I was studying for becoming one before coming in this hellhole.
  • Speakin’ of hellhole, move your ass, give some space would ya !
  • Fine ! So, who’s rolling it ?
  • You fucker, you’re not waisting a single minute ! Man you have no idea how hard it is to find some good kush aroun’ here !
  • Jeeeesssssus ! Give me the goods would ya’ !
  • How polite my good sire ! Here you go now, do it quick and perfect, like my girl used to describe my performances in bed !
  • Ah ! You dumbass ! I have a gal’ back home too !
  • Yeah I know Dude but let’s talk ´bout this bitch after a good smoke.
  • She’s cheatin’ on me brother !
  • I bet ! Now come on, roll it up and we’ll talk ‘bout it all right ?
  • Yeah… but high or na i’ll still be mad y’know.
  • High with some music ?
  • What ?
  • You heard me you fuck !
  • Did you fixe that fucking radio ?
  • Yes sir !
  • Man ! You are a women behind all that soldier gear of yours !
  • Ah ! Wait what, come again ?
  • Y’Know, women are good at multitaskin’. And look at you, find weed in this hell and spend is spare time fixing a radio !
  • Buddy, you hittin’ on me or what ? Ah !
  • Ah ! If I had a… y’now instead of a huge dick, I would gladly let you hit !
  • What the fuck are you on !
  • Nothing !
  • That’s what I mean Shep’ ! Your acting high before even smoking !
  • That’s my brain brotha’ !
  • You ain’t got one ! Ah !
  • Fuck you dude !
  • Oh come one. Let me put some music.
  • Yeah ! Do something usefull for once in your life Arthur !
  • I’m serving my country !
  • But you where obligated to do it !
  • Still, am taking the good side of it !
  • See that ! Killin’ vietnamese for good ol’ ‘mericcaaa !
  • « Please show me the way to the next Whiksy bar ! »
  • « Ah don’t ask why ! »
  • « Ah don’t ask why ! »
  • Fucking yes man ! Getting high with a good pal et The Doors !
  • Your wanna light it up ?
  • Nah ! You got the privilege !
  • Merci monsieur !
  • Ah ! French !
  • Oui oui ! Pffffff ! My joint monsieur, big like baguette oui oui han han !
  • Give me give me monsieur !
  • Oui oui !
  • Pfff. The grass… always greener… well more green after i smoke.
  • If it become blue well it’s probably LSD then. So good thing it’s green. Very green !
  • When the last time you tripped on acid ?
  • Like… pfff… 2 month ago ?
  • Where ? Pffff
  • Hanoï !
  • Dude ! Dangerous to trip there !
  • Why ? Pfff
  • The fifth column !
  • Hemingway’s short story ? What are you on about !
  • Pffff. I’m on weed you fuck !
  • Cunt !
  • Let’s not go british, French was enough !
  • What did ya mean with… pfffff. The fifth column ?
  • Well you know… the north-vietnamese that spy and pray on the dumb American who come to Hanoï for a good time !
  • Oh ! That’s what’s a fifth column his ! Pffffff.
  • So tell me ? You got high and ?
  • Well I’ve confused The Rolling Stones and Hendrix.
  • How can this be possible !
  • Acid !
  • Yeah I’ve got that but how ?
  • I don’t know, was at that bar, and the music was… I saw that the music notes had colors !
  • That’s dope.
  • Really is !
  • Man, I have enough of all this shit… Miss home y’know.
  • How many did you smoked ?
  • Wha’?
  • Communists.
  • Oh… I don’t know… everytime the captain tell me to shoot, I shoot. At branches, leaves, trees, grass…
  • Yeah same.
  • It’s like we’ve come here to do landscaping !
  • Ah ! Yeah that’s it ! Never saw a single north-vietnamese diying by my hand !
  • Brother ! The napalm is not to kill but to help us do our duty, landscaping !
  • Ah ! You shit !
  • Arthur ! Shepard ! Where the fuck are you !
  • Pfff. Quick, throw the joint !
  • Fuck no, I’m keeping what’s left of it !
  • Well quick Shep’ for goodness sake !
  • Shepard ! Arthur ! For Christ sake come on let’s go we’re mooving !
  • Here Captain, on our way !
  • Why are you two always together ? Do you folks have some secrets ?
  • No !
  • No sir !
  • Pretty sure they fuckin’ captain.
  • Marshall, shut the hell up would you ! Wait… what the fuck am I hearing ?
  • Radio captain. I fixed it.
  • Well bravo ! Next time put the volume higher so the ennemy can have a listen !
  • Sorry captain !
  • Let’s moove ! Forward !
  • Here we go Shepard, landscaping for good ol’ Uncle Sam !
  • So proud, here we go, doing our duties ! Earning a living ! For the free world ! »

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King # 5 | It’s all Over

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

Today, it’s all over.

We buried the

Unknown Soldier.

Lighted a candle,

nourished the fire.

Walking in the desert and

Step on a wire.

Trip in the sand, and…

Fell in love with a witch

and her magic wand.

Slowly she raised my hand.

Til’ the heaven stop the hell.

That’s what’s she told me.

Did she loved it?

I can’t tell.

I loved her two time,

One for tomorrow and one for

Today.

It’s all seem to far away,

like the Beatles and Yesterday.

Life is a bet,

to no one’s,

we owe debt.

Baby we gonna be alright,

because we learned how to forget.

As the sun we’ve been waiting for,

Set.

I need to go away,

We are just wanderer,

on planet Earth.

Just flesh, eyes, nervous systems and beating hearts.

Cancel our subscriptions to the

resurrection.

They’re is but one direction,

one thing we will all go through,

you know what I’m talking about.

I leave you, remember me, flamboyant,

no encore.

Followed her in the wood.

You want the world,

Now !

Scream, act bold,

scold because they scorched

our beautiful sister.

As the world go round and round,

we going numb and dumb.

Nobody want to fight in the front line,

for a wicked politician.

Good news !

The hitchhiker is dead !

Peoples flock the street,

but I feel dread.

This was me, the all time !

I had this thirst for love I could not quench

I’ve fallen down.

I can not stand.

Because this is the END.

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King # 4 |A Killer awoke before dawn

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

Wandering in the darkness

For a moment.

Approaching the light and another.

The hitchhiker full of hatred

Realize he is nothing less than dead.

A cold summer rain

A warm winter snow

in the blanket of ice

He took his final bow.

What happened ? His everything allright Pam ?

Young people still dying for Uncle Sam !

Jim !

Nothing have changed.

Put in some pill, cure my brain.

Of disease

with ease.

Coughing

I’ill stop drinking tomorow morning !

That’s what’s the doctor said.

How much did I paid ?

Cheap drugs

Grave dug

Père-Lachaise

Next stop.

The girl in the window

Still won’t drop.

How they will spread hateful inks

Puting on the paper my weirdest kink.

Always alive

For death I strive

One day I’ll dive

for one last night.

With my pal.

Cosmic Girlfriend

Witch and devil

Is this the end ?

Game ! Took a bet !

Dead body in a bath

mother, father, let your kids avoid the draft !

Beautiful friends, look for a cold blooded lizard

Instead of a scamming wizard.

In few decade will come a friend

destroying the establishment from the inside.

And a bullet In his brain

That will be all he gain.

Everyone carry their pain.

Perverted, divergent generation of unholy saints

Singing for the redemption of…

I’m glad you came.

When I do it alone darling

I feel such a shame.

This is not the same.

Can we stop that game.

Boring end of a day,

an other dead corpse

an other death for hopes.

Oh captain I feel sorry.

Why so much disdain ?

Mistrust ? Why do they deserve

a bullet in the guts ?

Why Am I here ? What’s my worth ?

I will finish my days

with my mistress.

I’ve sang about the scream of a butterfly

Fly,

high,

a life unchained, untied.

Freedom for all.

The real one.

Don’t listen to your president

he too, kill innocent.

Exhuberent, arrogant.

All of them,

adamant,

lunging,

Clinging for power.

Humanity ? For that it’s over.

They send your child

to the slaughter house.

When they should be hanging out

in a road-house.

Dead generation

Forget the past.

It’s their turn now

To turn the tide.

A table turn

the forest burn

kids with gun,

They’ve got the fund,

to wage their war.

But none for them,

by the side of the road,

abandonned again.

The hitchhiker

modern Charon

Cross the river

it is shallow

everythings seems,

so hollow.

How the place you’ll go !

Fly high

Come down

to drown

and die.

You fell of the boat

their’s no one above

Neither below.

How the place you will hurt

Boots full of dust

rifles full of rust.

The killer of the futur,

will taste an other kind

Of lust !

Lost !

Mother ?

Yes son ?

Nothing, I’m moving out, moving on !

Buy the times this message reach you,

I will be long gone

because I alway awoke before dawn.

I put my boots on.

Father ?

Yes son ?

I’m not the one,

searching for honor.

Neither glory.

Don’t you worry

Mom, dad.

I’m glad,

thanks to you, a decent life I had,

reality hit me hard.

Nothing,

meet me at the psych ward !

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King # 3 | Rising your Mojo

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

Lit a cigarette
In front of the audience.
Hit it once
Throw it on them.

Flamethrower
In the trenches,
Audacious !
Going over the fences.
Government lies are denses.

Valse
Tango
Spanish
And Flamenco.

Bulls love mouvement
Not the color !
Smell the blood
Iron odor.

Open the Doors !

travel, jump on the floor

no feast, again ?
No friends
No honor.

Bedroom full
Of books.
Trying to plant some
Roots.

Hangin on to something.
Check the noose.

Give him boose
So he can leave.
On the loose.
He cannot choose.

A freak accident,
By the side of the road,
Dead Natives Indians.
White Americans are
Guilty.

They said ;
Careful !
They’re a killer on a road !
You know the form of his brain !
Tried to change him in vain.
He want to inflict pain.

Hotel money sex and alcool
Hangover as an hyperbole.

Cigarette ashe burned my crotch.
I have to find another dealer
Another dope,
To float my boat.

Tell God
Face Satan,

He’s got himself,
A face, one of a goat.

Watergate,
Call Deepthroat.

A missing colony in Roanoke.

Soft balls, eyes.
hard bones, hole.
Die.

She just want to sleep with some guy.
He just want a relationship.
Church, mariage and
Everything.

How boring…

Guns on the night stand
gonna make the night end.
Note of Achille last stand.

Walking on one leg
shooting with one hand.

The other to busy,
Making provocative gestures.

Yesterday, far away
A Beatles is dead
imagine, song wrote in bed
For a protest
by a millionaire
it’s business
long hair
Man.
Really dont care.

Another shooting
Hitchhiker in the wilderness
Black tharp
Bullets
Cobain brain
Sex drive drained
clout gain
When the music start again.

Daughter of the storm,
birds feeding their offspring
Worms.
They’ve feasted on your dead body.

Morning glory.
Take good care of my wood.
please lady of the street
Be good.

Yelling compliments aloud
head in the clouds.

Give me one ! Please
put myself at ease.
The old men is wise
your thighs, my prizes.

Tight squeeze.

Reflection on the tempo
no mirror
Check ego.

Valentine, oh Valentine !
Officers, I’m innocent !
They started it,
stamping elephant
wear some elegant
cloths.
For you are the galant.
Bed sheets, a talent.

Lucy in the sky with diarhhea

way done bellow.
On the receiving end,
guess a color,
said yellow.

Submarine
Nuclear
missile. Launch.
Being eated alive
by a brown bear. Lunch.

With me you are
You
Tomorow we’ll be good.

But tonight
I’ve met a maniac,
Who think the hear is flat.

Walk on the moon
the dark side
of her. The bright
Influence the sea tide.

Tidy little bedroom
tank crew go boom.

Met the witch on her broom.

Patriarca
Pater Riot

Pussy,
super ball.
An invite
welcome home.

The same rhymes,
the same time.

Kill a men
Don’t go to prison
attacking a demon.

Stay with mom
leave us alone.

Quote on quote
Broad on Broadway’s sidewalk.

Take it, see you, shit sister.

Kneeling for the anthem,

Welcome.

Go home

you are a dead.

Mouvements and conflicts
In our eternity.

Leave
Live light show
making it flows.

Foes full of flaws.

Old papy pays the fine
With rusty Diamonds.

Stay easy and calm
Reproduce.

Scream at the wall.

Great lf the sea

make out the scenery.

Boddah
Woke up !

When ?

Foremost, tomorrow,

Forward, too hard.

First Forest, burn.
Familiar with the boss
But we hate him.

Ate.

Wink.

School called
Let him in.

Fallen
Dragged
Killed.

Holy war,

All in the
Film Noir.

And whiling to be reborn.

No renaissance.

Take your Time.
Reverse the big flow.

A sail laid on the sea tide.

Cancer diagnostic,

let me die.
For what.
Rested my case before and again.
Peaceful resident
Adamant and conscientiously resistant.

I let myself drown into the sea.

We are from another realm ?

Nod your head yes
And I’ll say no.

Go away demon of the night
Yesterday I rested
Today once more,

So let me go !

Your evil dance.

Demonic chance.
See you after.
Today.
The sun is up.
Ghosts throwing up.
They couldn’t handle
Their last cup.

Bye now
World of non-sense.

To never and ever.

Good sight.

For a good bye.

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King Series # 2 | Turn On The Lights !

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

The music as ended, get up and turn on the lights.

Slowly, my eyes will burn.

Onward !

Let me rest
Fight my inner demons
Unrest.

Outside the window,
Hear the tempest.
Invasive thoughts,
Unwelcomed guest.

Heavy burden, get of my chest.
your finger tips
Run on my skin,
The devil and his jest.

In the never,
Go west,
In the wilderness
thick bushy forest.

Turn on the lights,
Let’s make it bright !

Since the music’s over,
Watch out for the Hitchiker,
Faceless shadow,
Mean, rugged, you disgrace !

I’ll tell you,
When to
Put it off

Because my dear

Death…

it’s not the end
The dark feelings, the bitter,
Bend.
Once more. Over. We’ll do it again.

Just a beginning.

Pass the chemical,
for the American pastoral
Not a country for the Royals.

Let’s go back, to the Grace.
Dear Father, they’re sinner.

To the moon.

All above
A watchtower
No joker
Tell dylan
No tambourin man !

Come again come again !
No ! Next Time.

Right now,
Still need to gather
That mind of mine
thinking about that
Surprise gathering
unlocket it
Took of my hat.
Ready for
The blow-back.

Poor Ophelia, you said it.
The gambler hit.

All in
Chance are
One to five
I only have
Luck this time.

And you, angel,
Wipe out the Dust
With those fairy wings
wind gust.
Throught the Windows
Again, Hitchiker looking for.
Making Widows !

Still, it’s not the time
come
And talk. It will hurt
less
lizard hard eye,
bedroom a mess.

Bring in no priest
banned books all over the place.

Watch for every step,
gain distance from me,
Go away from you.

Still up
mine almost there
Their’s time to spend
life to waste.
no shackles

on wrist.
Welcome, this is not a test
put on weight. The robber
got no vest.

He’s always heading west.

Thunder rolling in the east
maggots and yeast.

Always the same,
Repeating storys
of mother crying
of machins, gunning
Killing,
Bombing.
Rising mister ?
Mojo willing !
Tasty !
Well, billing.

Money for nothin’
The Killer on the road
Gunslingin’

Hooker of my street
Corner.
Hustling with J.Edgar
Hoover.

Over. Not.

Let’s tie another knot !
Hear an other note,
go down and up.

Shining through sherif !
Show, shiner, shining
First photography
aliby !
No you honor,
I’ve condessed
I killed him
jury’s in horror.

Again the window !
Supected spectator
Spectacular and
Sceptical
illusions are not opticals

In my youth
Vigor
Optimum
Continuum
Momentum
Ridin’ bum
Numb
Thumbs press her gum.

Pentobarbital delirium
Til death tear us apart !
Glad to hear from them
the sect
The guru
Solding your gem.

What’s life but a game.

Lights are off, didn’t notice it at first
back at it,
last to run.
Lead the fun
cow-boy empty your gun.

Fragile, fragile !
Careful !
When you move the crate
Treatorous creature !

All on board !
Shot vulture !

Nothing is
Against nature,

Except deprived minds like ours.

Good allure…

Ascending !
Descending…
Deceiving.

Producting
Engenering
Ring
Of
fire.

Situation is dire !

Light spray faster than
A startled cat.

Gaining more fat
Bulking.
For the King.

silence, no more chat.
Dear audience
This is the end

Of the act.

Dim the light.

Slowly.

Dazed and confused.

Down the hatch

Once again, dear friend.

Down and out.

Goodbye.

Jaskiers