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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., 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,, 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:


* 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.


  1. True Morrissey
    23 June 2015
    Musings of the Corrupt Mind

    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.
    Your fly in the ointment

    “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.

    1. ...continued

      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.

      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.

      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

      OM at 18:02


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