With time all that will be left will be the music..

There have indeed been quite a few mentions of folks shrugging off the mortal coil recently, but of course, in the midst of our everyday illusions of secure existence, that's happening all the time. Maybe it's why lots of us keep so busy, stoned, etc, to avoid the thought: dunno.

R.I.P Pat anyway, who undoubtedly took some good memories of her adventures with the Smiths.

Give me a break....

I think it's very sad that an announcement of somebody passing away is turning to a bitching competition on this website.
Pat Bellis was working alongside The Smiths for a long time and worked very hard to promote the band especially in their early stages.
She was a very sweet person and deserves respect.
Morrissey-Solo website sometimes feels like a madhouse without the walls. Please think before you post some meaningless crap. Thank You.

On p. 246 of “The Severed Alliance”, Johny Rogan observes: “Morrissey’s love of feminine solicitude was emphasized by the number of women whom he relied upon as administrators. In addition to his mother and Martha Defoe, there was Pat Bellis, whose tasks stretched far beyond those of the normal record company press officer.”

And on p. 283, at the time of the announcements about Marr’s departure from the Smiths, he describes how “the Melody Maker managed to secure a brief interview with Rough Trade’s press officer Pat Bellis, who cut through the usual glib PR-speak with some piercing observations. “It’s no secret that the pair’s lifestyles differ and this has caused several arguments between them in the past”, she explained. “It isn’t over one argument. Johny just wants to move in a completely different direction”. Laughing off the rumours of Morrissey’s disenchantment with Marr’s outside friends and collaborators, she noted: “Half the time, he doesn’t even know who Johny’s seeing. Johny keeps these things very private’ “. (Johny’s interview with NME shortly thereafter disputed any acrimony, but not his decision.)

For some reason this strong remembrance poem comes to mind at the same time, perhaps because we all accumulate, more or less, scars in life, if not outside, then inside, and perhaps not to waste death? Hope it touches someone.

MUDRA
Don’t listen to the poet.
In his morning coffee, there is a teardrop.

Don’t listen to me.
Please don’t.
In my morning coffee, there is a drop of blood.
Don’t scold me, brother,
because I cannot swallow liquids.
The air in my lungs is frozen.

He said, “Let me weep through your eyes
because I no longer have eyes.
Let me walk on your feet,
because I have no feet”.
With my hands
I am touching your nightmare.
He said, “I have been saved.
I need no more salvation”.
Salvation is for us.

My hand on the table,
the cosmos remains silent.
The great ocean has never calmed her sobbing.
The five mountains maintain
the original positions of Sky and Earth.

Far above the Milky Way,
the secrets of the universe reveal themselves.
Yet my right hand is on the table -
waiting for humankind to wake up.

No, my hand will never turn over on this table
like the half-shell
balancing on the shore,
like the corpse of a man struck down by a bullet.
Mountain and river are overthrown.
Celestial bodies are out,
and the great ocean ceases its everlasting murmur.

My hand is still on the table
and the five mountains
still dominate.
The secret has not been revealed.
The celestial bodies go on conversing with eachother.
My hand is still on the table,
waiting for the moment
to reverse the balance of Sky and Earth -
my hand,
this small hand,
is like a mountain.

- by Thich Nhat Hanh (Vietnamese Buddhist monk, writer and peace activist during the Vietnam War, and exiled for same until last year).

He explains: “A mudra is a hand gesture used in meditation to evoke a particular state. In 1967, I read this poem and “Peace” at Town Hall in New York City with Arthur Miller, Robert Lowell, Daniel Berrigan, and twenty other poets. The phrase “Don’t listen to the poet” is a way to say that he is suffering a lot, and, if you listen to him, you will suffer too.
“Don’t scold me, brother, because I cannot swallow liquids. The air in my lungs is frozen”. This means you cannot enjoy your coffee because there is blood in it. The person who is dead tells me that he wants to borrow my eyes in order to weep, because he does not have any eyes. The veteran who cannot walk says, “Let me walk on your feet, because I have no feet”. One year later, speaking at an international conference in Montreal, I pleaded, “Liberate us from your liberation”. The mudra in this poem is formed like this: I put my hand on the table in the shape of a mountain. We have to be very firm, very concentrated, to maintain stability; otherwise we will lose our balance”.