Jim Morrison's Adventures in the Afterlife

450 Pages·1999·1.86 MB·English

by  Mick Farren

Jim Morrison’s
Adventures in
the Afterlife

. Copyright © 1999 by Mick Farren. All rights
JIM MORRISON’S ADVENTURES IN THE AFTERLIFE
reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be
used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except
in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For
information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y.
10010.
Design by Jane Adele Regina

Farren, Mick.
Jim Morrison’s adventures in the afterlife : a novel / Mick Farren. —1st ed.

p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-20654-2 ISBN 978-0-312-20654-3
1. Morrison, Jim, 1943-1971 Fiction. 2. McPherson, Aimee Semple, 1890-
1944 Fiction. 3. Holliday, John Henry, 1851-1887 Fiction.

I. Title.

PS3556.A7727J56 1999

813’.54—dc21

99-33279
CIP

First Edition: November 1999

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This book and its completion is dedicated to Felix Dennis,
Captain of the Hispaniola, who, more than once,
sailed to the rescue in the nick of time.
The only completely consistent people are the dead.

–A H
LDOUS UXLEY
Jim Morrison’s
Adventures in
the Afterlife
1

Say what you like, folks always
make a big deal over death.

A
imee McPherson stood on the terrace and stared balefully across the landscape
of Heaven. For perhaps the two millionth time since her death, her rage at the
manner in which God had betrayed her boiled to one of its cyclical peaks. How
dare He, if indeed He existed at all, treat her with such unconscionable
treachery? She had done so much on His behalf. She had avoided temptations,
bypassed indulgences, forgone the pleasures of the flesh. She had sacrificed to
the maximum in His name and, from her perspective, He had cynically betrayed
her. Her entire life had hinged on a single belief in which she had placed
absolute trust. He had promised a Heaven when she died. That He then so totally
reneged on the deal transcended the criminal and took the burden of guilt to a
new level of divine iniquity. Aimee McPherson had arrived in the Afterlife only
to discover that, if she wanted a Heaven, she was expected to build it herself.
God Himself had failed to put in even the most cursory manifestation, and she
had begun to doubt that He actually existed at all.
If there was a God, He appeared to believe that this psychic erector set would
be ample reward for a lifetime of love and devotion, of prayer, praise, and
supplication. He had presented her with a blank celestial slate and left her to
make it up for herself. After all the promises, the only Heaven she had received
or perceived had come directly out of her own imagination, without help,
without encouragement, without even the benefit of an instruction manual.
Aimee McPherson stood on the terrace and stared balefully across the
landscape of Heaven and knew that it was entirely her own creation. This should
have pleased her, if for no other reason than that of pride in accomplishment.
Pride in accomplishment, however, counted for little beside abandonment by
God. This Heaven had been torn, at a great cost of emotion and energy, piece by