I am sick and I am dull and I plain. I am slow. And I have a poor memory.
On 27 September, 2016, TRB posted what is currently the last post of FTM. I still visit FTM occasionally, to check if there's been a new posting and to read through the comments that are still being left on that last post. Comments like this, which I read last night:
Which reminded me of something. At Morrissey's recent Melbourne concert, this happened:
I thought it a bit odd at the time, but I was in the moment and I thought I'd heard the "tell me, quando, quando, quando" lyrics in EILS before. But after seeing romina's comment, I did a bit of poking around. Turns out that there is an entire FTM post from last year about the Quando thing:
Here I must add that I'm not the only one insufficiently alert to Morrissey's BRS signs, as going back to Rat's belatedly released private posts around the time of Morrissey's Manchester concert in August confirmed that he had also missed the three quandos. While FTM noted the hand gestures and chesticular plaster, we all appear to have missed another Qx3 moment, although it was picked-up by some hack in NME and others like writers of the Black Wax blog:
It should have been for the amusement of the BRS, but we appear to have missed it. Here it is:
But here's where I'm going to introduce a twist. Maybe there's a good reason for me to have missed the significance of the Q3 lyric at Melbourne and for the BRS to ignore it at Manchester. That's because Q3 appears to be sung so often. A quick trawl through some 2016 renditions of EILS presents these moments at Berlin, Tokyo, Singapore and the Caesarea Amphitheater etc. Rat will come out of his silent stupor to correct me if I'm wrong about this, but I'm pretty sure that BRS members weren't at all these gigs. Or, is Morrissey just constantly referencing the BRS during this song, so much so that it has become the norm and passes without comment?
Maybe it's just another example of hiding in plain sight? Maybe Moz just enjoys the lyric, which means "Why, why, why" (which, of course, if also featured in IWSYIFOP). The fact that the song was originally Italian and Moz has gone through his Rome period and the Humperdink version was a single lifted off on album called A Man Without Love is enough (and it does sound quite nice, too).
I don't know where this leaves the BRS on the Q3 phenomenon, but I'm prepared to go where the evidence takes me. And it leads me now to SoLow, where Quando quando qando joined as a member in September and has been quite active:
What would I notice without my BRS friends? Not much, it appears. Again, a BRS member has alerted me to "a sign".
Gustavo Manzure Jnr's backstage collapse triggered the cancellation of the Boulder gig and Morrissey took to the stage to give a heartfelt apology. On behalf of the Blue Rose Society I take this opportunity to wish Gustavo a speedy recovery and a return to full health.
But as @girlwithout points out, there is something else happening here and that's probably only something that the BRS understands. As anyone at all familiar with the MW/BRS story knows, we believe that Morrissey is giving us signs by hand gesture. It's a game that we like to play. But lately it's also been the band members giving signs, in particular the two-fingered salute, which can be read many ways (there's nothing like plausible deniability): an innocent gesture of peace and goodwill, an "up yours", a symbol for victory, a symbol of membership of a secret society, the Master Number of 11.
So it's interesting that days after bassist Mando Lopez published a couple of Instagram photos featuring the V finger gesture (thereby following Morrissey's own Singapore V gesture), now Gustavo is photographed by Mando giving much the same gesture from his hospital bed, as posted on TTY. It could mean that he's OK. It could be a BRS sign that now the whole Morrissey Band are in on the BRS fun. Note also the Morrissey-esque the finger lingerie :)
15 November 2016 Boulder Gustavo Manzur collapsed and was hospitalized two hours before the band were due on stage at Boulder in Colorado. Morrissey made an on stage announcement and the sell-out crowd were greatly understanding and supportive. Gustavo is recuperating today. Doctors have advised one week of rest. Gustavo and the band are determined to make the shows at Detroit, Cleveland and Chicago. Photograph is by Mando Lopez
A different photo, with Gustavo giving a thumbs up, was posted on his FB page, along with a beautifully written post:
This is, perhaps, a game of ping-pong, like that played out between Morrissey and Marr. If it's not, then maybe we can make it that. I suggest that members of the BRS comment on Morrissey Band-related social media posts with a hand gesture with a reciprocating hand gesture, like this: ✌ or 👍 or 👌 as appropriate.
Morrissey's recent visit to Melbourne keeps giving to the Blue Rose Society.
I attended Morrissey's Festival Hall concert on 22 October, 2016. My thrown blue rose was not caught etc, but you can read all about that elsewhere.
Then came the photo on bass player Mando's Instagram account wherein the trapped deerrepeated the hidden eye gesture used as the profile pic on my Twitter account, whilst in my own home town.
Well, that same photo has now cropped up on TTY:
Note how the trapped deer's fingers make out two 11s!
Such a little thing, but lOOk at the date. It's crucial to remember that, amid the (self) parody, concepts of hidden meanings and Illuminati signatures are vital to the MW phenomenon and to understanding the Blue Rose Society.
The TTY post is dated 11 November 2016 (11.11.16), which is quite some several days, ancient oceans and continents crossed and numerous concerts after Morrissey's visit to Melbourne where and when the photo was taken by members of his entourage. Why the delay?
11 has some kind of significance in the occult and numerology and is accepted as a sign of the Illuminati. Hence things like 9/11 and the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month (Remembrance Day, the end of the War To End All Wars (sic)) are of special significance because the 11s. I would link you through to a website that explained all this, but so far all the ones I've found are (appropriately enough) rambling word salads that leave me more exasperated than enlightened. New Age types seem to think it's a positive sign, while others think it's a sign of the AntiChrist (yet, these opposing views may not be as mutually exclusive as they seem). Enough to note that some of YouTube's brightest thinkers made a lot of the (brilliant and breathtaking) movie Arrival (that left me in Life Is A Pigsty-type tears on Saturday morning in a cinema with 3 other people) being released on 11 November 2016.
Don't forget that on 4 November, 2016, Morrissey's guitarist Jesse Tobias posted on his Instragram account a photograph on him gesturing with an (Illuminati, MW, BRS-related) V, or as I'll refer to it here, an 11.
OK, I've found a vid on the Master Number 11 (it's a visual word salad, but you can mute the sound and listen to November Spawn A Monster instead - oh, I've never thought of that song in this context before, but it's very MW, come to think of it):
By the way, I present this comment for your imagination, as left on the 221016 Morrissey In Melbourne post on this blob:
Peek-a-boo! It's Moz playing silly Illuminati hand gestures in this photo by Jake. I use it as my Twitter profile picture. I am the sole BRS member in Australia and I live in a suburb of Melbourne's south-eastern pincer grip about Port Phillip. I also went to Morrissey's most recent concert, not coincidentally in Melbourne, on 22 October, 2016. With a blue rose. Which I threw to Morrissey across the barrier during Alma Matters.
But then came this coincidence.
It was Heathercat who noticed it:
I plan my day around the night. A Morrissey omen, the morning is wonderfully cold and wet. I paint Airfix plastic in Humbrol with small brushes. This Japanese Kate will have fictitious Italian 1941 Eastern Front markings when finished, being part 6 of a themed what-if build. A delicate scheme of 5 colours.
She arises after several rounds of skipping hail. It's 1.30 and we're leaving at 2 for her mother's place. A soy milkshake with strawberries, banana and vegan protein powder compliments my bread and vegan hot dogs with mustard lunch. The grey decking wood is dry and warm against my soles as the sun bursts through between showers.
We take both cars and I return with furniture as she goes off shopping. It's like we're cleaning out the house of a dead person, but Nanna's only moved-in with other relatives (one of whom has died quietly at Nanna's new lodgings during the week). I park on the front lawn and wait out the heavy rain, half asleep.
Indoors, I tend to the blue roses. Purchased at the supermarket next to work on Thursday, they've been drinking in food dye and are no longer lily white, but tinged and mottled shades of blue. I didn't know how long it would take and I should have started this much earlier. I make-do with applying a blue permanent maker to just one.
I shower. dress for the occasion and gather my travelling kit. I ask harps jnr to take a photo and discover that I've become like my paternal grandmother: smile, but I am, oh, I see, it feels like I am, we'll try it again. I have to show my tofu-stained teeth for a what I feel to be visible.
It's raining again so I take the little black hatchback to the station at the end of the electrified line. Looking for a seat on the train I find a wallet (with money) and hand it over to the railway staff (still with all the money inside). Good deed done for the day, I settle in for the hour-long haul to the city.
At Southern Cross I have a Lord Of The Fries vegan Melbourne hot dog with chunky chips and Oreo soyshake. Please note, I don't usually have this many not dogs in one day.
Then the walk to Festival Hall and join the queue round the back at door 4. Just before the doors open the rain falls again and I'm glad to be wearing my rain coat, the one I got for my 21st birthday, when, after my few friends had departed, I sat and listened to the Meat Is Murder CDthat I'd just been given. I was alone, 21 and unemployed and didn't know whether to laugh or cry to That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore.
Inside, I join the rush to barrier. I'm to the right of stage, in front of a speaker tower. 2nd row, I'm within rose throwing distance. Time to take a photo and tweet it. The world knows where I am.
A video posted by Annette Wagner (@netti_wagner) on
Nutbush really amps us up for what is coming.
He walks on stage and I've never been so close. Last time at Festival Hall I was seated and distant. At the Sydney "my life is an" Opera House last year I was in the nose bleed last row, sat up against the inside of one of those iconic white sails. Now I'm just a few meters away and wondering how and when to rose toss. He is beautiful.
From the starting number of Suedehead it's clear that Moz and co. are in good form. And did He just glance in my direction twice during the opener?
Next up, Alma Matters. Mid-way he walks over to my side and he's standing near the edge of the stage, directly in front of me. Maybe I should wait, but here's a clear invitation. We get the BRS stuff over and done with quickly. I toss the rose and he moves a hand to catch it, but it they miss each other. A deliberate fresh-airing? Maybe. He's already accepted his annual rose gift for 2016. I know I'm going to be accused of going off too soon (Ratty is so predictable). Of course, I've waited 5 years to do this.
He only comes close to where I stand once more, but I get to see plenty of Jesse coming forward and playing solos right in front of me. The concert goes on. With no foot room to dance, I undulate, sway and weave, anticipating each note, chord change and everyone around me should be glad that even I couldn't hear my singing. One of the great things about Morrissey in concert is that he can reach into his repertoire of singles, album tracks and B-sides and still make it sound like a greatest hits set list. There's also a great continuity of theme.
Further along the barrier someone has white roses with a note attached. They are held out to him and at one point he teases an acceptance. Eventually, before the encore I think, they are handed over to the a bouncer, who places them on the edge of the stage and a roadie them moves them to Morrissey's monitor. Spied, he leans over and waggles the fingers of both hands over them and motions to another roadie to pick them up. Unfortunately, I have video evidence of the white roses not none of my blue one.
More finger action happened in Singapore on 16 October when Morrissey was photographed giving a V sign. Regular (sic) followers of the Blue Rose Society story will be aware that the V sign was referenced on the MW blog as having Illuminati overtones. See below for Morrissey and a small selection of several evil people giving the V sign. Of course, Moz is not evil; we might reasonably assume that he is ironically drawing our attention to others that are.
All going well I will in in the presence of Morrissey on Saturday night at Festival Hall. I have a ticket for the floor. I also intend to be carrying blue roses. I don't expect His hand to reach out for them, as Jesse's blue roses have already satisfied the annual picking event.
PS:
Morrissey GIFs on Twitter has found another owl eyes incident: from 2004! Below is the GIF, which appears to originate from this zipped-up cardigan gig at Hultsfred in Sweden. There's a full concert video and the momentous moment happens during I'm Not Sorry, which is introduced following a monologue about Sweden's 2004 Eurovision song: thus, Morrissey makes a (pre) MW/Illuminati sign after commenting on the contemporary music scene.
To an island My
journey to Stavanger started on Sunday early morning. Unconveniently there were no trains going to Oslo Lufthavn that day, so I had to take the slow sick making bus to the airport. At the airport going through security, I was picked out of the line and tested for possibly having been in contact with explosives. When the security man smiled an awkward smile, looked me in the eyes and said 'Fingers crossed' while waiting for the outcome, I was ready to spontaniously combust. Just in time he announced I was fine and could move on. The flight between Oslo and Stavanger was just 45 minutes, and I was the lucky one that got to sit in the last row, next to a big, fat man who's one leg was as big as 3 of mine. Totally squashed I arrived at the airport where I was first going
to meet up with a friend who lives about 80 km south of Stavanger.
I
arrived at his island mid afternoon, and soon after found myself hiking to
the first cast iron lighthouse of Norway, the Eigerøy Lighthouse. I had a good look and
feel of wild waves crashing on the slippery rocks we were standing on, while squawking seagulls flew against the wind above our heads before we headed back for some delicious homemade food. Many drinks and having
listened to tons of vinyl records (I hadn't heard before) later, I went to sleep at around
2.30 am. Three hours later I woke up again from annoying yet exciting pling-plongs coming from my phone. I had forgotten to turn off the wifi. Ewa was on her way to Stavanger and was busy letting this be known. I had no choice, sleep was already moving back to darker places so I stept in the light and my day started.
Stavanger After a 1,5 hr trainride through a lot of tunnels, and stops in towns with no more than 10 people and some sheep, I arrived in Stavanger where I met up with Conor, a young fan from Birmingham. We had some
coffee, talked and walked over to the venue through pouring rain to see what went on. Nothing much, and walked quickly back to his hotel to stay away from more rain and
wind. There I waited for Ewa to arrive. Her bus soon stopped in front of the
hotel with the same name, but one block down. After some chaos we found each other and quickly walked to our booked hotel on the quay at the harbour. Half
an hour after I had left Conor's hotel he tweets 4 pics with himself
and Matt, Gustavo, Jesse and Mando. He had met a sweaty Jesse in the elevator, (sweaty from a workout in the hotel gym) and
the rest of the guys in the lobby downstairs. I had left 30 minutes too early...
In our dingy hotel, we made up a plan for the rest of the afternoon: finding food and drink was the most important, but first we had to admire the silk blue roses which traveled so far.
After having found the 'Pol' (state owned shop which sells alcoholic drinks) and having figured out what bottle of wine we should get (one without a cork, bc we ladies don't bring 'that' (corkscrew opener) sort of thing in our luggage) we hurried back to the hotel with the food and wine. We ate our food and gulped things down with the wine before walking over to the venue, where we met up with
others we know from anti-social media and or other spaces and corners on this planet. Konserthus, Monday, August 8, 2016, 19.00h Second row it was, a nice spot, right across from Boz. The show
started as always with the video montage. Then, as if it would never come, at 8.30 a long intro of
drumming (The Operation from Southpaw Grammar) making everybody more desperate to finally see the band.
After
the bow, Morrissey and band started off with Suedehead.
We all had a feeling Morrissey was in a good mood. At least throughout he seemed happy.
Before WPINOYB Morrissey said something about the coming US elections, which was of course followed by anti Thump yelling. Some were cheering "Morrissey for president" which was answered by Morrissey with "I'm scruffy" and "No one will ever vote for me".
The Bullfighter was introduced with the sad story about the killing of the mother of the bull after her son had succesfully staked the matador to death with his horns.
I
absolutely loved Moz singing It’s Hard To Walk Tall. His voice, so clear and beautiful. I think it made a lot of people in the audience quiet. It sent chills down my spine.
It's Hard To Walk Tall in Bergen:
Before starting Scandinavia, Morrissey grabbed a piece of paper, unfolded it and said something like "I want to dedicate this song to the five characters from my favourite Norwegian movie: Mikal, Ingunn (this he had trouble pronouncing and tried to several times) Eirik, Morten Tobias and Jannicke." The movie he is talking about is "Fritt vilt"(2006), a Norwegian movie in the slasher genre, directed by Roar Uthaug. The English title is "Cold Prey". There is a "Fritt vilt" 1, 2 and 3.
Through an insider I was informed Moz bought the DVD in December 2013 when he was here for the Nobel Peace Price concert. It was bought at Rock og Rålls, a used record store in the centre of Oslo.
If I could suggest another one for him, one of my favourites is "Død Snø" ("Dead Snow", 2009) and watch the first one because that one is the best. Warning: you have to like nazi-zombies.
Jack the Ripper was a treat!
For me it was the first time I heard Oboe Concerto live and I absolutely loved it. I had always hoped to hear this song live (as so many others...) It was also the last song before the encore. Morrissey and band returned back on stage while we still stood with our roses in our hand. A white shirt was going to be tossed in the crowd this time. Let Me Kiss You, a rip, a tear and a toss and gone he was for another change and the last song of the night started: Irish Blood.
We had decided to throw the roses on stage when Morrissey was standing on our side of the stage. If not for the cause then as a nice gesture. Moz didn't pick them up, one of the security people took them after he moved back to the middle. I saw them lying lonely on the side of the stage. You can see a bit of rose in the video here: Video encore 'Irish Blood': blue rose at 33 seconds
The lights went on, and it always makes me feel sad and empty to realise the music has stopped, and it is over. Wish I could rewind nights like this. Well, I can, inside my boney skull, but it's not the same... We were lucky to find Lynn who was willing to share a bit of her treasure: a piece of shirt. And so our night ended at the pub in the centre where we were almost washed off the quay into the harbour, but nevertheless had a good time with many that had attended the gig. Also someone had managed to convince the pub to just play Morrissey's music.
Setlist
1. Suedehead 2.Alma Matters 3. You have killed me 4. Ganglord 5. Speedway 6. Paris 7. WPINOYB 8. Kiss me a lot 9. Istanbul 10. MIM 11. It's hard to walk tall 12. EILS 13. Bullfighter 14. Scandinavia 15. All you need is me 16. Crashing bores 17. Jack the Ripper 18. Far off places 19. What she said 20. Oboe Encore: Let me kiss you & Irish Blood
Well, on or about 23 Jul, 2016, @HoarselyCry messaged me to draw my attention to the observed fact that @BRSChairman had changed Twitter avatars, thusly:
I've always had a weakness for one particular character on
Twitter.
It is an other worldly maiden, who wrote sometimes incomprehensible but poetic lines, it was her wittiness,
beautiful music choices and dreamy pictures of classic film actresses that struck a chord. New windows to beautiful landscapes opened up and I was lost without realising, until she was gone, forever.
Astraea is whom I am talking about. We all know the star maiden's account was closed many months ago. People come, and people go, and life goes on as usual. But not this time. For some reason,
after many months of
feeling a strange kind of emptiness, I decided to speak my mind and call for her. It took some courage; knowing someone in flesh and blood and missing them is an understandable
emotion, but missing someone who's not personally in ones life, and who is part of the night sky, what do you make of that?
So on July 23 I tweeted "If I had
the powers in me to summon the ever charming and poetic Astraea back, I
would..." Heathercat replied
"So would I". I was definitely not alone in this. And then, the next day, on the 24th, Dawn Mist
@slightdawnmist appeared. She has a similar style to Astraea, I was intrigued right away.
On the 26th Not Astra's
Derrière came with a redeeming reply to my tweet:
"@HoarselyCry I
heard she was recently seen in Forte dei Marmi. Then over the weekend, in
Montecatini Terme"
"Later, he
disappointed her. And his azure eyes did nothing to quell the deafening
emptiness in her heart"
"The next day,
50 Hail Marys for her wounds, kindness once lost, forever unfound"
Such a tragic story,
assuming what Not Astra's Derrière tweeted is true.
Could this be the gas and dust that congregate to form interstellar clouds, of Astraea's dying self, which then gave birth to a new star?
A few hours ago @HoarselyCry contacted me in the toilets of The Wrong Arms with news of a photo. Had I seen it? What did I make of it? Questions were asked that I was unready to answer, partly because it was after midnight where I live. After some discussion and a collaboration on the #InTheNameOfTheMozziah hashtag, @HoarselyCry tweeted and I retweeted. And I went to bed. Not alone, but to sleep, without euphemism.
As usual.
Looking in over my breakfast of organic Weetbix, I observed the expected underwhelming response. As I had already noted to @HoarselyCry, my most recent blob post had received no comments (despite posing a highly relevant question to what may laughingly be called the readership), so I didn't expect much action in The Wrong Arms over this.
I mean, the Dramatically Deluded Dozen barely breaths more than Victoria Woods or Prince.
Sorry, that was in bad taste. I should leave those kinds of asides to TRB.
Anyway, having gone to bed, rested and peacefully slept, I woke up with a flash in my tiny mind's eye. Ping pong:
Ra Ra Rasputin last inhaled in December 1916, poisoned and shot several times to make sure. In April, 1999, the popular music combo Electronic (featuring Bernard Sumner and Johnny Marr) released a phonographic album called Twisted Tenderness, which features a poor quality image of Russia's notorious mad monk on the cover, making the sign of benediction (you've probably seen The Pope do it, too). At some point either before or after the publication of said recorded music anthology, the English seminal artiste known as Morrissey was photographed making a similar gesture.
It turns out the guitar player Marr and singer/lyricist Morrissey had also previously been in popular music band together. Since then, it has been documented that the two have repeatedly made public acknowledgement of each other's existence by way of visually replication. Sources allegedly close to being Morrissey call this public, but otherwise private, game ping pong.
This shared gesture of benediction, I humbly suggest, is an example of ping pong. Just who pinged and who ponged is as yet unknown.
As soon as an artist, seminal or not, stops breathing for a bit longer than is healthy, out they come.
You know, how Bowie's shacked up with Elvis, or whatever,
No not literally, but metaphorically. Of course. They live on through their art.
But this blob post isn't about that. It's just an association to some other things that cropped up following Prince's death. Until I saw the TTY statement about Prince, I never realised that he was a vegan.
Which got me last brain cell onto pondering the importance of celebrity in our choices. I'm unashamedly vegan because of Morrissey. Fits of balling on the floor to Meat is Murder (and to Yes, I am blind, as well, little lamb... ) projected my skeptical, rational self emotionally into vegetarianism. Although most days of the week I was vegan, I didn't go fully vegan until I heard that Morrissey (and Marr, too) had made the move.
Whilst obviously exposed to Prince's music, I was never a great fan. It's just not my kind of thing. I don't know if he ever made a vegetarian/vegan anthem, but if I was a Prince fan, and did release such an affecting polemic, then it would probably be enough to propel me along that dietary path.
But how far do we allow our musical heroes define us, how we live and what we believe in? Do you really agree with everything that Morrissey says?
If I was devoted to Prince as much as I am to Morrissey, what would I, a skeptical, rational kind of fella, make of his comments about jet trials in the sky? And as an atheist, about his comments on religion and morality? The 8 Presidents before Lincoln is pretty sharp, though.
Where does such talk lead us to? Cue the YouTube Illuminati wacthers and the MW Twitter account related Alex Jones!
(Brian Force apparently has some annoying side effects, cleverly hidden as benefits - or was that just satire?)
Unfortunately, Prince's musical talents, political savvy, emotional intelligence and moral standards weren't matched by his understanding of logic and science. Not only does he make an argument from ignorance about chemtrails (by way of the anecdotal fallacy), but also totally whacks out the chemtrailer's own timeline by saying that there were chemtrails when he was a kid. He was born in 1958 and was well and truly an adult by the 1990s, which is when the conspiracists claim chemtrailing started. Never let facts get in the way of folklore, but then again he was a Jehovah's Witness.
Is (musical) celebrity comment an argument from authority? Probably not if it's about science, but that's a seemingly radical stance to take now-a-days.
And, of course, we have Morrissey possibly making nods to chemtails via the Joni Mitchell inspired jet trails lyric in Lost and repeated in Autobiography. Nothing direct, mind you, just saying.
So, short of SoLow trolling, how do you take it when Morrissey says something that you disagree with? Do you be yourself, bend or twist?
By the way, didn't Prince have a wonderful speaking voice?
I probably should be posting part whatever of my Maladjusted essay, but I've lost interest (drama can be exhausting), so here's something else to upset people instead.
Recently, Our Mozzer as the @BRSChairman tweeted:
Most of you say things that you think will make me have empathy. There is little truth in the conversations I have. Be yourself.
Shoving aside the philosophical existentialism of identities (including pessoa), I'm interested in the concepts of truth, boundaries and attraction.
The Dramatically Delude Dozen of the #BRS frequently share divergent opinions, not least about issues relating to Our Mozzer and often about each other. Hence the various schisms over Faggate and Supremegate and the responses to my Jimmy Saville readings of Maladjusted songs. Only Morrissey knows the truth of his own actions, the inspirations for lyrics and fonts and the plethora of issues and rumors which surround him. The rest of us can guess or research, defend or reel back in bewilderment. Or try to understand.
Morrissey planning a holiday in the land of Skippy and Home and Away in a luxurious Supreme caravan.
Wouldn't it be nice to be in the land of skippy and Home and Away. I must book a holiday.
I can't claim to know what specifically led to the empathy tweet. Was it somethings that we tweeted or was Morrissey having a bad day with yes men? Maybe he felt the need to be challenged? Was the Mozziah experiencing a Monty Python moment? Is it that we see the Mozziah as our savior, to tell us there's nothing wrong with us? I mean, it's not like he cultivates a cult-like following, doesn't want to be judged etc. I dunno and I wouldn't expect an illuminating answer if I asked. Only Marcus replied with challenging questions, which were, of course, unanswered: just like prayer.
Who would seek empathy from a fully grown man who rides a short equine?
Anyway, the pessoa @BRSChairman doesn't was us seeking empathy from him. He wants us to be truthful and to be ourselves; although I'm sure that seeking empathy and being honest and yourself are not mutually exclusive.
Or I'll kill you
@BRSChairman
OK I will. I don't always agree with your rather extreme black and white views about some subjects. But I admire your honesty.
I must admit, that when I disagree with Morrissey or with Our Mozzer's pessoas, or even with other members of the #BRS, I tend to remain silent. I pretend not to have seen the tweet or post. Or, I reply with a tangential deflection.
One example of where I disagree with Morrissey and some other #BRS members is with a certain vegan t-shirt. I even felt a slight pang when Moby posted a pic of a man with illustrated arms wearing one (minus the Morrissey branding).
I agreed with the highlighted comment.
I made a tangential joke in reply to a photographic tweet of Miss Misery wearing the said item of clothing. I went for empathy over challenge.
You can buy this t-shirt at the Mporium and there are numerous non-Moz variations. OK, it's meant to be ironic. I get that. It's just something that I wouldn't feel comfortable wearing.
As a vegan, I can empathize with Morrissey wanting to reach for his arms cache shelved on the top bunk of his Supreme caravan at the Tweed Heeds South Big 4, as the stench of unholy murder drifts over from the evening's ritual BBQing. But I'm not a murderous zealot. And neither is Morrissey, nor, presumably, Miss Misery.
I just wouldn't want some crazed vegan doing a shooting spree at a Macca's like messed-up omnivore James Huberty did - especially if they were wearing a t-shirt like this or if the cops later found one in their closet.
I also wouldn't want veggies to do something like the recent lynching at Dadri, where a Hindu mob murdered a Muslim man and injured his son because they were thought to be eating dead cattle during Ahimsa (alas, they were wrong, it was mutton in the fridge and on not bovine), To quote The Times of India:
The real issue here is whether we will allow lynch mobs to enforce their dietary and cultural choices on others and let them get away with murder. Neither the state and central governments nor civil society should lose sight of that...
Christian Dior
A lot of people, including Mozziaphiles and members of the #DDD, have issue with many of Morrissey's pronouncements. I'm not talking about the hysterical responses in the media or the negativity at SoLow, but the reactions of people otherwise empathetic to Morrissey.
The thing is, Morrissey reads a lot, is apparently active on Twitter, spends a fair bit of time on YouTube, has a need to be heard and has identity issues, as played out via the pessoa. These things are referenced in numerous songs and interviews, TTY statements and Our Mozzer's Twitter personalities. What we have are a potent mix of exposure to many varied and conflicting world views and a complex, fantasy-prone personality.
As an aside, yes, conspiracy theories as we now know them did exist before the Interwebs became popular and any blithering idiot could create a website or a YouTube channel devoted to their own ignorance and paranoia. I mention this because in pondering Morrissey's interest in conspiracies, I wondered if they pre-dated his LA exile, but then realized that any well read, library, newsagent and book shop loafing oaf would have access to plenty of conspiracy theory literature. And I should know, because I used to be one.
So, what has this to do with a fashion designer? Let me quote a possibly overrated B-side ditty. I could've run loudly and proudly all forcible entry and morally bankrupt and never non-violent and drawn to what scares me and scared of what bores me years alone will never be returned
It's a song that's a reflection on choices, including Morrissey's own choices for the pursuit of a career.
But I think the most revealing lines are what's I've highlighted in bold. Although the context of the lyrics claim otherwise, Morrissey is drawn to what scares him and scared of what bores him. Hence things like the videos with skin heads, the UKIP statement, the conspiracy theory stuff and Our Mozzer following Alex Jones on Twitter. And hence the I'll kill you tee.
It all adds to his mystique, but is a product of his adventuring and contrarian nature. He's drawn to what scares him and inevitably shares some of that with us. I think it explains a lot about Morrissey, Our Mozzer and the pessoa phenomena.
