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Saturday, 18 August 2012

To die by your side, well the pleasure the privilege is mine

Dear Stephen,

This is the hardest letter I have ever written. I never thought it would happen, but here I am putting fingers to keyboard.

What happened to you? The moment I first heard your voice I knew, you would be the one, the who would speak to me as a dark confused teenager, the one whose lyrics would resonate, the one who would forever be my superstar. The shy gangly uncomfortable man, you were so different, so intriguing, so talented. My bedroom was an homage to you and your band, you actually really meant something to me. I tried to scratch your name in my arm with a fountain pen, thankfully it didn't work, though when I get a bit of a tan the anarchy sign I scraped into my arm with a compass is vaguely visible, the ink didn't work though, for that I'm grateful!

Today, in moments of sadness I still look to you for inspiration, your music still lifts me, makes me smile. The irony of your poetry still fills me with joy but somethings missing, somethings wrong. Your recent comments regarding the Olympics didn't surprise me, I too had a lot to say about the Olympics,well certainly the run up, the advertising, the fuck up regarding London's streets, but I always maintained that I would support our athletes, which I did. It seems that your anger, your lonelieness, your hankering to be the grumpiest man alive overtook you, again. You have forgotten the basics dear friend, it's not about jingoism it's about working hard and achieving, something you did all those years ago, and my didn't you do well. I wish I had the platform that you have, imagine what good could be done, the issues of the world could be brought to the fore and world might just listen...but no. No good comes from your wild ranting, most of what you say is valid but the vitriolic way you present those rants won't ever be heard, which is a crying shame.

Your passions used to be my passions, a longing to break free, a longing to put a middle finger up to the world, a longing to be wanted. I guess I'm the lucky one. I sit here happy, comfortable at last with myself, no longer yearning to be wanted. Love, peace and harmony Stephen, it can be done, doesn't have to be an unreachable goal. Allow yourself to be loved, you might just like it.

When you have time just have a little think about how your words can affect people...I care not anymore what you say, I haven't bought any of your solo stuff, I was given your first solo album, it was ok, but something was missing.

As I type this Stephen I am listening to Talk Sport, Spurs are playing. You wouldn't know anything about belonging, community or passion though would you.........the more removed you become from reality my friend the more I despise you. Step out from your ivory tower, talk to some people, listen to them.

So I write this letter as a farewell, your words no longer sing to me, your awkwardness no longer soothes me, your attitude saddens me.

There was a has gone out.....

Goodbye Morrissey, I will miss you x

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