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, November 28, 2006

Privacy Policy Redux

I have noticed that some people have been trying to get in touch with me via this site. So, once again, here's the deal.

Because of the wacko toxic spiteful lying slimy Doorzoid pieces of garbage out there, I do not allow comments here or on my mirror site, and I will not respond to messages left for my attention on yours. Because you could be an enemy, or a moron, or a Trojan horse, or a horse's ass. I have no way of knowing, and there's no reason on earth I should take the chance of subjecting myself to more of the endless crap.

Also, please do not bother my friends with solicitations for intercession. They're under orders (in the nicest possible way, and I am endlessly thankful to them), and they will not pass anything along.

I'm genuinely sorry that this policy prohibits pleasant discourse with the many delightful, perceptive people and readers who are also out there. I would LOVE to talk with you, and I'm most grateful that you should want to talk to me. But that means opening the portcullis for vermin, and sadly, that's the way of it. Several Keltiad threads and forums have had to be shut and abandoned because hateful crapweasels overwhelmed them with their septic, jealous, envious, totally unconscionable bile, and I'm sick of it.

More seriously, there has also been major stalker activity over the past couple of years, to the point of police reports being filed. One delusional creep, who thinks he's Jim's and my son whom I abandoned as a newborn in a shopping bag in a California mall in May 1968 (ridiculous, considering I only met Jim for the first time in January 1969---he was good, but he wasn't THAT good), and who has been hassling me ever since that damn movie, even went so far as to hunt down neighbors of mine and phone them, asking them to give me messages. Not to mention the insane Italian girl who thinks she's Jim reincarnated and apparently wanted to renew the relationship, or the ones who think...well, never mind. I don't want to give people any ideas.

Hey, nutjobs? I'm A NEW YORKER. I'm ARMED. I'm ANGRY. I'm LETHAL. And I'm WAAAAAY smarter than you are. So stay away from me and my friends and family. Stay far, far away.

But mostly I'm just weary of people asking deeply personal questions they have no business asking, just 'cause they're pruriently curious and they think they have a right to know. Well, you don't. You may believe your questions are urgent and pressing, but I consider them intrusive and rude and the obsessions of borderline psychos. And maybe not even borderline.

I've said what I have to say, in "Strange Days" and elsewhere. And now here. If I ever want you to know anything more than is already out there with my name on it, believe me, I will tell you.

That's all.


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