Take these lyrics into consideration:

I love you, the best
Better than all the rest
I love you, the best
Better than all the rest
That I meet in the summer
Indian summer
That I meet in the summer
Indian summer
I love you, the best
Better than all the rest

The same motif makes up the entirety of this song. References to the loveliest of all things one encounters in summer. I fail to understand what the Indian means here. The country? It’s the Native Americans most probably. Now, listen to this song. I’ll wait while you listen.

A subtle slow song. The lyrics overlaid like jewels. The lyrics are so open-ended, merely symbolic in nature. It seems only present there to softly nudge you towards a particular feeling if you are adamant to go anywhere based on the music that plays.

Here’s another:

I can’t see your face in my mind
I can’t see your face in my mind
Carnival dogs consume the lines
Can’t see your face in my mind

Don’t you cry
Baby
Please don’t cry
And don’t look at me with your eyes

I can’t seem to find the right lie
I can’t seem to find the right lie

Insanity’s horse adorns the sky
Can’t seem to find the right lie

Carnival dogs consume the lines
Can’t see your face in my mind

Don’t you cry
Baby
Please don’t cry
I won’t need your picture
Until we say good-bye

The line that particularly captures me in the song is this one: I can’t see your face in my mind. It seems important because this happens to me a lot where I can’t even remember my parents’ faces after I haven’t seen them in a long time. It is horrifying, to say the least. The song is frankly weird.

The Doors and specifically its frontman, Jim Morrison did the kind of poetry over the particular type of music I have failed to discover in all these years. Now the reason I am getting interested again in The Doors after all this time is because of Symbolism and Imagism. I am exploring a way for poetry to become mythology. Of it opening up numerous doors after each word uttered such that each set of doors gets compounded by repeated addition and the poetry as a whole becomes a flood of pure vision.

See you tomorrow,
Avi.