Morrissey is my hero...
My Christmas celebrations will begin in earnest on Friday evening when I schlep over to
Morrissey? Isn’t he the miserable fucker from The Smiths?
Morrissey? I would rather stick pins in my eyes.
Morrissey? That explains a lot…
Please allow me to convince you that Morrissey is not a miserable fucker, and that his lyrics are, in fact, pure romance. Here is a selection of my favourite Morrissey lines:
Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking when I said I’d like to smash every tooth in your head.
Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking when I said by rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed.
(Bigmouth Strikes Again)
Who am I that I come to be here...?
As I live and breathe
You have killed me
You have killed me
Yes I walk around, somehow
But you have killed me
You have killed me
And there is no point saying this again
Yes, there is no point saying this again
But I forgive you, I forgive you
Always I do forgive you.
(You Have Killed Me)
And my children’s favourite:
And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten ton truck
Should kill the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine
(There Is A Light That Never Goes Out)
Really, how much more romance can you take?
8 comments:
mmm, i like morrissey, but am not quite as hooked as you . . . hope you enjoy the concert! rufus (wainwright) is my man of the moment.
I love Morrissey. I connected with the lyrics in my teenage years.
I am missing concerts all the time. First Take That, now Morrissey ;-0 I didn't even realise that he was in Manchester! Bugger!
Merry Christmas. Hope that you have lots of fun,
Cx
Hello there. I was intending to come here and simply thank you for coming round to my blog - and to try to start repairing some of the damage I did in my answer(s) to you. And so it is with a very heavy heart that I have to inform you of my need to insult you still further. But Morrissey? Really?
If memory serves - and this is by no means guaranteed, admittedly, given the accumulative disrepair wrought by alcohol and class A drugs - Morrissey sounds like a rather agitated and depressed cat when he sings. He was also responsible for some of the uglier boys at my school having flowers hanging out their back pockets. Hopeless window dressing.
With my Flock of Seagulls hairstyle and heavily made up eyes, I felt very well able to sneer at their idiocy. Which I did regularly, the losers. But as a fan of Morrissey, you bear a degree of responsibilty for their actions. You know it. I know it. Let's not waste time arguing about it.
I think it is also fair to point out that Morrissey made the girls in my class act all depressed and disinterested. As someone who is in a permanent state of undiluted and darkest despair, I found it laughable that they should need the crutch of The Smiths in order to savour the sublime misery of beautiful pain. Amateurs, the lot of them. And meat is dinner, not murder.
Perhaps most unforgiveably of all - and a real bone of contention between me and Morrissey (oh yes) - was his rank insistence on being all good-looking and alluring. What a cheap trick that was.
So watch it.
Anyway, I'm hopeful you'll be able to glean from this that I am totally normal and in no way require (further) therapy. That was my main aim in coming here, if truth be told, and I'm pretty sure I pulled it off.
Kind regards etc...
nmj - am just discovering the Wainright offspring, having been a bit of a Loudon Wainwright fan in my youth. I love Martha's new thing with Snow Patrol.
Caroline - I know what you mean about missing out on concerts: what you need is a couple of child-free friends who do all the leg work for you so all you have to do is turn up on the night. My manchester friends are going to see Kylie in January, and I am gutted that they didn't buy me a ticket. For some reason, they didn't think I would be interested... what would give them that idea? Have a fabulous Christmas yourself and catch up in 2007
Mr P - I think you pulled that one off pretty well. A veritable Houdini, in fact. Your insight into the teenage Smiths' fan is astute and well-observed - have you ever thought of retraining as a therapist? As for A Flock of Seagulls - weren't they a bunch of pretty boys who disappeared rapidly into obscurity following a disappointingly bland hit? (Oh, I think that was the 15 year old me emerging there. Take absolutely no notice at all...)
Lovely to see you here - do pop in more often, you are very welcome x
PS * And meat is dinner, not murder*
That really made me laugh...!
Yes, I very nearly made myself laugh (for the first time since 1983) with that line. It certainly made me rush to the bathroom to get a good, long, appreciative look at myself in the mirror. What a guy.
Now, since it's Christmas - and only because of this fact - I am able to playfully and handsomely brush aside your Flock of Seagulls insult.
And anyway, you really missed the mark by a mile. What's wrong with pretty boys who disappear rapidly into obscurity? Some of us choose this as a career path. I studied hard for a life of pretty boy obscurity at university. And, being both pretty and starting off from a position of complete and worthless obscurity meant that I had something of an advantage over my fellow students. I passed (with flying colours) into deserved and permanent obscurity in the summer of 1992. What's more, loser, I'm taking night classes to try to turn my pretty into puffy and debauched looking. I'm doing really well. You must feel so stupid.
It's just after twenty past four on Christmas Day morning and I can't sleep for excitement. Dismayingly, as any well brought up child knows, Santa doesn't come until everyone is asleep. As it is my turn to be Santa this year - my girlfriend and I take it in turns - this presents me with something of a problem.
If I fall asleep it seems obvious that I can't perform my Santa duties because, well, I'd be asleep. But if I stay awake then Santa won't come. How could I? I'd see myself in a mirror or something and be totally distraught all over again at the lies that the adults have told me.
Of course, in my heart of hearts, I know it'll just be me dressed as Santa - but Santa is Santa and it's all still a bit exciting, isn't it? So I can't sleep for nerves. And, like I said, Santa never comes a calling until everyone is asleep. So the argument is rendered redundant and the outcome is set in stone: Santa, the heartless pervert, will put in a no-show round this neck of the woods, as he seems to do every other year. I hate that guy. He just never seems to spare a thought for how all this might make my girlfriend feel.
Right, enough already. Happy Christmas, Ms Melancholy, it's nice to have met you.
Kind regards etc...
Morrissey? Is this some human I need to know about? Is he important? It strikes me that while he might be romantic he sounds a trifle aggro about it... Actually, he sounds like he might get on well with Granny Were!
Have a wonderful and happy Christmas!
I couldn't be more on the same page (smirk) about Morrissey. I recently learned that I'll be in the UK in early May and that all shows are sold out. Heaven knows I'm miserable now.
an_amelie@yahoo.com
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