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

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Happy Anniversary, Jim and Patricia

James Douglas Morrison and Patricia Anne Elizabeth Genevieve Honora Kennealy, June 24, 1970

I usually put up a bit of poetry for these occasions, but today I thought I'd share something a little different...

In my capacity as public rock critic and private editor (or cranky commentator and loving consort, if you will), I often complained to Jim that there just weren’t enough darn verses to Doors songs. So on our wedding night, when it came up again, he said Well, if it makes you happy, why don’t we write some more then, what’s your pleasure? I said You're on, Lizard King, how about let's start with “People Are Strange”?

So we did. Write them. Together. Right there.

And right here.

Happy 37th, honey.

The Lost Verses to "People Are Strange"

People are strange
Stranger than fiction
Reading them's easy
When they're your own
Pledging allegiance
Seven past seven
Pages keep turning
Right to the bone

When you're strange
Players hit out of the game
When you're strange
Everyone's shouting your name
When you're strange (3x)

People get strange
When you're a danger
Roads are a detour
Once you have flown
Eyes are a question
Arms only answer
Answers are murder
When you're gone

© 1970, 2007 by Jim Morrison and Patricia Kennealy Morrison


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