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, March 10, 2009

Tibet: Fifty Years On

A great song...about a terrible crime that continues to this day...

Listen to my story. got two tales to tell
One of fallen glory. one of vanity
The world's roof was raging, but we were looking fine
'cause we built that thing and it grew wings
In 1959

Wisdom was a teapot, pouring from above
Desolation angels
Served it up with love
Ignitin' strife like every form of life
Then moved by bold design
Slid in that thing and it grew wings
In 1959

It was blood, shining in the sun
First: freedom!
Speeding the American claim
Freedom; freedom; freedom; freedom!

China was the tempest; madness overflowed
Lama was a young man
watched his world in flames
Taking glory down by the edge of clouds
It was a cryin' shame
Another lost horizon: Tibet, the fallen star
Wisdom and compassion crushed, in the land of Shangri-La

But in the land of the Impala, honey, well,
We were lookin' fine
'cause we built that thing and it grew wings
In 1959
'cause we built that thing and it grew wings
In 1959

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
In 1959...1959...1959...1959...1959...1959...1959
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times

---Patti Smith, "1959"


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