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, July 03, 2007

8 December 1943 – 3 July 1971
artist poet singer
beloved husband of Patricia


They can call you a rock and roll hero
but you're only a man
In the spotlight outfacing the storm
with your axe and your band
You blink in the dazzle
and see that they don't understand
Whoever they see when they watch you
it’s no face you planned

You may know something more than they do
but you don't know that much
You can make them do just as you please
but you flinch from their touch
They limp when they’re trying to follow
and you’re their one crutch
Out there on the deck you're their captain
It's simple as such

'Cause you never sought
anything like command
But you took it when
destiny touched your hand
Did you misunderstand?
Are you sailing for land?

And the faithful who love you to death
they're the ones whom you led
Gave them weapons and wonder
and magic and music instead
You think that they're listening
but they don’t hear a word that you said
Never saw you go missing and
didn’t much care where you fled

'Cause they want to sit back
and be all spoon-fed
And you were the prophet
that brought them bread
Did you get in their head?
Do they know how you bled?


So they bought what you sold them
and never considered the price
They bet on you sober or stoned
every roll of the dice
Perception's the name of this game
Never think to think twice
Write it up on the scoreboard of being
The great sacrifice

'Cause bread's not enough
when a hungry heart
is starving for something
that's more than art
Did you ever take part?
If you never did start?

---Turk Wayland, for Lionheart

© 2007 Patricia Kennealy Morrison for Lizard Queen Music


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