（更新）一些the Smiths的小八卦
momo
这些两年前全都跟Fish-In-A-Coma太太讲过，也在一个史密斯群里发过，可能有人已经看过了，不过也许还有人会感兴趣捏🥺
Mozipedia上说Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me出单曲的时候，一如既往地由当时正在录Viva Hate的莫老师来设计封套，他原本打算在背面写：“When I sleep with that picture besides me... I really think it's you”（参见Late Night, Maudlin Street歌词），在内封上写：“Please keep me in mind”（参见Well I Wonder歌词）
关于I Keep Mine Hidden，98年Grant Showbiz的Uncut采访说"Morrissey had this song, 'I Keep Mine Hidden', which was basically Morrissey saying, 'I'm sorry, Johnny. I'm a complete fuck up but please forgive me.' With lots of specific references, it was a very direct song."（Mozipedia引用了一段类似的quote，应该是出自作者对Grant Showbiz的直接采访，不过着重于a candid confession of psychological unbalance）后面问为啥魔力吸会觉得自己fuck up，Grant的理解是"Morrissey knows that he's a perverse person and he turns people away from him by not showing caring emotions at times that are appropriate."我觉得这可能是一种双相的症状……Andy也说那时Morrissey take a load of valium。Mozipedia上还说Mike Joyce推测I Keep Mine Hidden里"Yellow and green, a stumbling block / I'm a twenty-digit combination to unlock with a past where to be 'touched' meant to be 'mental'"暗指治疗双相的替马西泮的黄绿色胶囊，我在想这几句歌词的实际含义会不会就相当于"I took strange pills but I never meant to hurt you" ，简单来说就是“我这人有病但我不是故意伤害你的就原谅我吧”
The Severed Alliance第28章最后写法律文书显示莫马搭档关系于87年5月31日终止，然而5月28号马儿还在电台采访里笑着说"He's brilliant, he's marvellous. I miss him. I haven't seen him for a week and I really miss him."谁承想……
我觉得也不是说计划好了在那时散伙，只是时机赶上了（艾特同人杂nme出来受死）然后5.31是追溯有效的时间，之后马儿去度假的时候可能还没下定决心要散伙，但事实既然这样发生了，法律意义上就无效了
说起来他俩相遇是在初夏，好像也是在5月？当时莫老师刚满23岁，然后散伙时刚满28岁（马儿说一星期没见到莫了岂不是恰好错过生日）满打满算5年整，500 days of summer（不是
一晃都30多年了，他俩解散后的同框居然是0耶~真佩服08年那次看到他俩在pub重聚的人是怎么都忍住硬是不偷拍一张的……
马里西可以说是我搞过的滚圈散伙人cp里断绝程度最高的了……记得马儿出自传的时候采访里说，他俩最后一次见面就是08年谈到重组的那次，然后自传里说到这次见面就“我们都十多年没见过了”（那就是从court case之后都没见过咯？而且法庭相见也很不愉快），后面提到10年底卡梅伦事件的时候又说“我好久没跟他联系了”（怕不是重组失败后就没联系了吧），然后就这最后一次见面也是距今十多年前的事了（我怀疑解散后他俩大概平均十年见一次面，包括被动的法庭相见）
从他俩最后一次见面之后，粥解散了，糊复合了，石花复合了，立不挺复合了，石花又解散了，奇想复合了etc……之前看过一条wb是有缸许愿史密斯重组的访谈，下面评论说我也更想看史密斯重组，咖喱格只要兄弟和好就够了，我心想恐怕等到粥都重组又解散了马里西都不见得能再见一面呢（怎么说呢，有点想起了iggy和宝儿，宝死前他俩居然都十几年没联系了……虽然我没搞过宝泡，但对此还是有些惊到了。然后宝死后iggy说宝是the light of my life，我心里也挺五味杂陈的）
魔力吸和马老师也到写自传的年纪了，我有时候就忍不住会想到，他们俩到底会有个什么样的END呢……最终是不是真的就our truth will die with me呢？说到这儿想起魔力吸说他最喜欢的诗人A. E. Housman的名句：“来自远方，来自黄昏和清晨，来自十二重高天的好风轻扬，飘来生命气息的吹拂：吹在我身上。快，趁生命气息逗留，盘桓未去，拉住我的手，快告诉我你的心声。”
Housman这位诗人的故事也挺值得一提的：个性寡默阴郁、孤高离群、尖刻自负（Mozipedia的评价：非常像魔力吸😂），自命为天生的古典学者，然而顺风顺水地在牛津大学拿着奖学金读到了大四的节骨眼上，活泼单纯的直男室友Jackson令他神魂颠倒，期末他令人大跌眼镜地交了白卷，成为肄业生。Housman跟Jackson成为了同事和合租者，两人间亲密的友谊持续了大约5年，因为某种原因吵了一架然后 Housman 搬走了，有推测是Housman告白失败，有诗曰：
Because I liked you better / Than suits a man to say, / It irked you and I promised / To throw the thought away.
两年后Jackson远赴印度，从此两人相隔天涯，30多年间，虽有书信相通却极少见面。Housman开始写日记，不过这本日记基本上只记Jackson的行程和通信；同时，他也开始写诗：
He would not stay for me; and who can wonder? / He would not stay for me to stand and gaze. / I shook his hand and tore my heart in sunder / And went with half my life about my ways.
But if you come to a road where danger / Or guilt or anguish or shame's to share, / Be good to the lad that loves you true / And the soul that was born to die for you, / And whistle and I'll be there. / For I was luckless aye / And shall not die for you.
后来Jackson曾短暂回国结婚，却并未邀请Housman，有诗曰：
So the groomsman quits your side / And the bridegroom seeks the bride: / Friend and comrade yield you o'er / To her that hardly loves you more.
Housman自陈，学者才是他的正业（他的学术著作也题献给Jackson），而诗歌却是他痛苦的结晶，正如蚌中珍珠，却不曾向Jackson呈现，直到Jackson得了胃癌将要病死异国，才慌忙将这些情诗集结出版：
Housman sent him an inscribed copy on publication day, with a four-page letter in which he told Jackson, "... you are largely responsible for my writing poetry and you ought to take the consequences". He described himself as "a fellow who thinks more of you than anything in the world".
随即噩耗传来，斯人已成永诀：
I had a letter from him on New Year's Day, which he ended by saying "goodbye". Now I can die myself: I could not have borne to leave him behind me in a world where anything might happen to him.
Housman年老时在剑桥大学任教，弟弟问起房间的壁炉上所悬挂的照片时：
In a "strangely moved voice", the old man answered: "That was my friend Jackson, the man who had more influence on my life than anybody else."
有时候我忍不住会想魔力吸说He is the poet who means the most to me，跟马儿有没有一点关系呢？虽说文艺青年魔力吸应该在遇见马儿之前早就喜欢上Housman了
魔力吸自传里提到这位诗人，是这样写的：
New air is discovered in the words of A. E. Housman (1859–1936), scholar-poet, vulnerable and complex. On the day of his twelfth birthday his mother dropped dead, sealing a private future of suffering for Housman, who was said to be a complete mystery even to those who knew him. With no interest in applause or public recognition, Housman published three volumes of poetry, each one of great successful caress, each a world in itself, forcing Housman into the highest literary ranks. A stern custodian of art and life, he shunned the world and he lived a solitary existence of monastic pain, unconnected to others. The unresolved heart worked against him in life, but it connected him to the world of poetry, where he allowed (in)complete strangers under his skin.
The published poetry makes the personal torture just barely acceptable. The pain done to Housman allowed him to rise above the mediocre and to find the words that most of us need help in order to say.
It’s easy for me to imagine Housman sitting in a favorite chair by a barely flickering gas fire, the brain grinding long and hard, wanting to explain things in his own way, monumental loneliness on top of him, but with no one to tell. The written word is an attempt at completeness when there is no one impatiently awaiting you in a dimly lit bedroom – awaiting your tales of the day, as the healing hands of someone who knew turn to you and touch you, and you lose yourself so completely in another that you are momentarily delivered from yourself. Whispering across the pillow comes a kind voice that might tell you how to get out of certain difficulties, from someone who might mercifully detach you from your complications. When there is no matching of lives, and we live on a strict diet of the self, the most intimate bond can be with the words that we write:
Oh often have I washed and dressed
And what’s to show for all my pain?
Let me lie abed and rest:
Ten thousand times
I’ve done my best
And all’s to do again.
I ask myself if there is an irresponsible aspect in relaying thoughts of pain as inspiration, and I wonder whether Housman actually infected the sensitives further, and pulled them back into additional darkness. Surely it is true that everything in the imagination seems worse than it actually is – especially when one is alone and horizontal (in bed, as in the coffin). Housman was always alone – thinking himself to death, with no matronly wife to signal to the watching world that Alfred Edward was now quite alright – for isn’t this at least partly the aim of scoring a partner: to trumpet the mental all-clear to a world where how things seem is far more important than how things are? Now snugly in eternity, Housman still occupies my mind. His best moments were in Art, and not in the cut and thrust of human relationships. Yet he said more about human relationships than those who managed to feast on them. You see, you can’t have it both ways.
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