Log in

No account? Create an account
août 2019   01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31
* - galaxy

Morror less to sey.

Posted on 2017.07.29 at 14:20
With every bottle of wine sold, Morrissey should be required listening. There is no greater waste of time, than languishing in the squalour of his bemoaning nomenclature. There is no greater elevation of the art of self-pitying, self-loathing, self-defeated depression, than in the self-imposed imagining that one is the very same grinning, winning, lost douche-bag spinning amongst the panties of one's old auntie's unrequited antics, like some Gothic Dorothy on her way to Oz.

It is soulfully ennobling to heed the words, and maybe attune to the music, and then to be suddenly hit by some strange feeling that comes out of... out of nothing more, but means everything else. How he can summon and convey emotion so transcendentally, so immaterially, is beyond me. But, at certain junctures, moments of feeling leap out of his music like entirely familiar blood-sucking lizards, already under one's skin. It's more than music, it is the honour of death itself, laughing at us, as we bide away like lemmings. Like hanging chads in a drunken god's pathetic attempt to keep track of us all. Like inducements and enticements from the devil which turn out to be nothing more than vacuous promises of trumpianism.

And the consolation is - that it's all funny. It's all good. Stale, moulded bread for the homeless has become a food of the gods, for wanton ducks like you and me.

In a Philly restaurant, with friends, I was offered the, "pressed duck."

"Depressed duck? How sad!"

"Quaaaack! Quaaaack!" he pined mournfully, as much in comedy as in grief.


meowmensteen at 2017-07-29 20:18 (UTC) (Lien)
I prefer my bottles of wine to bring me closer to madness than self-loathing. Sometimes I think I need to lose my grip on reality and swim in some small pool made by the teardrops of Alice and have a conversation with some lusty snowman.
where hypotheses come to die
madman101 at 2017-07-29 23:21 (UTC) (Lien)

Self-loathing is a joke compared to madness.

Lusty snowmen are like Bigfoot behind trees, coming to take us away. Call yours what you will, but I believe they are all Morrissey and I think maybe I should start a church... lol
livejournal at 2017-07-30 00:36 (UTC) (Lien)
Hello! Your entry got to top-25 of the most popular entries in LiveJournal!
Learn more about LiveJournal Ratings in FAQ.
where hypotheses come to die
madman101 at 2017-07-30 12:29 (UTC) (Lien)
I should mark you as spam just to see what happens, lol.
Previous Entry  Next Entry