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Saturday, 12 August 2017

Day 2258 - Meagre words

This is another of those blog entries that I am not allowed to publish* - at least, not just yet.

Another article was posted by Morrissey on his Dawn Mist blog yesterday, entitled, Meagre Words. Shortly after it was posted, I was contacted by The Mozziah via twitter's DM. Here is the conversation:

MOZ: Do not republish Dawn's words on FTM. Or at least today's onwards.

ME: But that's what I do! What is the point of me otherwise? Hello by the way.

MOZ: What is the point of anything? You will have plenty to blog about soon. Dawn's blog will not natter. You can copy and blog those but not publish. For the time being.

ME: Okey dokey smokey. Does Dawn's blog natter?

MOZ: Yes I saw that. Depending on the quality of your next blog post, you may get ANOTHER exclusive soon.

ME: The headmaster ritual. The pressure is on me then.

MOZ: It's always on me my friend.

ME: Indeed, but you always deliver.

MOZ: We live in unsettling times.

ME: Have times ever been settled - ever?

MOZ: Have times ever needed to be?

Image result for morrissey unsettled

I have no idea why Morrissey doesn't want me to republish his pieces from the Dawn Mist blog, as my readership is pitifully low these days, but his wish is my command. For now, I am a mute witness... sort of.

Here is the article, just for the record:

Meagre Words

Words of meagre and measly origin are fitting only for those who are found of calling their own soul their own as they know no better. Lost minds in the internecine conflict of existence become even more estranged, deranged and full of mange.  Dissecting their own thoughts destined to dive dutifully and diligently downwards through the extreme exiguous abyss of space, time, rhyme and slime all the while hating the grime. Sparse minds have no room for forgiveness; indeed the root of the germ of sympathy and empathy is given no cause for growth. How could it grow amongst the colourless forces of faces that grimace with apparent natural emptiness for they know now what I have always known. How can one empty perceived notion that exists be restricted to a non-answer? A uniform drone highlighting the plight of the prone. Inadequacies are adequate, the modest are conceited, the shameful never know shame.  Volunteer army protecting their own interests, volunteers holding secrets from the mass of sheep. The volunteers are the acceptable watchers, the shomrims of the secret elite. Turn a blind eye and be blinded by the truth. Your freedom is not free and your life is not yours. Step out of place and your face will soon be where it was before. There is no entry into the secret army.  Blind mindfulness is the true status.

The shallow pits break backs in the back breaking pursuit of vengeance. Righting wrongs that were never wrong in the first place.  The weak are in control. Weak due to their own mind. Insecure in their own beliefs they try to inflict their beliefs on to others. The heroes of the meagre, and the here and now for all except the intelligentsia. The mood, the food and brood, of beguiling blistering boredom to occupy the brash.

Yours

Establishment outcast.

The equinox of the unsure.



Image result for morrissey outside alone
ESTABLISHMENT OUTCAST




Morrissey also made a couple of brief appearances in The Wrong Arms yesterday. He first appeared at 3.52pm, to post his Dawn blog piece, and returned at 9.05pm to tweet:

"The potency of youth"

I asked if the above was the album title, and got the response, "Do I need to answer that?"

Heather replied to his tweet asking, "How would you characterize middle age?", and received the reply, "The formidably correct."

His Mozness returned for a final time at 1.59am to tweet:

"I look back at my life. Realise I was endangered in 1947."

*This blog post was made 'live' on December 12th 2017. I'm sure no one will notice.

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