Jim Morrison illustrates a man who was very aware of the power struggle between crowds and their leaders, offering a window into each stage of his increasing fame and growing frustration at his commodification and inability to inspire action in others. The first section of The Lords and the New Creatures (1970), titled "The Lords: Notes on Vision", contains Morrison's autobiographical commentary on the dialectic between individuality and expectation. One of Morrison's concise observations of popular culture reads, "The cleavage of men into actor and spectators is the central fact of our time. We are obsessed with heroes who live for us and whom we punish." He clearly identifies himself wholeheartedly as a spectator, not an actor. Morrison's eventual transformation from spectator to actor is the final blow to his authority; eventually, instead of critiquing the society and the status quo (as DeLillo also believes should be the artist's role), he is irrevocably connected to it, and thus, is unable to affect any real change. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, Morrison eventually became one of the "heroes" that he speaks of.
Morrison meditates, for instance, on images that others may find grotesque or macabre to illustrate the uneasiness society has when confronted with anything that reminds them of their own mortality. Later in his life, his fans would become the spies, looking through the camera at him, dissecting each segment of his life ad infinitum, inspecting Morrison himself as if he were a "rare aquatic insect." In this way, Morrison's early writings were prophetic. Another seemingly prophetic passage from this early book reads, "Everything is vague and dizzy. The skin swells and there is no more distinction between parts of the body. An encroaching sound of threatening, mocking, monotonous voices. This is fear and attraction of being swallowed." This passage from Lords and the New Creatures is reminiscent of the opening lines of Elias Canetti' s influential study on crowds, Crowds and Power (1960): "There is nothing that man fears more than the touch of the unknown. He wants to see what is reaching towards him, and to be able to recognize it. Man always tends to avoid physical contact with anything strange." Morrison had no interest in pandering to any portion of society, he found that no matter what he did, he was always associated with one group or another and given titles by the media that diverged from his own self-image. "Even the bitter Poet-Madman is a clown. Treading the boards" (Wilderness: The Lost Writings of Jim Morrison). In this poem Morrison calls himself a clown because he realizes that his message is being overshadowed by his image, as the audience expects entertainment from him, instead of guidance. As Dylan Jones points out, "Like many performers, Morrison was unable to harness his own stardom, and because of this, he began lampooning himself." "The boards" are theatrical jargon for the stage; Morrison here again recognizes that he has become an actor.
His audience expects him to be an actor, and due to this expectation, he can no longer reach them. The poem, entitled "Road Days," contains the following verses: "I have ploughed My seed thru the heart Of the nation. Injected a germ in the psychic blood vein. Now I embrace the poetry of business & become—for a time—a "Prince of Industry." Part of Morrison's frustration in this poem (and in his life) comes from his realization of his own entrapment by market forces. Like Bucky Wunderlick in Great Jones Street, he realizes that he is more commodity than person, a name to to be held up as an example of the corruption of the youth of his generation. By "embrac[ing] the poetry of business," Morrison recognizes that he should attempt to take control of his own persona and image by becoming aware of the business side of his career, in much the same way that Bucky begins a corporation, Transparanoia. Morrison, at the height of his fame, realizes that he is more a puppet-like performer than a revolutionary leader, and realizes the fans and the media are consuming him. Unlike DeLillo's Bucky Wunderlick, who used gibberish lyrics as a means to test the crowd's devotion to him, Morrison used his onstage persona to try to push the crowd away. Although he continued to strive against his restraints, he eventually tired out and had no choice but to give in to the public's idea of his identity, because he no longer knew what his identity was. According to friends such as Doors keyboardist Ray Manzarek, Morrison never really wanted to be a rock star. James Riordan and Jerry Prochnicky describe his initial reluctance to make himself the center of attention: "When they agreed to form a band, Morrison figured Ray would sing the songs, but Manzarek insisted that since they were Jim's songs, he must feel them more and should sing them."
Morrison had gained the reputation for being so high on LSD that he "could eat acid coated sugar cubes all night without visible effect." Morrison's self-medication also allowed him to anesthetize the spectator part of himself and cultivate his actor persona, a persona he was carefully crafting, but to the detriment of his individuality. Unfortunately, the more comfortable Morrison became with the power he held over the crowd, the more the power shifted toward his audience and ensnared his individuality. As though to mock his stardom, Morrison rebelled against even his band mates and producers, knowing that very little could be done without him. According to Riordan and Prochnicky, Morrison loved to toy with the media by describing the band as "erotic politicians" and telling joumalists that he loved "activity that seems to have no meaning." These sound bytes were jokes to him, and he was surprised when people took them seriously. He found it "ludicrous for anyone to assume that a philosophy worth anything could be summed up in a few choice phrases. I just thought everyone knew it was ironic," Morrison said, "but apparently they thought I was mad." The meltdown in Miami meant he thought he was a fraud to himself by this point in his career, and was the foregone conclusion of such a power struggle between a proliferated image and the man. Morrison fought and pushed back as hard as he could until he broke on through to another stage. —"The sadness of great fame: The conflict between individuality and expectation in the works of Don DeLillo and Jim Morrison" (2005) by Sue-Ellen Norton Francis
A reimagination (on Wattpad) of a romantic tryst between Jim and Pamela: "Her red locks framed a soft, freckled creamy face that could mercurially turn into a virginal nymph or a Victorian tramp. 'Sadly, my old boyfriend didn't share his dope unless I serviced him with a sloppy blowjob, that pig!', Pam said raising her sight from her Vanilla Coke, sipping it intertmitently. Jim gleaned from her gestures she wasn't interested in remembering her old adventures in Orange County, so he pressed his fingers on her curved lips and caressed her hair with his trembling hand palm while she closed her eyes enthralled. 'I'll give you money, dope, a fancy place, silk clothes and diamonds!' Pamela laughed, amused at Jim's declaration and kissed his half-open mouth. Then, she whispered in his ear: 'I want to suck you off so bad,' laughing hysterically. Jim laughed too, conquered by her beauty and humor, knowing that he had found his cosmic mate, and replied: 'Well, in that case,' kissing her cheeks, 'only if you want it, baby. By the way, I love blowjobs!' Both howled with laughter again, their necks displaced with gleeful convulsions. 'Did you fantasize about me sucking you off after our first dates?' asked Pam jokingly. 'You are not my groupie,' answered Jim in a sudden serious tone, 'you are my girl. I'd lose myself completely in your mouth, baby, your mouth is so pure.' She kissed him covering his inviting tongue with hers. Her body shook up at hearing his poetic words. Her fingers, so softly tactile, explored his penis, making his brain explode with an unknown, inviolable pleasure. Her saliva was like nectar and his tongue searched for hers possesively. She tasted like Vanilla Coke and candy. He felt he was pushing her off her childhood remanents and reaching to the woman who was now cuddling him in her arms. 'I wanted to hold you in my arms since you laid your eyes on me at the London Fog,' she confessed, transfixed at the memory. 'They said you were a floozy, a whore, but those people were hateful misers. I didn't believe them, they couldn't ever see through you,' he revealed gently. She sighed, slowly caressing his wide throat: 'Did you ask for my dating historial, Jim?' He tilted his head, holding her chin galllantly: 'I didn't ask anybody, you know how guys are, braggarts or losers... you are an angel, you smell like Paradise and your eyes are lavender flowers.' She smiled, submerged in a new placidity, marveled at his poetic declamations. 'My girl, my woman, my wife,' his wild kisses left her breathless. He got an unbearably painful erection and she had never felt so wet. Her eyes were glazing over and he made love to her like an eternal promise. Her frantic strawberry tongue provoked his flowing of white lava, thick drops burning her hair and dampening her petal-rose breasts. Drowning in a sea of interminable desire, Jim became Pamela's protector. Everytime Jim was serviced by a solicitous groupie backstage, he would invariably abstract his orgasm in his mind into Pamela's sly smile.