the Smiths - Sheila Take a Bow
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5 AM IS FOR HATERZZ
all I want in ever (just now) is to be some place with fairy lights and boys wearing Morrissey, where they serve the Cure and we can dance and love and create awesome things. and then, to go home and get some sleep.
‘not everybody is absolutely stupid.’ —Morrissey
so, earlier this week, I had this total rant about the song Meat is Murder. and now I feel kind of weird about it. because I don’t actually hate it. but I kind of panic about the cow noises (which—okay—is totally the intention). and the logic void between ‘death for no reason is murder’ and therefore meat is murder is totally distracting.
I have a lot of philosophies and issues regarding human/animal stuff, and I’m working through them. number one. number one. I don’t understand how people believe that there is actually a difference, that there is something fundamental and innate that separates humans and animals. idek.
this song … we abuse animals in so many ways, in so many industries … by just existing, being dominant, and taking up space. constructs of human existence as we know them are predicated on animal abuse (which is ‘justified’ by our ability to engage in it).
regardless of whether or not you eat animals: by participating in society, you validate a context in which meat isn’t murder. I don’t know what that means. it certainly doesn’t mean ‘stop trying to do nice shit’.
this is a really big thought and more than my head is able to process just now.
the metaphor in this is killing me
at the time, it struck me for its Relevance to My Life, and Things. (cute-sparkly-hipster-tattooed-boys, and a Silly Fox? Moz my life just now.) since then, it’s been absolutely stuck in my mind.
because it reads like a frighteningly detailed allegory of … me. or parts of me. and stark, and self-conscious. my life and choices and fascinations and preoccupations. and the things that my soul is tangled in and invested in and that drain me.
… Allegory of a Silly Fox. but, seriously.
the Unicorns - tuff ghost
tuff ghost, tuff crowd, tuff love (sit down, sit down, sit down).
I would rather not go back to the old place
my twin is totally sick in bed and it’s rubbish. and I can only hope that my deliveries of gatorade and tim tams make him better real quick. because he lives forever far away and I can hardly ever visit.
hey, dude. hey, puffin. hey, dream. hey, myth.
come, be physical
come, get in my head
come, consume me
come, be fascinating
I’ve used these words before, ‘I only want to be fascinated.’
I’ll even expect it. forever falling. forever crushing on some new reality.
only … exist?
the Smiths - still ill
things that are relevant to my life.
but they’re not.
Morrissey – hairdresser on fire
I sense the power within the fingers. within an hour the power could totally destroy me; or, it could save my life.
‘The lyrics betray an erotic fascination with ‘the power’ the hairdresser wields at their fingertips—capable of destroying or saving his physical appearance with a casual snip—tempered only by his exasperation at being unable to book anointment in their hectic schedule.’
from Simon Goddard’s Mozipedia (2009)
I kind of feel that Goddard undermines—or just doesn’t understand—the psychological significance of hairstyle. I mean, he speaks of ‘physical appearance’ as if it is a trivial thing to be held at stake. I suppose he’s never had nice hair … I can’t imagine what that would be like.
this song is exactly what it’s like in my mind. it’s my soul. it’s supernatural (a term that Morrissey would probably appreciate). anything further is trivial.
happily—thankfully—Danny always finds time for me (even when his assistant says he’s booked out).