You know, it's funny how when you look back on your life, you suddenly wished you hadn't.
> bored? tired? looking over the message board...nothing¿ interesting though- my god are we getting old- 7th and 8th¿ graders exposed to the Moz!? I am 31 now and a teacher in a¿ public school- not too long ago I was camped out, waiting for¿ the Moz to show his precious face- taking pics with Franc¿ outside a hotel in Pittsburgh- pushing those less physical out¿ of the way to touch his Mozzness- fighting for a tiny piece of¿ his shirt- grabbing desperately for his bongo (the one he threw¿ into the crowd!)- I listen to the music and still get the¿ chills- the opening cords to November S.A.M.- the words to I¿ Know Very Well...- we each bring to these songs our unique¿ experiences, our lives, and souls- even our age (including his)¿ can't take it away...the poll I'd like to see is our collective¿ ages- are we old or young. Do we shag now or never? Meat or¿ murder? Wild or Wilde? feel free to ramble on....
Dear Michael,
I too, frequently step back into the recesses of a once childish
heart, and place myself closer to such passionate feelings as
you have described here.
I am 75 years of age now Michael, and through such a splendid
reminiscence, I have yet to lose touch with the memories of my
mother waking me early every morning for a breakfast she so
thoughtfully prepared for me.
Yes, she never failed to show her dedication to me, by placing a
small bowl of my favorite morning cereal next to a tall glass of
chocolate milk, my favorite morning beverage.
All of this atop a small cartoon themed place mat that I so
intensely adored.
I remember the feelings of frustration when I would carefully
bring the spoon towards my mouth, only to have a relentless
dribble of milk find it's way down my chin, and onto my freshly
dawned school attire.
I eventually solved this problem by resolving to eat breakfast
naked every morning before I decided to dress.
And even as I finished my special little breakfast that mother
so patiently prepared for me, I always made sure to place a
small kiss atop her forehead as she lie alseep on the couch
waiting for the local preist to stop by, and help her forget
that daddy was was indeed dead.
Yes, Michael, I too look back on the days that have past and
wonder if such memeories still hold any importance in my brittle
heart, and the answer is Michael....
I'm not sure, but I still eat breakfast cereal and chocolate
milk every morning, and live with my mother's rotting corpse, in
the same house, that still holds the same table, that my cartoon
themed place mat once sat upon.
My psychiatrist, as well as my 13 multiple personalities, still
insist that I'm refusing to accept the drastic changes that my
mother's death has brought upon my life.
But I say to them Michael, I'm just dedicated to maintaining the
memories and feelings that once brought me so much joy as a
child.
And if pursuing happiness, no matter how unconventional it might
seem, is a crime, then I am definitely running for president!
And I will win this election!
I don't know much about this Morrissey character you are going
on about, but I can relate to your seemingly sincere and earnest
reflection that has moved me to look back on those moments in my
past that make me almost glad that I never chose to suffocate
myself with a plastic grocery bag when I had the opportunity.
I must go now Michael, mother needs rotating.
She enjoys the sun light.
-So&So
