Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


This man is a god.

(And, Rudy Giuliani, you're not.)

Friday, September 22, 2006

A Long-Awaited Party

Well, not really THAT long...

Happy Birthday, Bilbo and Frodo Baggins!

Today I start my annual fall reading of The Book. (Lord of the Rings, of course, do you even need to ask??) I read it every fall and every spring, cover to cover, and dip into it randomly in between when I feel the need of a Tolkien fix.

Off we go, then...

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Give 'Em Hell, Mary!

Sooooo...Majority Leader Bill Frist and the rest of the Republican "leadership" piously promise to "rise above politics," Then Republican Senators Jim DeMint (SC) and John Ensign (NV) this morning parrot yesterday's anti-Democrat rant, slimedripping off the forked tongue of House Majority Leader John Boehner.

But THEN along comes Mary! Sen. Mary Landrieu (D-Louisiana). A goddess of wisdom and battle. Hear her roar:

"In light of the rantings that went on for 30 minutes by two colleagues from the other side, I'd like to state for the record that America is not tired of fighting terrorism; America is tired of the wrongheaded and boneheaded leadership of the Republican party that has sent six and a half billion a month to Iraq while the front line was Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia. That led this country to attack Saddam Hussein, when we were attacked by Osama bin Laden. Who captured a man who did not attack the country and let loose a man that did. Americans are tired of boneheaded Republican leadership that alienates our allies when we need them the most. Americans are most certainly tired of leadership that despite documenting mistake after mistake after mistake, even of their own party admitting mistakes, never admit they do anything wrong. That's the kind of leadership Americans are tired of."

She concluded, "I'm not going to sit here as a Democrat and let the Republican leadership come to the floor and talk about Democrats not making us safe. They're the ones in charge and Osama bin Laden is still at loose."

Scratch their eyes out, girlfriend!

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Never Forgive, Never Forget

Check out the amazing Keith Olberman at this URL:

He says it better than I could.

I WILL say that it is a towering outrage and utter disgrace that the unelected president of the United States should ever be allowed to set foot at Ground Zero. I'm only surprised he doesn't burst into flames with the hypocrisy of it all. But then, he being the high king and emperor of all hypocrites and self-interested smirking pigdogs, maybe I'm not surprised after all. And perhaps even the REAL Jesus---not the self-invented one he claims to serve---would find it hard to forgive him. We all know what happens to moneychangers in the temple...

The very ground of Ground Zero should revolt at his polluted presence, the spirits of the dead who perished on his watch should harry him like avenging angels. He dishonors us all.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Reflected Presence

When I walked out of the house this morning I looked to the southwest as usual, just to see the usual absence in the sky of the towers that once stood there, a mile and a half away.

After five years, it’s a habit I can’t seem to break myself of, that hopeful wishful looking—as if somehow, some night, in the silent dark, they will have come back to us again and be standing monolithic once more in the morning sky, as if they had never left.

They never have and never will, of course, but it doesn’t stop me looking.

But this morning I had an amazing, a wondrous surprise. Hanging in the empty sky above the empty place was the waning moon, huge and white, beautiful and sorrowful. A gibbous moon, fading from the bottom edge, that looked down like a loving face, tenderly inclined to where the towers and the people had been, sheltering, grieving, honoring.

I can’t say it made me happy, exactly. On this day nothing could do that. (Except the head of Osama bin Laden, turbaned in bacon and stuck on a pike.) But it did, somehow, make me for a moment a little bit less sad.