Exclusive: Morrissey’s Secret Lover Talks

My name is Heidrun Elisabeth, and I am a German transsexual living in Brazil. I was born into the wrong body but the right dynasty, namely the famous and honorable Goebbels family. My father Joseph was the Reich Minister of ‘Public Enlightenment and Propaganda’ in Nazi Germany from 1933 to 1945. Laying the groundwork for the modern capitalist world’s policies of corporate branding and consumer manipulation, and also the operating mechanisms of orchestrated mainstream media, my father has a legacy that goes far beyond his work with the multicultural population of the German Reich.

Towards the end of WW2, on 30 April 1945, uncle Adolf committed suicide in the bunker we were hiding. Inheriting the position as German chancellor and serving it for one day, my father decided that we all should follow uncle Adolf. I was the only one hiding the cyanide pill in my cheek, and after everybody stopped breathing, I crawled out of the bunker into the dusty streets. I was five, and nobody took notice of me in the ruins of a destroyed Berlin.

I recognised some familiar faces here and there, and ended up joining a group of people led by Dr. Mengele, who with the help of the allies were planning their escape to South American to build up German Nazi colonies there. We landed in Candido Godoi, a small Brazilian town, in which Dr. Mengele successfully carried on his experiments in creating an Arian master- race effectively and accelerated by twin-births.

I do not know why Mengele is being referred to as ‘Angel of Death’ when he gave life to so many human beings. With 12 years I realized that I was born into the wrong body and wanted to be a male, and Dr. Mengele was very important for me and my empowerment. As one of the first alterers of biological creation, he successfully attached a penis to my body when I was 13. God bless him.

I changed my name into Heinrich, and I grew into a strong blonde haired and blue-eyed Nazi man. Life went on and I studied, worked, loved, and lived. I was well over 50 when I attended a concert of The Smiths.

That day turned out to be the day when I met the love of my life: Steven Patrick Morrissey. Being absolutely no fan of his whiny music or even looks, it was a cosmic sign that brought us together, one that I couldn’t ignore. Being invited by the promoter, I walked down the backstage floor when I spotted a door with a little glass window. It was a very cold day, and the windows fogged up, when a finger-drawn figure started to take shape on it: It was a swastika, and through its clear contours I saw Morrissey staring at me. It was an electrifying moment of male bonding.

For the next almost 40 years I would lead a secret relationship with Morrissey, unbeknownst to the public or anybody outside of our small town in Brazil. Those were wonderful years of male companionship, camaraderie, compassion and intimacy. Morrissey was far from being miserable all the time- he had moments of great silly playfulness. For example, he liked to paint his face yellow and give me a perfect personification of the Chinese subspecies. On other occasions we would re-stage the Abu Ghraib torture pictures on a jolly, meatless Saturday night. Thinking of it makes me smile tenderly, I truly had found my soulmate.

Our sex-life was not easy. Morrissey had asexual tendencies, and the only way he could get an erection was by sucking on my thumb while watching “Triumph of the Will“. How many times I had to endure Leni Riefenstahl’s masterpiece- believe me, I know every scene by heart. Fortunately, with well over 50 years, my sex drive had slowed down so much that I didn’t complain.

Our Nazi community was not so happy about my choice of partner. Despite Morrissey being a true, convinced Nazi, our elders and the intellectuals under us despised him, hence he lacked any fundamental theories and thoughts to back his racism, which was the reason for great embarrassment for me. It’s not easy to have a rather dumb partner with no depth. I tried to teach him the far-right sociologists, and introduce him to theoretical fundaments and intellectual thinking of both sides, but it was wasted- all he was interested in was ranting and whining, and that seemed to be the case for his fans as well.

His fans. All those seemingly liberal and progressive fans- Morrissey hated them most. „They are not aware of that I despise everything they stand for, and I hate them for their obvious stupidity.“ he said. He often put his head in his hands in shame over this fact, and was barely able to face his audience of ‘sensitive’ and juiceless supporters, who were politically correct dichotomies on two legs, defending and down-playing Morrissey’s unhidden racist actions until the very end. No matter how hard Morrissey tried to be a brave and open Nazi, is fans would still defend him of not being a racist. Morrissey regularly turned into Rumpelstiltskin over this. „If they were at least true convinced Nazis!“ he often complained. „They are nothing. Nothingness.“

While Morrissey got more and more desperate over this contradiction, he slowly became an object of research interest for our leading Nazis. With growing excitement they watched how Morrissey poured out his hate of all kinds of non-white ethnical groups, but mainly Muslims, and publicly endorsed a Nazi-party, and got away with it over and over. It was amazing- while our political recruits worldwide were experiencing hard times and a backlash for the very same things, Morrissey’s fans tirelessly defended him as non-racist or „Just miserable… it’s his personal opinion… I still love him.“ And it was not just that they couldn’t give up his music and listened privately, no- they had to increasingly let the entire world know that they are still listening to him no matter what, that they are still adoring him, sporting Morrissey shirts and record covers for their social media world to see. At the same time they were not the typical Nazis. Our visionary strategists saw a big potential here, they realized that there was a huge human Nazi-mass to be shaped out there, seemingly modern and liberal, but ready to take it all and implement the master-race in their empty conscience if given in the right doses and a hip disguise.

The second revelation was not new, Morrissey’s fans undermined the fact that hating Muslims was rather accepted and branded as ‘personal opinion’, while anti-Semitism was still a hot iron. We forced a Clockwork Orange-session on Stephen in the mid-90s, erasing the word ‘Jew’ and its synonyms from his vocabulary. I cried tears watching him suffer through the glass walls, but I understood the importance to secure the legitimation of Morrissey letting his anti-Muslim messages and far-right partisan support out on a big stage and unsanctioned. That evening I wrapped him up in a Reich Flag and held him tight while he sucked his thumb in a fetal position and with an empty gaze.

We had a good life. I have loved my Morrissey very much and wanna let the world know that he was a very good-hearted person: he hated all non-white humans, but loved his dogs and animals more than everything, just like his fellow vegetarian and asexual idol Adolf Hitler. One of our elders, Elisabeth, would always spit at Morrissey, stating that it was a sin to pet animals and value them more than humans. Stephen really had no easy time in our community, god bless him.

Last week tragedy striked and his hungry dog Blondie has eaten Steven after he stumbled and fell unconscious in his house. The poisonous gases of the new detergent from Poland must have fainted him while he was cleaning his Third Reich- relics in the basement. Words cannot describe my grief, with my deepest regret being having fought with him as last thing, and not being able to tell him how much I love him one last time. But he had just started selling Stooges, Patti Smith, and Bowie records at his concerts- signed by himself and for 300€ a piece. I was so incredibly humiliated and wanted to leave him- I am sorry Steven. I wish I could turn back time now.
I love you. You were a good man.

Viva hate, baby.

by Saliha Enzenauer