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Thursday, 30 July 2015

Day 1415 - Pathetically yours

As I continue my short stay in London; which yesterday included PLAYING cricket at Lords - I was only supposed to be watching, but was invited to play, thus making an old man (not the famous old man of Lords) VERY happy - Morrissey has been travelling and writing.

There have been a number of TTY entries from Moz, which include announcements of European dates in the Autumn - there are going to be 14 in total, including four in England.... is England still in Europe? Does anyone care?
The other TTY entries are about Morrissey being offered FOUR awards (three for giving a voice to the voiceless and one for his contribution to music), being groped at San Francisco airport, plus an insightful, amusing, and poignant update on the current state of Morrissey's heart and mind.

In the TTY update on the state of Morrissey's heart and mind; which incidentally are apparently A) Full and B) "if permissible!", happy - Morrissey lists his favourite nights of the US tour, which include Salt Lake City at No.1: where Jaz gave him a blue rose, Seattle at No.2: where Moz refused gladioli saying, "sorry, I can't accept these, and San Jose at No. 3: where Morrissey quoted Jaz's Harsh Truth of the Camera Eye tweet.

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Also in that latest TTY update, Morrissey takes the opportunity to speak out against an abhorrent murder of a lion called Cecil, who was shot for fun by a dentist from Minnesota called Walter Palmer. Rather unbelievably, Palmer shot Cecil with a bow and arrow and just left him to die a long agonising death.


The TTY piece also sees Morrissey stating that things are currently like the "glory days of 1991/92" and adds that, "it is partly public support in response to World peace is none of your business being axed in its prime by Steve Barnett - that cheap model of Humpty Dumpty". You do have to smile at old Mozzer.


Meanwhile, in MorrisseysWorld, 'R' has confirmed that a new parody IS currently in production:

I can confirm a new parody piece is currently being written.

Following the recent MW poll, the parody will star: Our Mozzer, Broken, Boz Boorer and Astraea. Furthermore there will be guest appearances from Log Lady and one mystery guest star.


Posted by Morrissey to Following The Mozziah at 28 July 2015 at 16:52

'R' is of course Our Mozzer's secretary, and some MorrisseysWorlders have previously mused as to whether or not 'R' is Russell Brand.
Last night, I went and watched Brand perform a stand-up show at the National Theatre. I had lost a lot of respect for Gristle following his ridiculous backing of Ed Miliband at the General Rejection in May, but last night RB returned to what he does best, making people laugh, and he really was wonderfully hilarious. My review can be read on my Call Out the Instigator blog, which I created especially for Brand's revolution, which he announced on May 4th - this is my first entry on the blog since May 8th, when the revolution ended!

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And now, I shall leave you with some wonderfully written words from Astra, which were posted on FTM at 5am this morning. There are a few home truths for us all:

Me Me Me culture, making us all sick. Putrefying us, from the inside out. I see it, even here. Agree with me, because you think you should. Disagree with me, because you think it makes you sound intelligent, and because you simply like the sound of your own voice. Which is worse? Who can say. I'll leave that to you to ponder.

Me Me Me culture, from all the Me Me Mes of the world, who have nothing nothing nothing to contribute. I am surrounded by a sea of vapidness, out of which I no longer know how to swim. A swirling vortex. A maelstrom of misery. An undertow that never stops pulling. A riptide of superficiality. Of smiles. Of empty eyes. Of hollow minds. And of sly lies.

I can smile and make you laugh until the cows come home. And then for three different lifetimes more. But why should I? It's not my job to entertain you. Start looking within. And if you don't know how to, learn.

Me Me Me culture, with no abatement. When Sinéad O'Connor blasted Rolling Stone for putting Kim Kartrashian's bicycle pump inflated... inflatables, on the cover, they say it went viral. But did no one bother to tell you? It didn't go viral because of what she said, or because Sinéad said it, or even because someone voiced their indignation. It went viral because someone, anyone, had mentioned Kim K again at all. Do you know who Kim K is? Do I know? Do I care? NO. A sex tape made public? If her knowledge of the bedroom is as dire as her opinion is of what makes a body beautiful, then that is what is called a state of dire of neither probable, nor possible return. And like a CIA, red-flagged, keyword hotlist of all that is empty and vacuous, careful what you say. Careful what you wish for. And careful what you only pretend that you don't want. Because you've already been given it all.

Your revulsion is nothing but a front. You breathe this throwaway ongoing gaggle of nobody's nothing, of everyman's orgueil. You feed off it. You need it. There is nothing ironic in what I see. You are collectively as transparent as white gauze, and thinner than the thinnest film.

Tomorrow isn't that interesting, when you can already see straight through to the other side.

Me Me Me culture, and cunt culture that will never die. Just be careful of contagion. Are you a leader? Or are you a follower? And should I even be asking you these questions? Why aren't you asking yourselves? For pity's sake, why does everyone think that they too, have to 'create' something. Stop bombarding my eyes, my ears, and my senses. Not everyone has to 'create'. Some people's only gift … is to sit still, and to be quiet. And even then, and even around here, that has to be consciously learned sometimes.

Wanting to 'create'. Craving attention. Needing to be seen. Wanting to be noticed. ME. ME. ME.

Wanting to do something, and actually contributing something of interest or of value to the cultural fabric are two different things entirely.

Some people need to stay home.

Walter Palmer should have stayed at home. And when he failed so spectacularly on all counts in trying to portray himself as having even a modicum of human decency, his PR team should have told him that there was still hope. That salvaging 5% of the wreckage is still better than salvaging none at all, but then that would have involved him having to know how to keep his mouth shut after that apocalypse of his own determined making. And there he failed spectacularly, again. When he chose instead to voice and to reiterate his love of killing animals, for sadistic sport and for his sole sadistic pleasure.

Cheryl Cole,... sorry, I still keep getting it wrong all of the time, don't I? Cherry Tweedy Versailles-Whatever, should have also just stayed at home. Also failed spectacularly. After which she then should have also learned to keep her mouth shut. Failed spectacularly, again. And again. And again. Some people really have the gift.

Me. Me. Me. ME ME ME. Look at me. Now look away. Cunt culture will never die. Vapid. Vapid. Vapid. Empty Empty Empty. Hollow. Hollow. Hollow. The vacuousness IS the contagion. And then, collective outrage, when it's all too late.

Beyonce promoting veganism, because for 30 days she was worried about the spread of her thunderous thighs. Sell my album. Sell my ass. Sell my irony. How do I look in this? Does Beyonce know how to spell veganism? Don't hold your breath. Does she know how to spell irony? Of course she does. It's spelled 'ME'. Say my name, say my name, say my name.

Why do you look at Cecil today? Why? There isn't any Cecil anymore. And what about all the others, who have no voice? The others, who also NEVER had a voice?

No voice. NO choice. NO chance.

Why do you look to me? Do you follow me? What are you following? My train of thought? The curve of the small of my back? My twitter account? My devastation and outrage? See pain, and walk away.

My outrage is not yours to keep. My outrage is not for sale. I am not yours. I am not anyone's. And collective outrage too late, is too little. And is as transparent as it is predictable as it is useless.

Cecil was not Walter Palmer's to injure, maim, devastate, torture, or then to kill. All of the other animals in the world are not yours either. Or mine. Or anybody's - to violate, mutilate, segregate, decimate.

Emptiness knows no bounds. But do you contribute to the darkness? Because the next question is, why would you even want to be a part of the VOID?

I am not for sale. I never was. I never will be. My thoughts are my own. My conviction is compassion. But what do YOU sell? What do you stand for? What are you a part of? A counterculture? A counter to what? You are not countering anything, if your only counter is in easy-peasy, silent agreement. Twitter, you have a lot to answer for. Favorites and likes and retweets will never change anything. Me. Me. ME.

When someone with a clearly very limited scope of mental faculties such as Walter Palmer, is able to pay money in the mid five figures to kill an animal of such indescribable beauty and as majestic as Cecil was, for the simple reason that in his seemingly functioning state of complete and total psychotic dementia, he does so because to him, this majestic animal is more beautiful DEAD, than it ever was alive - this is UNFATHOMABLE to me.

The fact that this grotesque individual, in his functioning state of seemingly - to any normal person - full blown sociopathy, then opened his mouth to DEFEND his love of killing animals, sent shockwaves and electric currents through my flesh and to the very core of my being.

Are you listening? Don't listen to my words just because I've taken the time to type them out. Listen because you have been given a brain with which to think, and eyes with which to see. And a voice, with which to make yourself heard. Use it for something useful. And because some of us HAVE to be better, than those who aren't. Find your own words, in your own life. THINK. FEEL. CARE. Stop clamoring. Stop adding to the ME. ME. ME vacuousness of it all. Turn off. Tune out. Whatever it is you're looking for in others, externally, around you, extrinsically – you will never find it there. EVER.

So, do you care? After all? You say you care. But do you, really?

For how long?
For as long as it takes you to read this?
For as long as it takes you to agree with me?

Because frankly, that's not long enough. And it never will be.
And SHAME was the only name, that this game ever had.

In a heart of darkness, devastation, and fire


I think I'll have a cocktail now.

Astra's words have left me feeling..... pathetic! She is of course right, but I already know that I am neither thoughtful enough, loving enough, or caring enough to change.... at least not today. Maybe I will one day surprise myself, and become the person I would like to be. Why is it that I KNOW that I am not the person I would like to be, but I do nothing to change it? WHY? What stops us from doing the right thing? It is, truly, pathetic.

And now I am off to wander the streets of London.... pathetically.