Morrissey: Descendant of the Tetragrammaton?

Consider Morrissey.

Hi there, beautiful.

The greatest poet of our age, or perhaps any. At least the equivalent of Yeats, Milton, Shakespeare, or Chaucer. And his words are yet more beautiful, more visceral, more honest and nuanced than any of those lesser men. Is he the spawn of YHWH? It cannot be doubted. Consider his countenance. As the prophet Isaiah declared,

He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
   nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.
He was despised and rejected by mankind,
   a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
   he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

                                                                                                         Isaiah 53:2

Do you see? The great prophet predicted this, the hideous child of the Lord, the man despised, and held in low esteem, and yet so gifted, the great Servant of Jehovah. Was Morrissey not predicted millennia ago? No man on earth could fit this description more. Despite his Christ-like arrogance, Morrissey despises himself along with all humanity. When he considers the false prophet and heretic Jesus in his song, the humble “I Have Forgiven Jesus” he laments that

Jesus hurt me
When He deserted me

What a poet. And yet here he cuts deep to the heart of the misguided public’s relationship with the heathen Christ. He has deserted them like the liar he is. But now Morrissey has come for us, to deliver us and save us. To separate good from evil and to conquer the forces of darkness. And though he is reviled, who can argue that he is not the Son of God?


And like the true Son of God he will die for our iniquities. He describes his own martyrdom in grisly detail;

Monday - humiliation / Tuesday - suffocation
Wednesday - condescension / Thursday - is pathetic
by Friday - Life has killed me
by Friday - Life has killed me

This is what we as a society have driven poor, innocent Morrissey to. The lamb of God become our bloody sacrifice because we could not contain our wanton and repugnant lusts. They are a disease, a pox, a pestilence, and Morrissey fears even he has been tainted by being among us for so long;

why did you give me /so much desire?

Morrissey transcends his perpetual misanthropy by recognising himself as part of the corrupt whole, a whole body of humanity in decay, rotting in an open grave, a plague pit, a charnel house. Is there hope? Can Morrissey save us, even at the moment of our greatest evil?

I would argue not. We are beyond reprieve. Hence he has instead vested himself with the animals, and reduced himself to vegetarianism. To Morrissey, the innocent lambs and rabbits and calves and other animals frolicking in the fields are the true saved, the real children of Israel. These are the ones he will raise to the kingdom of heaven when he is martyred, not us. Not us.

Apart from swine. They’re filthy in the eyes of the supreme . And Morrissey knows that.