Death makes angels of us all, and gives us wings, where once were shoulders, smooth as raven's claws.
One of Jim Morrison's lesser-known quotes, a quote which both myself and a friend practically worship. It captures, in Morrison's own stoned and wonderful way, the frailty of life, and death as the great equaliser.
It was nearly a year ago now, when my friend, attention deficit disorder gleaming in his eyes, thrust headphones at me in the middle of maths class, with "Listen to this, man! Seriously!"
It was "The End", at the infamous Oedipal breakdown, where Morrison, dark God of stoned sensuality, the Lizard King, The American Poet, Mr Mojo Risin', invited us all into the best part of the trip.
Father? Yes son? I want to kill you.
Mother? I want to... RAAAPE YOU!
As I sat, and spaced out to the strange sounds entering my head, this was the greatest trip I'd been on. Better than drugs or liquor... almost as good as sex. It was the beginning. It was the end of innocence, and the beginning of life.
Nothing was ever the same. I accepted my life, I accept my death.
My and the friends I have gathered on this thin line. We are the fragile, we are the damned.
Death Makes Angels Of Us All.