Wednesday, June 15, 2005 | Fiction
Morrissey Addresses the Graduating High-School Class of 2005
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the sacred wunderkind. You are repressed, but you’re remarkably dressed. Is it real? And you’re always busy, really busy, busy, busy. The rain falls hard on a humdrum town; this town has dragged you down. Is it wrong to want to live on your own? No, it’s not wrong—but I must know, how can someone so young sing words so sad? Is it wrong not to always be glad? No, it’s not wrong—but I must add, how can someone so young sing words so sad? Oh, no, and everybody’s got to live their life, and God knows I’ve got to live mine. Sheila take a, Sheila take a bow. Boot the grime of this world in the crotch. See, the life I’ve had can make a good man bad. Oh, save your life because you’ve only got one. I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I’m miserable now. I was looking for a job, and then I found a job. And heaven knows I’m miserable now. In my life, why do I smile at people who I’d much rather kick in the eye? If you’re wondering why, when all I wanted from life was to be famous. I have tried for so long, it’s all gone wrong. I’ll tell you why, I’ll tell you why. But you wouldn’t believe me. Throw your homework onto the fire. And I realized, I realized I could never; I could never, never, never, go back home again. Burn down the disco, hang the blessed D.J.. Because the music that they constantly play, it says nothing to me about my life. You just haven’t earned it yet, baby. You just haven’t earned it, son. You must suffer and cry for a longer time, and I’m telling you now. Boot the grime of this world in the crotch. Throw your homework onto the fire and don’t go home tonight. Come out and find the one that you love and who loves you. The one that you love and who loves you. Oh. Shyness is nice, and shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you’d like to. I’ve seen this happen in other people’s lives and now it’s happening in mine. Oh. So ignore all the codes of the day. Let your juvenile influences sway. There is another world. There is a better world; well, there must be; well, there must be. But you know where you came from, you know where you’re going and you know where you belong. You say, Will the world end in the night time? (I really don’t know.) Or will the world end in the day time? (I really don’t know.) And is there any point ever having children? Oh, I don’t know. What I do know is we’re here and it’s now. Throw your homework onto the fire. Come out and find the one that you love.
Angela Genusa is a writer of experimental fiction, poetry, and humor. A real smartass, she once asked her new creative writing teacher, Steve Barthelme, “Any relation to Donald?” Oops, her bad. Some of her work can be found on the Web in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Über, The Black Table, and Opium Magazine, among others. She weaves burlap and gold into the fabric of our lives.