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Tuesday, 27 December 2016

Day 2030 - Christmas Death

As requested by Our Mozzer, I have now removed all of my blog entries, and will remove this one before the day is out.

The reason that I am writing a blog entry, is because at 5.24pm on Christmas evening, OM published a new entry on his True Morrissey blog, entitled Chistmoz; which is an account of Morrissey's Christmas Day at home with his mother, so I feel I have to record this on FTM, even if it's not to stay in the public domain.

As to whether Morrissey is currently at home in Cheshire with his mother, or as to whether anything remotely resembling the contents of this Christmas tale actually happened, one can only guess, but I still cling to the dream that the author of this, and the other blog entries,  really is the work of the real indie 80s pop icon, Morrissey. Anyway, whoever it is that has spent the whole of Christmas afternoon writing this piece, I salute them, it's a classic:

25 December 2016
Christmoz - Dictated by OM, Typed by Dawn

Christmas has been thrust upon us once again. I have survived it for another year at least. Today has been truly diabolical, with the fist disaster of the day at the ungodly hour of 10 a.m. when Mam pointed out to me that my yearly tradition of three snowballs in my muesli may not be suitable for a vegan diet. Well neither was the chocolate cake I consumed last night, as fast as the drummer consumes my wallet. I must only drop a tenner for a second and he’s behind me picking it up and scampering away. Never has my life felt more Dickensian. Mam was right of course, I could not be seen eating a non-vegan breakfast when the family arrive; I do have a reputation to uphold.  Plus, you never know if Alexis Petridis is hiding in the bushes/living in the bushes with a long-lens camera just waiting for me to trip up. I placed the muesli in the bin and returned my eyebrows to a resting position.


Returning to the sofa I notice that it is at least several decades old. In fact, it could be the same sofa I penned my first iconic poem aged seven. Mam had been bleating on about the sofa and how it has no back support. I assumed this was a hint for me to replace it. I don’t know who she thinks I am, I hardly have any money leftover after self-funding my own tours. Not that the bunch of cretins over at that soLow cesspit have any concept of my struggle. Lawyer called at 11 a.m., probably to escape his dreary children, to give me my daily update of pending cases. I informed him its Christmas day and I refuse to be disturbed, b****** lawyer said he was returning my 3 a.m. phone call. I do not remember making this alleged phone call, perhaps I consumed too many Baileys last night? The Bem Brasil incident appears to be settling down now, thank heavens for super injunctions. What am I supposed to do if a friendly looking Hispanic waiter catches my eye as I’m walking down Altrincham High Street? Lawyer discusses payment and I accidentally drop the phone onto the fireplace. My stomach was in turmoil after being reminded of draconian lawyers on Christmas day. I mistook anguish for hunger and returned to the bin to retrieve my leftover muesli. Mam slapped me once on the hand and once on the face. I see the arthritis has cleared up, but I’m sure it will be back in time to escape the washing up. You can never escape being Morrissey, mother.


Aunt Hilda boomed through the door carrying presents and years of resentment. “Ah Steven” she said as I noticeably recoiled in horror. She went on to praise ‘This Charming Man’, again. Does she not know of my career since then? I have many a great work to compliment but she must constantly endorse this record.  Nephew arrived with boundless energy and career ending stare. He really is the perfect kind of human. Talented, humble, and quite generous. He has picked up some of my better traits. Not a fan of the name Sam though, he should consider changing it to something more iconic than Sam, like Clive or Colin. I notice Sam carrying a present addressed to “Uncle Mozziassey”, bless him, autism must be hard to deal with. Mam informs everyone that dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. I try and set the TV to record the Top Gear repeat and notice that Jeremy Clarkson is no longer the host. I assume I’ve missed the headlines surrounding his arrest under Operation Yewtree. Mam serves Christmas dinner on plates clearly purchased from the Argos basic range. I am livid but on the plus side she has made aubergine. It appears threats of baseball bats and pillows over the face whilst sleeping will get you what you want. Sprouts were not soggy, instead they were horribly overdone. I choked them down as to not cause a fuss. Christmas spirit and all that. Mam returned to kitchen and to my surprise completes the washing up. I am left with Aunt Hilda. I played the modern version of This Charming Man. Hilda fell off her chair in what I can only assume to be an appreciation of the artistry involved in taking a mediocre song and transforming it into a Beethoven-like classic.


Presents followed. Now, I am not a cheapskate but as you are all aware I have had some money issues this year. A tour had to be cancelled so I could drink as much as I liked due to lack of funds. Plus, I was rather overgenerous this year with gifts for the people who appear with me on stage. Each of them received an animal friendly £5 note from 2005. Don’t say old Mozza doesn’t look after those nearest and dearest to him. Therefore, I had to recycle previous years pass the parcel winnings as presents. Sam was thrilled with his 2004 vinyl, he started to draw on it with crayons immediately. Aunt Hilda received a 2006 vinyl and asked if this is the one with ‘This Charming Man’ on. My patience was wearing thin. Sam had purchased me Photoshop for Beginners. I stopped myself just in time before saying that he should perhaps use it first. I become fixated with this box and laugh at the possibility of putting Boz's current face onto his 1992 body. Aunt Hilda plunged further in my estimations when I open her gift to find Just for Men hair dye. She explains that she spoke to “that John boy” I “used to run around with”, and she ascertained it was the brand he used. B******. Mam however has lost her little boy forever. She dared to buy me Age of Boom for which I receive no royalties whatsoever. However, the final insult was when I opened what I thought would be the complete works of Auden, which I had asked for, but instead was greeted with ‘Set the Boy Free’. I was outraged and immediately threw the book onto the floor and enigmatically left the living room. She’ll get no sofa from me.


Calmed down with the help of Baileys, it’s truly magnificent that Irish Cream has, and always will be vegan. Returned to the living room to see family watching a quiz recapping 2016. I see that delightful Farage chap is still being lampooned by so called comedians. That is no way to treat the second most important person to influence the Brits to vote for Brexit. I was clearly the first. In keeping a distance from the whole debate until after the announcement was made, I projected my voting preference with a twitch of my right eyebrow in interviews and on stage. Those who understood, understood and those that didn’t never could. Farage really is a likeable person even if his face resembles that of a frog pushed up against glass. Brexit really was the highlight of my year. Phone accidentally dropped into the fireplace starts to ring. I answer to hear the familiar family favourite voice of John Challis. We however have never spoken so I was most perturbed. He explained that he was actually looking for Vic R****s. I kept him on the phone for twenty-five minutes whilst I recited from memory the entire 1985 Only Fools and Horses Christmas Special. He shouted that he has done other work since Only Fools, and that he did not want to be remembered for one thing. Well John, old mucker, I’ve done great things since The Smiths and they are the only thing people remember about me, and you don’t hear me complaining, do you?


Hilda and Mam have fallen asleep in front of the TV whilst little Sam was playing with a toy fire engine on the carpet. I returned to the TV and saw a documentary on Amanda Holden. My brain cells declined at the utter charisma vacuum I saw in front of me. Threw Johnny’s book at TV. The TV smashed. The book was clearly good for something. They may be lightweight words but the binding is heavyweight. I mean, just because I was capable of writing a classic autobiography where nobody learns a thing, doesn’t mean anyone can do it. I decided that with everyone else asleep or preoccupied with age appropriate toys, that I should probably try and read this drivel. Read first half in 4 minutes. Does he really have nothing bad to say about anyone? He certainly did in every interview once The Smiths split. Finished book in ten minutes. Fell into a coma.

Meanwhile, whilst the above piece was being written and published, and with Our Mozzer describing how he survived Christmas "for another year at least", my other hero of popular music, George Michael, didn't survive it, and instead was being driven to the local Oxfordshire morgue, having been found dead in his bed on Christmas morning.


Image result for george michael


It is truly tragic that such a beautiful and talented man has gone at just 53 years of age, but George just couldn't help himself. I would imagine that Morrissey would be almost envious at the way George let himself decline and demise - it is incredibly Wildean. I just hope that Morrissey doesn't now choose to let himself go the same way. The only thing that is probably (and hopefully) stopping him, is that his mother is still alive. If Morrissey's mum wasn't still here, then he may well simply give up - you can almost see him thriving on self destruction.


Image result for morrissey mum

The news of GM's death was made public just after 11pm, and Our Mozzer took to Twitter at 2.20am to simply tweet, "Sadness." It has been said by a few sources that The Smiths were one of George Michael's favourite bands, and I have a feeling that Morrissey was secretly a great admirer of George's. M and I have certainly had a fair bit of banter over the past few years on Twitter about George. I would love to see Morrissey make an official statement on TTY about how much he admired George, but I don't suppose it will happen.



OM has posted two further tweets since Christmas Day, both yesterday. The first was at 11.39am:

"Flabbergasted at the deaths 2016 has given us. Flabbergasted even more that the Queen and her Kraut husband still remaining (sic) standing." and the second was at 8.32pm in response to a photo posted by Kerry 'Boozey' Messenger (@boozelette) of a sunset: "the sun going down on my career."

PHOTOS OF MOZ POSTED ON TTY ON CHRISTMAS EVE ALONG WITH HIS CHRISTMAS MESSAGE

Friday, 23 December 2016

Day 2026 - The journey continues

Despite Our Mozzer tweeting on Wednesday that, "the journey is no longer a journey. It's over. Death", two new articles were published on the True Morrissey blog yesterday; the first entitled Sugar Daddy, and the second, False Victimhood.

As the moody blogger has 'previous' for deleting blogs, here for the record are the two articles:

Sugar Daddy

As I have conquered and dominated the musical and cultural landscape in Britain and worldwide for decades with my iconic eyebrows, majestic jaw, above average torso and Wildean wit. I have decided it is time to move into a declining entertainment medium, television. Now, some people may think that it is a strange move for such a mesmerising human to lower himself to the cultural nadir that is television. But I truly believe I can reverse the fortunes of this once great cultural vehicle, much like I reversed the fortunes of the ailing Brookside soap opera, and single-handedly kept the show on the air for as long as it was with one historic appearance on South.  Whilst it is true that television produces loneliness and is the methadone metronome, there are occasions of brilliance. I for one cannot wait for the latest instalment of Danny Dyer’s hard hitting social commentary documentary called EastEnders.


Having decided on taking over television screens across Britain, Boz and I sat down to discuss my various options. Boz suggested I apply to become a contestant on Countdown due to my Scrabble proficiency. I could not bring myself to admit that I replace my Z’s with blanks whilst he tries to construct a word on the board. We then discussed an appearance on Dragons Den, but Boz alerted me to the fact that enigmatic otherness is not really an invention or a business model. I acquiesced but only because I refuse to stand in front of Deborah Meaden, as her face resembles butter spread over the knee of the last place entrant into the Blackpool bi-annual knobbly knees competition.  Also, I have observed them only once invest enough money to make my appearance worthwhile. I do not just show up on any old show.  I could perhaps replace Mary Berry on the Great British Bake Off, but again I refuse to stand next to Paul Hollywood whose forehead wrinkles surely hide crumbs from cakes polished off years ago. Has he never heard of Botox?  It has kept a certain guitarist free of wrinkles for years.


Deborah Meaden at her most dashing.


It was then I recalled the first computer I owned and the keyboard that collected with startling regularity the crumbs from my plum jam on toast. It had a terrible memory, a terrible sound, took too long to get going and was falling apart, it always used to remind me of someone but I’m not too sure who.  It dawned on me that the owner of the company was a certain Alan Sugar who I am led to believe is a television personality these days. If ever we needed a reason to believe we live in terrifying times it is the fact that Alan Sugar is described as having a personality, let alone one suitable for television. Boz told me that the show is called The Apprentice and all you need is a business idea. Having already told me that enigmatic otherness was not a business plan I looked at Boz strangely. Boz, fearing my wrath, told me that the prize was £250,000. I nearly fell off his back. My innate genius clicked into action and I do believe I am the winner of The Apprentice 2017.  Here is my application/winners form.

BUSINESS PLAN

A instant hit album, number 1 guaranteed unless Ed Sheeran releases an album at the same time, with the entire music industry against me, and little or no radio airplay, I would say it’s almost a certainty. A nationwide 6 date U.K. tour, well I don’t want to work too hard but don’t let that put you off.

**Morrissey's note: Mr Sugar, I refuse to call him Lord, must realise that the opportunity to work with an artiste of my standing and magnitude will do wonders for his reputation, just ask the *M* who knew that criticising me will produce internet hits, oh what I wouldn’t give for any kind of hit.

The money will be spent on the following:

£50,000 on hotel expenses. I must stay at least 20 miles from where I am recording to maintain a professional distance.

£20,000 on a studio. There must be at least eight pictures of oneself hanging from the walls. Nothing excessive.

£12,000 on my Beat the Street tour bus. Comfort comes at a price, just ask Karren Brady who has spent no money on comfort ever. She walks as if she wears cardboard suits.

£8,000 on creative juices. Champagne and Vodka mainly, perhaps a beer or two but I should see how the reflux is before I commit to that.

£1,000 on an album producer. Although we could find a willing art school student who will complete this task under the guise of ‘experience’. My albums do not need to be produced, but slowly nurtured. 

You will see that this only eats into £91,000 of the winner’s prize. The remaining monies will be divided amongst the following expenses.

I have musicians, friends, associates, staff, underlings who will need to be paid. They are as follows:

Boz Boorer - £2,500
Jesse Tobias - £2,000 + signed copy of Years of Refusal
Gustavo Manzur - £1,500 + Morrissey cook book
Matt Walker - £1,000 + childcare vouchers
Gary Day - 2 Coronas

These necessary expenditures leaves £152,000 left over. This will be spent as follows:

£52,000 – Lawyers fees
£100,000 – My appearance fee


PERSONAL DETAILS

First name: 

Last name: Morrissey

Date of birth:  14.03.1988. I know I don’t look a day over 21, remarkable really with all the stress I’ve had to endure. Not to mention the knock-backs, Justin Bieber never responded to my request to be his support act. Perhaps that Louis Tomlinson will need a seminal support act for his upcoming tour? Once he’s stopped exploiting the death of his mother for commercial gain. Perhaps I could pull the same trick? Although there could possibly be murder if there is no aubergine for Christmas lunch. 

Gender:   I have not checked my gender in years.

What do you do for a living, and who for?  I produce art. I am art. For arts sake.

State all qualifications, giving details of establishments attended:

Linguistic intercourse -   Manchester Central Library - Distinction
Enigmatic otherness – Living room, hotel room, stage - Distinction
Twitter star – Pass
Modern Day Oscar -  Ungraded, personal opinion, validated online
Establishment pariah -  Court Rooms -  Double Distinction 

Current salary:  Ask the Drummer.


ABOUT YOU

Have you ever applied for or have you ever appeared on TV before: I cannot recall a time where I was not constantly appearing on TV somewhere. I am a global phenomenon. Television appearances have slowed down recently, but I sit waiting for the phone to ring so I can finally fulfill my lifelong ambition of sitting next to Coleen Nolan and appearing live on Loose Women. 

Have you or a relative ever worked for the BBC, Freemantle Media Ltd, Boundless, Euston Films, Newman Street, Retort, Shotglass Media, Talkback or Thames in any capacity before: Not that I am aware, but if my nephew’s talent on photoshop is ever recognised for the modern day Picasso that I believe he is, then it’s possible he will be the creative director of all the above listed companies. Please see artwork on my own personal website.

Have you ever worked in journalism or broadcasting in any capacity? Yes. Two life changing books published before international pop stardom. One bestselling Penguin Classic autobiography and one cult classic novel, which in years to come will be compared to James Joyce. 

Why should you be Lord Sugar's business partner? The question should be why should I be Mr Sugar’s business partner? I await his postcard. 

What makes you different from everyone else applying? The other applicants will be as interesting as irritable bowel syndrome and twice as annoying. 

What is the most interesting thing about you? My eyebrows and a not dissimilar appearance to Popeye. 

What's the most impressive thing you've ever done in business? Turning depression, waspish wit, and a disastrous dress sense into art.  This is above charging £79 for a concert with the same set list as the previous 148 concerts. Alan surely knows not to change a format that works.

How did you hear about the process? Is there a process? Surely you can transfer the £250,000 to my bank account now?  Please make sure to call this payment ‘Pools win’ otherwise the Drummer can claim it all. 

Here is the second piece:


False Victimhood

The world is scattered with people who laugh in public and cry in private. Those that are truly depressed and realise there is no hope in life somehow manage to produce a public mask to hide their true feelings.  It's those who are truly depressed, those who, in the quiet alone times with no one watching, grieve their own fears in private. The world however is also littered with certain people who laugh in private and cry in public. These people paint themselves as the perpetual victim whereas in reality they are the villains of those who truly suffer.  Proper victims are thought to be pure and deserving of our sympathy and this is something I believe. Those who are victims deserve every ounce of compassion possible.  Compassion is arguably the trait that is the signal of a moral good. Therefore we wish to show compassion to prove what outstanding humans we are. However, we that show compassion are being duped by those who claim to suffer, not in order to receive compassion, but attention. We see it all around.  

Those who complain about work online but still manage to attend and for what? Money? No, for something to complain about online when they return home. For what? Attention.  Those who pretend to feel angry when they see various acts of animal cruelty but still tuck into their turkey dinosaurs and partake in the holocaust-like animal slaughter industry. True depression and true sadness is the look in the eyes of a cow when it sees what blood-lusting humans believe it was born for.  They say they do not want to bring a child into a world full of meanness and barbarity which is clearly a disguise for the fact that they are terminally alone because no other human could find their dirge of a personality attractive. They say that people do not understand them but how could they possibly? There is nothing to understand. 

They constantly cry “poor me, nobody can understand my woes” as if they are the first person in all of existence to experience life.  It is in this instant gratification world we currently live in that is to blame. The false victim can instantly receive validation online and therefore attention.  These people are those who had a comfortable upbringing, all of the good things in life and never had to struggle. They fail to reconcile their current life with the life that was promised to them. So they search the validation of strangers but because they have lived a sheltered life they have no accomplishments or no personality. They use depression for their own means.  We can all play the victim however only some of us are. 

The True Morrissey blog has also reinstated the Musings of the Corrupt Mind piece, and Cooking made iconic. The blog also also now lists the two pieces that had formerly been posted on the now defunct MorrisseysWord blog: Too Much of a Saga and Let your juvenile impulses sway. The journey would appear to be well and truly back on.

Our Mozzer even took to Twitter to announce the publication of the two new pieces; first announcing Sugar Daddy by tweeting, "A new and previously unseen blog post from my mesmerising mind is afoot. Keep abreast." and later announcing, "A new blog post that has been written between the last post and now will shortly be uploaded. My advice would be not to play the victim." 

OM also tweeted a message to BRS member Heather (@heathercat222), saying, "for noticing the links of death I have followed you. Intelligence is to be rewarded. In these times I thank you." OM is now following three people on Twitter, with the other two being Stephen Fry and BRS member, Harison (@OdysseyNumber5). The "links of death" tweet is a reference to Heather's comment left on FTM on Wednesday, in which she observed that, "the mention of death in the TTY title reminded me of OM's tweet that mentioned death, but it was probably just wishful thinking on my part that death might not be the final word in our journey." It would appear that it wasn't just wishful thinking on Heather's part, and we now know why that random TTY article was posted.

OM's final tweet of yesterday, which was posted at 7.51pm, was, "Let us pause for reflection". I have no idea what this means, if indeed there is a meaning.

Mademoiselle Fifi has also made a visit to The Wrong Arms, posting a photo on Wednesday evening of Jean Cocteau with actress, Michèle Morgan, who died on Tuesday at the age of 96.

Image result for michele morgan cocteau

And now, as I have been told that I am no longer part of the journey, I shall, for the time being at least, take down this entry; along with the rest of my "embarrassment" of a blog....well, perhaps I'll leave up the odd classic. Future FTM entries will be for my own personal gratification - I am no longer a supplier.

Wednesday, 21 December 2016

Day 2024 - Musings of a snowflake

There were some bizarre happenings yesterday in both the world of internet blogger, Our Mozzer, and that of the former lead singer of 80s indie pop band, the Smiths, Morrissey.

Following the publication of my blog entry of yesterday; in which I published some pieces from the new TrueMorrissey blog, Our Mozzer hauled me into the toilets of The Wrong Arms, and instructed me to remove my blog entry "immediately"; informing me that the articles were not mine to publish. He then went on to instruct me to remove my whole blog, labelling it "an embarrassment".

OM (@SeminalArtiste) then took to Twitter to write, "@TheRatsBack is no longer part of our journey. The journey is no longer a journey. It's over. Death. Gone. Always. Forever." When Sarkka (@EnoughSari) asked him why, OM replied, "He has yet again betrayed my trust."

OM then took to his True Morrissey blog, posting a piece entitled, Not A Beginning, in which he wrote:

"It has finished before it started. You may blame one blogging c***. There will be no new blog. No interaction. The journey is over."

Image result for morrissey upside down

OM then returned to the toilets of The Arms, where he informed me that I had no authority to publish something that was not in the public domain. I pointed out that the articles ARE in the public domain - further proven by GWO, who took to the comments section of yesterday's FTM entry to publish the whole of the Musings of the Corrupt Mind, which she had found cached on google - but decided to bow to OM's demands, and removed my blog entry of yesterday - but obviously not before our old friend, Chuck (remember her?) had seen it, because an hour or so later, she took to the comments section of Day 1939 of FTM and wrote, "The deleted comments on the last deleted post, were originally posted here: https://alfsbutton.wordpress.com - the mystery had suddenly thickened!

Steven Morrissey spielt am Mittwoch (30.09.2015) in der Hugenottenhalle Neu-Isenburg.
CHUCK

Chuck must have googled the words that either I or GWO had posted from Musings of the Corrupt Mind, and had discovered that there were even more words of The Mozziah just floating about in cyber space. It's as though there are a trail of breadcrumbs being left all over the internet. Goodness only knows what else Morrissey has posted that is out there, waiting to be discovered.

The AlfsButton wordpress - which again is OBVIOUSLY in the public domain - contains not only the whole of Musings of the Corrupt Mind; as published by GWO yesterday, but also some additional paragraphs. In all, there are eight postings on the wordpress, dating from June 2nd 2015 to June 22nd 2015 - a period of time before and during Morrissey's tour of the USA. Here it is, in full:

June 2, 2015
The only thing worth parodying is life itself. Even then the parody produces more life than life could ever hope to. We are amused because amusement is confusion. We live because we are told that taking life is not noble. However those in the know, knowingly in the know, know that life is not worth living. We live in interesting times. I’d rather be in Fallowfield than the arse of the world. But in reality, is there a difference?

June 4, 2015
The only certainty, if you can call certainty completely certain, is that there is no such thing as certainty. No dearest reader(s), there is no such thing in life as certainty. Life is full of twists and turns, crashes and bump landings, answers that were yes yesterday and no today. I have no use for tomorrow. None whatsoever. Of that I’m certain. Life is a merry-go-round and the rhythm of life? It goes round. The possibilities of life are endless but life is also futile. Dull and banal, making you unable to even muster the strength to make a weak cup of tea. A tea that does not pass muster. Tea is also a distraction. All of modern consumerism is a distraction from the real world. What makes others feel happy, well it leads me head first into harm. No, not harm, outrage. No not outrage, disgust. Disgust, outrage and harm. Life is pointless. But this? This you surely knew.

Outrageously yours,
The third worst troubadour

June 13, 2015
Riddle me this, riddle me that. Twiddle your thumb, sit on your hat. Rhythm relates to life but life does not relate to rhythm. Systems of spiteful taunts crush those live in shyness. Shyness is of course the greatest modern malady. Yet those who suffer from this disease are offered no sympathy, no cure. Errors of ability, mismanagement of authority, the blunders of bureaucracies. Forces push you and forces pull you from hither to nowhere and then back to the middle. Forced to work, forced to love, and forced to exist. We exist in vacuums. Dirt will encase as all in the end.

Insincerely yours,
21st Century Fag Boy

The next 5 postings are what makes up the piece, Musings of the Corrupt Mind:

June 17, 2015
Paralysed with a social awkwardness, a child of five no longer wants to be alive. A child of seven welcomes the thought of hell or heaven although the child of eight knows neither exists and is only alive due to hate. A child of nine purposefully falls down a mine and smatters his spine on the alpine. A child of ten grows to hate but also crave the touch of men. A child of thirteen cannot comprehend what life truly means. Boy racers zoom past you after too many whisky chasers. Laser beams beaming directly into your eyes. Nobody is satisfied with the way they live their life. Are you satisfied? Do something, anything. I cannot remember the last time I saw sense. But it is argued quite forcefully that my senses abandoned me years ago.

From
Your fly in the ointment

June 19, 2015
“Suffering is permanent, obscure, and dark
And has the nature of infinity”

So said Prunella Scales back in 1874. Suffering, as old prune face clearly knew, is a lonely venture. No man is an island of course however some men are more adrift in the ocean than others. Whilst some are connected through a common bond, a common culture, a common language, I, I have always stood alone. Suffering is me, and I am suffering. I am as much an individualist now than I ever was. Suffering is endless and suffering has meaning. The underlying meaning of suffering is the quest that, once solved, will eradicate the very suffering of suffering. In my life I have been given nothing but yet I seem to possess everything that makes the world spin and turn. Money, passion, fame, adulation. What is my suffering? It is a suffering that is silent. A silent suffering is the worst. When one acquires everything one ceases to try. I became amused with trinkets. Amused with consumerism. Content with the ordinary. A man is a beast and a man I am not. Religion cannot help me now. Reason spits on my name. Contentment laughs in my face. Humiliation is my fate.

Life is a game my friends and we are all on the losing side.

Yours inconsolably,
Joe Orton’s Tea towel.

June 21, 2015
The water is set to boil as the soil falls over heads. Heads of dismay, heads led astray. The adult is the child and the child is unfortunately the adult. Ireland issued illness, England encapsulated enigma, Manchester made madness, and Switzerland seeks sorrow. What the adult says to the child makes the child recoil under a table. What the child says to the adult? The adult is unable to understand the simple thoughts of a child’s mind but the child thinks the same. Thoughts of a holiday dismay the dismal. Abroad seems like home and home is like another country. Dullness of thoughts betray aliveness of eyes. Footballs once kicked against the side of a wall to annoy the neighbour inside are now kicked against empty shells of shops that have been left behind by department stores. Stores that offer everything but deliver nothing. Stores that mirror life.

Forever in spite.

AGE

June 22, 2015
I will forever be astounded at the lack of intelligence or feeling within the human race. So much outpouring of grief over Chinese festival where Dogs are slaughtered for their meat. Yes this is barbaric. There is no doubt about that. The Chinese are an inhumane lot. However how many of those who protest at this festival will, tomorrow or the next day, sit down on their chairs unable to take their weight and tuck into bacon?

Suffering is the same no matter how cute the animal is.

A dog is a chicken, is a pig, is a lamb.

June 22, 2015
Masquerading as a malcontent, maladjusted, misery monster is easy. What is somewhat easier is not masquerading at all.  We gallantly gallivant about because we are all gadabouts. Our conversation is loquacious. Our silence is sinister.  My entire life has been constructed in dreams. Dreams, and dreams alone, give meaning to my life. Music is escape. Escape is relaxation. Relaxation is bliss. I am interested in everything and yet I own and I am not owned by anything. Love is a question mark. A waif, a stray, a throwback to a bygone age. I was not made for reality and yet reality kicked down the door. To understand yourself you must destroy yourself.  I understand now that I am nothing. We are nothing. I never wanted to be anything so I have won that small victory.

In flashes of ashes.

Your misanthrope

It is all fascinating stuff.

Meanwhile, in the real world of Morrissey, he yesterday posted a new piece on True-To-You entitled, Death is not the final word, which again is bizarre. The article; which starts with three dots and a pause - but that is another story, is all about an 84 year old Japanese musician called, Tomita, whose death earlier this year has apparently caused Morrissey to struggle more than any other death this year! Really? I don't recall Morrissey ever having mentioned this Tomita chap before; there is certainly no reference to him in Autobiography, nor the album Snowflakes Are Dancing, which Morrissey claims in the TTY statement he has listened to "constantly for forty years, especially on the hard days of self-judgement." Are these definitely the words of Morrissey, or has David Sylvian, Brian Eno, Ralf Hütter or Rusty Egan hacked TTY?

Here is the TTY statement in full:

... for there are some people who are lucky enough to leave such a powerful mark on life that not even death can wipe them out. In this Year Of Death ... from Richard Davalos to Frank Finlay to Prince to my very dear friend Victoria Wood ... I struggled most of all with the death of TOMITA, whose Snowflakes are dancing (RCA) I have listened to constantly for 40 years, especially on hard days of self-judgment. It is a recording that you can listen to repeatedly until you hear nothing else. All you need to do is to keep quiet. In a few minutes all the right answers come through and you will find that there had never been any reason, after all, to feel angry.

If you do not know this recording, I envy your first listen. Track 5 especially will stay with you for always, as the best music does ... never outside time. It might take you back to the lost years of personal honesty in music, when artists gave everything that they had and everything that they were.

MORRISSEY
20 December 2016.

Right then, I'm off to have my virgin listen to Snowflakes Are Dancing - well I would, wouldn't I!



Foot Note - I wonder just what Morrissey will make of Justin Bieber, who is currently all over the news wearing a coyote coat.

Justin Bieber

Tuesday, 20 December 2016

Day 2023 - Stillicling

Our Mozzer has created a new blog... except that it would appear to be over before it even began, and once again it would appear to be all my fault!

I really do not understand OM - he is the most contrary, frustrating, moody, irrational blogger in the world... and that's his best points! Last Wednesday, whilst chatting to him in the toilets of The Wrong Arms, OM informed me that there was, "a new post on the blog you don't believe is me to read and write about", i.e. MorrisseysWord.blogspot.com, and yet when I subsequently went on to write about it, OM dragged me back into the toilets on Friday evening, instructing me to take the post down "immediately", adding, "a new blog exists", and that, "there will be a resurrection". 

Half an hour later, however, OM declared, "you've ruined it", before then linking me to the new blog, TrueMorrissey.blogspot.com, informing me that I had five minutes to read it before it was deleted. Five minutes later, it was indeed deleted.

On Sunday evening OM returned to the toilets once again to inform me that, "there will be no new blog" and that, "one does not take betrayal lightly", adding, "this is nearly a worse betrayal than when Marr kept quiet at the court trial." WHAT DID I DO WRONG THIS TIME? I informed him that, "I give up!", which I now do.

For the record, there were three articles on the TrueMorrissey blog, the first one Untitled, the second titled Musings of the Corrupt Mind, and the third; which was the one I was linked to, entitled Cooking Made Iconic. I was only able to access the first few lines of the first two articles, but Musings of the Corrupt Mind looked particularly interesting, and I dearly hope that we do eventually get to read it in full. Here are the lines that I managed to see:

"Paralysed with a social awkwardness, a child of five no longer wants to be alive. A child of seven welcomes the thought of hell or heaven although the child of eight knows neither exists and is only alive due to hate. A child of nine purposefully falls down a mine and smatters his spine on the alpine. A child of ten grows to hate but also crave the touch of men. A child of thirteen cannot comprehend what life truly means. Boy racers zoom past you after too many whisky chasers. Laser beams beaming directly into your eyes. Nobody is satisfied with the way they live their life."
Image result for sad looking kanye


And for the record, here is the article Cooking Made Iconic, which is very funny and a reminder of Our Mozzer at his blogging best:

Cooking Made Iconic 

As a renowned and notorious vegan, yes that means no cheese; I thought it was time to share my iconic recipes with the world. Unfortunately, for my bank account I left it too late to produce a penguin classic cookbook in time for Christmas. It’s my own fault for the tardiness of this for I have been quite busy recently, beds of five star hotels do not sleep in themselves you know. For those of you who think this isn’t a good career path for such a man, it was good enough for Kris Jenner... 

Step 1. Produce elegantly written shopping list full of organic ingredients and hand to lead guitarist. Include desert, preferably vegan cheesecake. If you do not have a lead guitarist then use your drummer, but be sure to count and re-count the change.

Step 2. Wait for guitarist to leave and open the expensive stuff. Recline with laptop and play online monopoly.

Step 3. Win online monopoly.

Step 4. Ponder why you have more virtual money than real money. 
**Morrissey's note: Perhaps try to steer clear of expensive court trials in the future, the pension pot is slowly dwindling.

Step 5. Find a local vegetarian takeaway menu as you do not trust the lead guitarist to procure all ingredients, or, not to lose them on the way home.
**Morrissey's note: I do not think the lead guitarist is as clumsy or foolish enough to lose ingredients, but I do not trust him not to devour the produce before arriving safely back to me.

Step 6. Call lawyer.

Step 7. Become exasperated with lawyer who tells you of impending court action. Tell him all you would like to know is whether you can sue for lost ingredients.

Step 8. Hang up on lawyer when he complains about lack of payment.

Step 9. Congratulate oneself on saving money by making guitarist walk to the local shop instead of taking Mercedes.

Step 10. Phone Mam, and tell her you expect aubergine for Christmas dinner. Warn her that you will be disappointed if the sprouts are soggy.

Step 11. Check clock. Tap feet impatiently. Catch glimpse of animal friendly shoes. Admire shoes.

Step 12. Consider shirt change.

Step 13. Take current £600 shirt off whilst admiring iconic torso in mirror. Flex muscles and admire physique. Change into £850 shirt.

Step 14. Return to laptop and google name.

Step 15. Pour double vodka after reading various hurtful slurs.

Step 16. Curse the time it is taking the guitarist to return.

Step 17. Order from takeaway menu. Do not order the guitarist a thing.

Step 18. Rest eyebrows and stroke jaw. Consider plastic surgery for jowls.

Step 19. Research obscure songs for pre-show music.

Step 20. Become startled at the doorbell. Contemplate not letting guitarist back indoors. Look out of window and see foreign takeaway driver. Mexican. open door immediately.

Step 21. Try to flirt with Mexican takeaway driver. Realise you have no charm, begrudgingly pay for delivery.

Step 22. See guitarist running, or what passes as running, towards the door.

Step 23. Denigrate guitarist for taking far too long. Open shopping bag. Notice cheesecake is not of the vegan variety. Salivate at the idea. See that guitarist has purchased buy one get one free ingredients. Congratulate him on his good business sense. Do not mention failing record store in Camden.

Step 24. Do not eat at your table just in case you damage expensive silk tablecloth. Make your guitarist kneel on all fours and use his back as a table. Use candles for ambience.

Step 25. Thoroughly enjoy the fruits of your labour.

Step 26. Rest eyebrows.

Step 27. Eat cheesecake. Everyone is allowed a day off.

Step 28. Burp apologetically.

Step 29. Blame record label.

Step 30. Watch Coronation Street.

To follow the above you will need:

Ingredients

* Guitarist (if you have no guitarist available a drummer will do, but they can prove to be more expensive in the long run)

* Champagne

* Array of spirits

* Spare shirts

* Laptop

* Mirror

* Phone

* Candles

Prep time: 1 hr 15 mins
Cooking time: no cooking necessary 

Difficulty: Extremely
Cost: None except time spent admiring oneself

Our Mozzer also took to Twitter on Sunday morning to reply to a tweet I had posted; in which I had pointed out that Friday Mourning never got an airing on the tour - OM tweeted, "It never will", which implied to me not that the song had been retired for good, but that Morrissey's live career was over. My thought was further backed up by the appearance yesterday evening in The Wrong Arms of Mademoiselle Fifi, who in response to me playing Francoise Hardy's Il est parti un jour (He Left One Day), played Comment the dire adieu (How to Say Goodbye to You) and added, "This would have been more apt. More apt." I responded to this by saying, that this cannot be the end, but Fifi then played I Know It's Over, adding the hashtag, stillicling. We all cling - we don't know where else we can go.

Friday, 16 December 2016

Day 2019 - MorrisseysWord

Thanks to BRS member, GWO, I have managed to retrieve the two articles from the MorrisseysWord blog that I mentioned yesterday, so here they are:

Tuesday, 13 December 2016


                              Too Much of a Saga

“If you are lonely when you're alone, you are in bad company”

We must remember art. Today there appears to be little appreciation of those who spill their guts, metaphorically and literally, in pursuit of a higher ideal. Perhaps there is nothing left to achieve, perhaps we have moved into a post-postmodern period. Perhaps people have gazed through the looking glass once too often and there is no longer anything to shock them, to please them, to challenge them. Learnt intellect has replaced creativity as the respected skill. Institutions produce production line students whose only noticeable skill is to memorise a textbook, produce facts upon facts for a hour exam and then forget them all within 15 minutes. Everyone may have a degree but does anyone have any feeling, any emotion, or any individuality?

The creative impulse, the creative instinct, appears to inhabit a certain type of person, a certain type of saga. These people have too much personal saga for some, for most, and maybe even for all.  The creative type often abuses alcohol, drugs, and sex. In summary they are open to all of the abuses and possibilities of life. Those who work their 9-5 office job do not hold these creative instincts in high regard. Indeed society as a whole seeks to castigate, scold, and lecture those who follow this distinct path. They do not realise, for how could they with such narrow minds, that great art, great philosophy, great culture has been created by those who are usually three-sheets to the wind. Modern philosophy begins with Rene Descartes. Being tee-total for an astonishing three weeks, Descartes decided to get blind drunk. He would fall to slumber and dream three outrageous dreams that, to him, uncovered the truth behind the world and the truth behind all the sciences. Descartes, clutching to his bottle was clutching to his consciousness and cleansing his soul. Determined to discover truth, Descartes would sit alone in his humble room in front of the candle and meditate.  This is also a reason why we can no longer create art. The modern world is obsessed with constant communication and constant attachment. People are constantly lodged and logged to their smart phones, desperately waiting for any message, any sign of validation. Solitude is no longer desired. Again, solitude has produced great works. The key to philosophy and art is solitude and drunkenness.  Jean-Paul Sartre shows that solitude is necessary for existence as it shows us the paradox of our very existence. We try and give meaning to our lives in a world that already means nothing.  Sartre smoked over 60 cigarettes a day, drank like all the alcohol in France was soon to be sold 100% above inflation rates and took prescription pills on a daily basis, just to make it through.

The modern world is no longer interested in creating art and no longer produces the necessary environment for art to be created. We all lose. Without the arts, we would not have the means to express our fears, our worries, any hopes or dreams. Our dreams are the dreams of artists. We must let them dream again.  My life is sadness. My life is opera.
Yours artistically and never artificially,
M.

Wednesday, 14 December 2016

Let your juvenile impulses sway

I have always been influenced by feminism, please dig around the archives and you will find enough evidence of this. I know List of the Lost may point towards me having a rather negative view of women but you can blame Gail Shea for that. My view of gender is thus, no matter what genitals you were lucky or unlucky to have when you were born, they do not define your gender. Your gender is your mind and your gender is whatever you decide to construct it as.  A boy has a feminine side and a girl has a masculine side, if they decide to show these opposite sides of their given gender it does not make them strange. It makes them unique.



It is time to collapse down into the ground the rigid constructs around gender. The body is fragmented. The body is fractured. The body is not natural. There is no natural body. The only natural thing is the mind, not the body, not the limbs. Gender is not something you are, it’s something you do, an act, a dress code, a thought pattern. It is not ascribed at birth. Gender is the stylisation of the body. It is akin to suicide in that it is a person taking control of their own destiny and saying “I will not play the role given to me, I am free to be whatever and whoever I choose”. The acting of the genders tears down traditional ideas of masculinity and femininity. It tears down, and not before time, the obsolete sexualities. No longer can people be defined by one sexuality or one gender. Indeed both of these things are fluid.



People must free themselves from the modern idea of gender. Emancipate your body from itself. Free your mind from what you think you knew. Fly with genderless wings, for as you know angels are genderless. Do the Gods really think about gender?  Shop wherever you please, release yourself in whatever cubicle you feel you should. Marry, if you’re so inclined, in whatever outfit you wish. Gender is a performance.

Thursday, 15 December 2016

Day 2018 - Is that all there is?

This is my first blog entry in 77 days. Since my last offering back on September 27th, a number of things have happened relating to both the current world of Morrissey and his former world. From the former world, former writing partner and Smith, Johnny Marr has released his autobiography; which I have no interest in reading, and also former friend Pete 'Dead or Alive' Burns became a former, former friend aka Pete 'Dead not Alive' Burns. The celeb deaths just continue coming in 2016.

Image result for johnny marr book
JOHNNY MARR - BOOK WRITER
Image result for PETE BURNS MORRISSEY
DEAD AND ALIVE

In the current world of Morrissey, the tour continued, and BRS member, comrade herpes took a blue rose to a concert in Melbourne at the end of October. Unfortunately herpes was so excited to at last be at the front of the stage with blue rose in hand, that he prematurely off loaded after just two songs.


COMRADE HERPES - COULDN'T HOLD ON

BRS members Angie Reyes and Jaz also took blue roses to a concert in Santa Barbara on November 5th, but their roses were ignored by Moz. For some reason Angie didn't take a rose to the concert in Salt Lake City on November 12th, but even so, she was rewarded for her devotion with an 'arm signature' mid-concert, which she promptly had made into a tattoo.






The concert in SLC turned out to be the last one of the tour; as firstly Gustavo Manzur fell ill, and then the touring money dried up. Morrissey's age on the day of that last concert was 57 years and 174 days.  Hopefully there will be plenty more concerts to come, but if not, Morrissey still managed to outlast David Bowie's performing days, as Bowie's final concert in Scheessel Germany on June 25th 2004 was at the age of 57 and 169 days.

David Bowie

There have been three reasons as to why I haven't continued with my blogging: 1) After 5 years I felt I should bring my 'Following the Mozziah' story to a close; particularly as it had taken over my life, 2) I had become increasingly confused as to which twitter accounts were Morrissey pessoas and which were impostors, and was therefore reluctant to blog about tweets that may well have been nothing whatsoever to do with Morrissey - Likewise, I also wasn't convinced that all the articles on the MorrisseysWord blog were the work of Morrissey himself, and therefore was reluctant to continue writing about those too and 3) Back in the Summer Morrissey shared with me some sad news that he asked me not to blog about, which last month I found out to be an outrageous lie, and left me thinking that this just wasn't the place for me anymore.

I now realise that: 1) It isn't up to me to bring to a close the story on Morrissey's secret life mingling with a handful of fans on the internet, so Following The Mozziah will continue as long as there is a Mozziah to follow - and my life will remain dedicated to it,  2) I am now fairly sure that both @AlfsButton and @SeminalArtiste aka @BRSChairman are both Morrissey pessoas, and if @SlightDawnMist isn't Morrissey himself, then it is probably his right hand man, Damon 'Kevin Philips' Anacreonte, and 3) Although he has stopped short of apologising to me about the outrageous lie, Morrissey has given me an explanation of sorts, which although I still find hard to accept, I do appreciate that Morrissey is not right in the head, but this is, after all, why....



So there we are, and here I am - Morrissey remains my God, and I continue to follow the Mozziah....but there is one slight problem. Yesterday, having published two very thought provoking new pieces on the MorrisseysWord blog about art and gender, Morrissey suddenly closed down the blog. He also shut down the two Moz twitter accounts, the Dawn Mist account, and even Broken's account. I feel that I may be to blame, because I had informed Our Mozzer that I wasn't going to report on the latest MW blog offerings - only because I felt that both he and other fans were sick and tired of my involvement. It seems that I can't do right for doing wrong.

So,  is that all there is?

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