All quiet on the Moz front yesterday, although both Astraea and Fifi popped into The Arms very briefly, just to listen to me playing Janitor of Lunacy on the jukebox. It is a song that Astraea introduced to me a while ago.
It would appear that I was mistaken about my tweet from Lyn Boorer disappearing, I just couldn't see it in the new mishmash of a set up that the twitter people must see as progress:
And on the subject of Boz,.... hold on, what's happened to the type set? Bloody thing! Anyway, it would appear that Boz has been busy record shopping in LA. No doubt this little lot will be hidden in his suitcase among his Y-fronts, and if customs do find them, he will, I'm sure, convince them that the goods are for his "own personal use"!:
And while Boz shops for records, Morrissey has been issuing a statement on TTY regarding recent deaths:
Into this world, and out of it
Right then, I'm off to Brighton to watch some more cricket, so I shall leave you with another blast from the FTM past. A 'Dear Diary' written back in November 2011. There are no pictures with it, because it's a diary entry, but it's worth sticking with it, particularly for the bit about Moz having his hair cut, or to read the lyrics to the song In the Brain:
'DEAR DIARY' - ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON DAY 65 OF FTM, RECEIVING 88 HITS, AND NO COMMENTS
(The setting is The Mozziah's private cabin on the band's tour bus, driving through the night from Dallas, Texas to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Current day, 2am local time).
Dear Diary, Where do I start? Come to think of it, why do I start? What is the point of all this, really, what IS the point? How many times have I asked you that my dearest diary? And of course you don't really understand anyway do you, after all, you are just paper in a book; you're as manufactured as the rest of them. Why do I write Dear Diary when we both know that it is to Oscar that I write every night? Dearest, earnest, Oscar. Darling, darling, desperately misunderstood Oscar. What wouldn't I have done to have been born in your time, to have sat at your feet, to have been your very own Cecily or even to have been in Paris at the end? In fact, it would be Paris that I choose, to have been the one to scoop you up and save you. Just me and you. There has never been anybody else like you, but I do try, you know I try don't you?
So what of today Dear Oscar? To kill some time, I accompanied Jesse, Solomon and Boz to a local barber shop, the originally entitled Rob's Chop Shop, owned by a guy called Rob Villareal. Isn't that a Spanish football team? Boz thought it was a butcher's shop, and to be fair, he wasn't far wrong. Of course Mum is the only one who usually touches MY barnet, but old Rob did a fairly good job on Jesse, so I decided to let him loose on me. Not the quiff of course, just a little off the back and sides. Whilst cutting it, Rob mentioned he could make a killing on ebay by selling MY hair. Well I wasn't having that, will these b*stards stop at nothing? I got Jesse and Solomon to pick the hair up from the floor, every last strand, and stuff it in their pockets.
It then occurred to me that they TOO could try and put my hair on ebay, so I took it off them and put it in my pockets instead. Old Villareal took offence to all this, and started spouting on about it being HIS property, because it was on his floor. It all got a bit embarrassing as he tried to grab it back and at one point we were all pulling on it; it reminded me of the scenes at my concerts when the Meatheads fight over the shirt. Anyway, in the end Boz stuck one on Villareal's chin and we made a run for it. I emptied my pockets when we got back to the bus and burnt the hair. The smell was awful but what else could I do?
Burning the hair gave me a great idea, I gave Boz the lighter and told him to go back and 'torch' Rob's Chop Shop. It brings a whole new meaning to Hairdresser on Fire. Boz refused. C***! I'm sure some of that hair in my pocket was his; all greasy and silver it was, with brown dye rubbing off. I KNEW he coloured it!
The whole barber's experience ruined my day, I considered cancelling the Dallas show in protest but Boz said there'd be consequences, which was rich coming from him after Chicago. I cancelled the 'freebie' Jimmy Kimmel show instead, no consequences there. It wasn't actually me that cancelled it, but I'll let 'THEM' think I did, they'll only think it was me anyway.
After the barbers, I took to my cabin for the rest of the day and logged on to the internet. I really wish I could leave it alone but what else is there to do with ALL these spare hours? I wish I hadn't bothered, the wifi has been sporadic and what do I find on ebay?.... Only one of MY personal letters for sale! It reminded me why I no longer write to anybody. Nothing is safe, nothing. At least they are asking a fair price, six hundred and forty nine dollars. Should I bid for it? It would stop anybody else getting hold of it. No, I won't bother, there's nothing in the letter anyway apart from reference to those 12 bloody Adam Faith records I regrettably bought. I wonder if Mum's still got them? That was the most generous Christmas present I ever gave her. Parlophone.
The So-Lowers are at it again, pulling MY latest set list to pieces. Did any of them actually go to the show? NO, of course not and yet once again they think they can tell me which of MY songs I should sing. And even if they did go, what right does it give them? Wankers. I really aught to persist with my own 'fan site', but it's such a waste of my true creative talents, and they are all philistines anyway. How many of them had any idea about the Green Carnation society? None. How can they claim to be fans of mine when they haven't read a scrap of your material dear Oscar, and know NOTHING about you? I should've known, I really should've known. It shouldn't have been me instigating the idea of a Secret Society in the first place, one of them should've started it, but how could that EVER have happened, when not one of the bastards knew anything about Green Carnation?
Anyway, again no roses this evening in Dallas, that's three concerts in a row now, and not a single petal has reached the stage. I saw somebody with a whole bunch of red roses at San An, but did they throw them to the stage? Did they f***. And I read on twotter that one of my fans brought a rose to Austin and then..... took it home again! I ask you!
I despair, only me! It could only happen to me. Oh well. I have a new song dear heart; may I? I've called it In the Brain. All your influence of course; it always is. Nobody will notice though, apart from perhaps Dr. Hoops. Clever man, Dr. Hoops.
In the Brain by Me
Locked deep away, the sins all start to decay
Could I ever be me, for all the public to see?
It would be art to extreme, with me locked in a cage
Right now my cage is a stage, an open prison
Could I run? Should I run?
Guide me, show me, help me, TELL me.
Shut away, shut away, shut away, shut away, shut away, shut away, shut away.
Away, away, away, away, I'm shut away.
I'm now thinking perhaps I should re title it Shut Away. What do you think? Of course "the greatest events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also." Impressed? Shall I continue dearest dearest Oscar? "You, Mr.Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your rose-white boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afraid, thoughts that have filled you with terror, daydreams and sleeping dreams whose memory might stain your cheek with shame."
I must get some sleep now. Oh the concert? I was good, in fact, very good, although I will of course take the compliments with my usual self deprecation, but I really was extremely good if I'm honest. Mind you, I had to stop midway through FOTG; somebody was in trouble in the crowd. I really should detach myself but I'm just TOO caring. No clips yet on Youtube, I'll look again in the morning. Finger is completely fine now but I'll keep the plaster on a bit longer, just in case.
Where to now, you ask? Let me look at my tour schedule. Dallas to Santa Fe, 637 miles. Approximate travel time 10 hours 44 minutes. Christ, I hope Boz doesn't start that game again. HE may think it's funny playing 'Guess the Song' as he burps a tune, but I find it both distasteful and vulgar. Did I really write modern poetry like Trouble Loves Me and Let Me Kiss You, just to have that oaf and is muso mates burp their way them on a bus? Oh bollocks, they HAVE started playing it again. For fuck's sake, what have I done to deserve this? Hold on, I know that one. *Shouts to Boz & the boys* "EVERYDAY IS LIKE SUNDAY".
ROB IN ACTION