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I've yet to say anything about the fact that I actually existed in the same building with Morrissey for several hours and that he almost killed me and made me want to kill everybody around. "I'm gonna start killing people very soon," I said repeatedly that night, and almost kept my promise.

And, after all, I would still die for him.

All I need is someone who loves Morrissey like I do and I've found everything I need in life; we can lock ourselves up in a dirty little flat, drink tea and beer, and never get out and slowly die.




According to Morrissey, Morrissey is NOT homosexual. Morrissey is 'humasexual'. Attracted to humans, "but of course ... not many". Just like James Dean. Just like me.

I'm not bisexual. That sounds stupid. But I'm increasingly sexual. I'm attracted to humans, and I don't care if the thing between their legs is a penis or a vagina or something else.

Jimmy Dean, Morrissey and I. We make a good gang. In certain ways, we are the same. The son, the son of the son, the son of the son of the son. What? Yes.

We're all strangely and painfully emotional and all that shit. One of us is dead. Two to go. Wohoo.



There is a person who knits knitted Morrisseys. He/she has a tumblr blog. How heartbreakingly absurd. One of the things that would make me cry if I still did that.