Jim and Me: The Twenty-First of October 2009

21^st October 2009, A Starbucks in a Galaxy Far, Far Away (Tottenham Court Road).

Today is the first day of my life. Today, I am older than Jim Morrison for the first time. I will now always be older than Jim. I will always have outlived him. I don't know why it's a big deal. Generationally speaking, he's still the same thirty-nine years ahead. In a way, he will always be ahead of me (and of course, out of reach) but from now on, I will always be older.

Maybe I care because he's the great personification of rejected, freakish youth. He's not David Cassidy or one of Take That or some nice young man your mother would love for you to take home. Jim is always young and always mostly dangerous. He's not unpredictable anymore, but he's not safe. He'll never be safe. He never could be safe. But now... I must face up to the fact that I am older than him. Every day of my life has been spent getting further away from him and what he means and represents to me... but now it's a two-pronged offensive. He is always getting further away from me as the past gets further and further away: he is now dead thirty-eight years... but now I am also growing older and away from the mercurial, ever youthful Adonis.

This is the kid who said “Once you make your peace with authority, you become an authority.” I happen to think that had he lived, he wouldn't have given in and would've remained on the outside, sneering in... and if he had sold out, I wouldn't care any more anyway. I don't know what the future holds for me. I don't personally see myself becoming normal like the normal people, or giving in to the dark night of mediocre middle age... but I can't be sure. As I get further away from Jim, perhaps I will get further away from myself.

That's not the only thing. Jim achieved everything he achieved in less time than I've had to do fuck all. My time to make a difference is running out. I don't assume that we're the same – I've always felt like I'm on a slightly different timeline to everyone else anyway – but it's a bit of a mindblast to think that everything I love about his work was done in this amount of time that I've already had on earth. God, the time I've WASTED! Playing stupid games, lying in bed, sleeping, eating, watching the same movies over and over again, the same TV shows, the same old same old same old same old same old. My life so far has been a study in applied laziness, and the effort I've spent to do nothing was probably more than I'd need to do something. But I'm not there. I haven't created yet. I haven't shaken people and I haven't made them think. To judge myself against Jim, I am an absolute, complete failure.

On the other hand, and in seeking the silver lining, this gets to be the first day of my life. After this, I cannot judge myself against him in the same way again. After this, that strange little connection is gone. Maybe from today I'll have to fend for myself and put him away. Just as well that I found Rory last year, so that I might have another hero to draw inspiration from – I won't have to worry about outliving him until 2030. If I haven't done what I feel I need (and should) do by then, it really will be too late.

It also means something else: I've survived. Every day that I live after this one will be a tiny victory of my greater angels over my lesser demons (and they really are lesser). This is the victory of Good Clare over Evil Clare. I haven't drunk myself to death. I haven't thrown myself under a fast-moving vehicle. I have got out of bed today. I am smiling today (just a little). Every day from now on, I've managed something that my hero, my old friend and companion through the darkness, could not do. I suppose, if I manage to make myself look at it this way: I won. I may have failed when compared to Jim, but I have won (mostly) when compared to Jimbo.

Of course, there's another way to look at it: every day is another day closer to seeing him, at last. Whether in heaven or hell, I don't know. But it wouldn't be heaven without him and hell couldn't be eternal torment if I spent it with him and the other lost boys.

I wrote, for a character of mine the following remark:

“My life is coloured entirely, permanently, by his betrayal of himself.”

And that's true for me. I took it out of the story it belonged to not because it wasn't true, but because it was too true. Every moment of my life whether I knew it or not, has been the way it was in part because Jim Morrison, that drunken bastard in the leather trousers, was dead. Were he alive today, my life would not be as it is. I don't say it would be better or worse: I have no way of knowing. Maybe a few more days and nights would've been spent smiling instead of furiously shaking a fist at the unseen heavens, cursing anyone I could find to blame.

I will love that man and his work for the rest of my life, and beyond that too, probably. I am who I am and the way I am in part because of him – for better or worse. The hook is in too deep to remove completely but maybe – maybe today is the first day of a life spent a little less in the dark shadows of morbidity and a little more in the bright golden sunshine of being alive.

Chance would be a fine thing.

Jim and Me: The Twenty-First of October 2009

21^st October 2009, A Starbucks in a Galaxy Far, Far Away (Tottenham Court Road).

Today is the first day of my life. Today, I am older than Jim Morrison for the first time. I will now always be older than Jim. I will always have outlived him. I don't know why it's a big deal. Generationally speaking, he's still the same thirty-nine years ahead. In a way, he will always be ahead of me (and of course, out of reach) but from now on, I will always be older.

Maybe I care because he's the great personification of rejected, freakish youth. He's not David Cassidy or one of Take That or some nice young man your mother would love for you to take home. Jim is always young and always mostly dangerous. He's not unpredictable anymore, but he's not safe. He'll never be safe. He never could be safe. But now... I must face up to the fact that I am older than him. Every day of my life has been spent getting further away from him and what he means and represents to me... but now it's a two-pronged offensive. He is always getting further away from me as the past gets further and further away: he is now dead thirty-eight years... but now I am also growing older and away from the mercurial, ever youthful Adonis.

This is the kid who said “Once you make your peace with authority, you become an authority.” I happen to think that had he lived, he wouldn't have given in and would've remained on the outside, sneering in... and if he had sold out, I wouldn't care any more anyway. I don't know what the future holds for me. I don't personally see myself becoming normal like the normal people, or giving in to the dark night of mediocre middle age... but I can't be sure. As I get further away from Jim, perhaps I will get further away from myself.

That's not the only thing. Jim achieved everything he achieved in less time than I've had to do fuck all. My time to make a difference is running out. I don't assume that we're the same – I've always felt like I'm on a slightly different timeline to everyone else anyway – but it's a bit of a mindblast to think that everything I love about his work was done in this amount of time that I've already had on earth. God, the time I've WASTED! Playing stupid games, lying in bed, sleeping, eating, watching the same movies over and over again, the same TV shows, the same old same old same old same old same old. My life so far has been a study in applied laziness, and the effort I've spent to do nothing was probably more than I'd need to do something. But I'm not there. I haven't created yet. I haven't shaken people and I haven't made them think. To judge myself against Jim, I am an absolute, complete failure.

On the other hand, and in seeking the silver lining, this gets to be the first day of my life. After this, I cannot judge myself against him in the same way again. After this, that strange little connection is gone. Maybe from today I'll have to fend for myself and put him away. Just as well that I found Rory last year, so that I might have another hero to draw inspiration from – I won't have to worry about outliving him until 2030. If I haven't done what I feel I need (and should) do by then, it really will be too late.

It also means something else: I've survived. Every day that I live after this one will be a tiny victory of my greater angels over my lesser demons (and they really are lesser). This is the victory of Good Clare over Evil Clare. I haven't drunk myself to death. I haven't thrown myself under a fast-moving vehicle. I have got out of bed today. I am smiling today (just a little). Every day from now on, I've managed something that my hero, my old friend and companion through the darkness, could not do. I suppose, if I manage to make myself look at it this way: I won. I may have failed when compared to Jim, but I have won (mostly) when compared to Jimbo.

Of course, there's another way to look at it: every day is another day closer to seeing him, at last. Whether in heaven or hell, I don't know. But it wouldn't be heaven without him and hell couldn't be eternal torment if I spent it with him and the other lost boys.

I wrote, for a character of mine the following remark:

“My life is coloured entirely, permanently, by his betrayal of himself.”

And that's true for me. I took it out of the story it belonged to not because it wasn't true, but because it was too true. Every moment of my life whether I knew it or not, has been the way it was in part because Jim Morrison, that drunken bastard in the leather trousers, was dead. Were he alive today, my life would not be as it is. I don't say it would be better or worse: I have no way of knowing. Maybe a few more days and nights would've been spent smiling instead of furiously shaking a fist at the unseen heavens, cursing anyone I could find to blame.

I will love that man and his work for the rest of my life, and beyond that too, probably. I am who I am and the way I am in part because of him – for better or worse. The hook is in too deep to remove completely but maybe – maybe today is the first day of a life spent a little less in the dark shadows of morbidity and a little more in the bright golden sunshine of being alive.

Chance would be a fine thing.