November 2001 - Sinister

Sinister: oh my.....
by caleb ben moore 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

perhaps i'm mistaken, but did i just read a certain MARTIN C calling our beloved isobel a ehem, "fat arse"? i feel my hands clenching into fists..... -----caleb ben aka RAW ===== And when I'm lying in my bed I think about life and I think about death and neither one particularly appeals to me and if the day came when I felt a natural emotion I'd get such a shock I'd probably lie in the middle of the street and die I'd lie down and die ------morrissey __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Find a job, post your resume. http://careers.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: I'm taking up on drugs
by Kenneth P Y Chu 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

Cough medicine, that is. This morning I was waking up to us..uss..us..ushoo! ...Bogey everywhere type affair... hehe okay so maybe not bogey everywhere, but still I felt so ill. Luckily tho, what I woke up with was also loads and loads of e-mails to get me through what normally would be a borrring morrrning at work, thank you girls, I love you all. I'm not as ill as before either, well still ill, but a lil bit less ill.. I just wanted to talk about my cough to carry on the "I'm waking up to us" pun theme that Robin had set.. :-) Today I actaully had some real work to do, I had to phone up a few customers about their cars, and one guy on the list was called "Mr. Egil Ostensted".. a namesake for the Norwegian International Football Player.. I was like.. surely not! Then I looked in his address and it was "Blackburn Rovers, Blackburn, UK" and my heart flopped.. woooo this is my claim to fame, I get to phone up someone vaguely famous! My heart pounds as each hit on the phone's keypad registered.. dee dee doo doo dee, my blood pressure rose.. a voice appeared on the phone. "Hello".. said Egil Ostenstad. "Hello!" said Ken "The area code for this number has been changed, please dial again with the new code or contact your telephone operator" said Egil.. wait, that's not Egil, that's the BT error messages woman pretending to be Egil! Grr! She didn't even do a good impression! Can she shoot with an overhead kick from the edge of the penalty area? No! Was she the top striker for Southampton? No, but it wouldn't have been difficult. Is she actually a maaaan? No, this is no Jerry Springer. This is a pre-recorded message designed to disappoint Ken. I couldn't find the new area code, so now we're going to send him a letter instead.. sigh.. I intended to send him a tape asking him why he wouldn't pick up my call, whilst I drink a fifth of vodka and drive my car over a bridge, like Stan did. But I decided against it cos I'm not a crappy rapper. If I carry on like this people would think I'm actaully on drugs, so I won't. Byee. Ken P.S.: Girls, you are still welcome to write me :-) I'm not a BT error message woman. P.P.S.: Sorry if you're the BT error message woman, I don't really hate you. _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: I didn't realise my being sick put you off your food
by Martin_F_Conneely＠finance.gov.ie 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

ARS 1 Ken Chu wrote: <<There should be a love heart that says "nice arse">> At Mogwai, in Dublin last night, there was a stool at the edge of the stage. On it was written "Fat Arse". A female with short fair hair came on to play the cello for a while. She seemed to fit what was written on the stool. Between the strobe lighting and my increasing blindness, I couldn't be sure, but could it have been our own Isobel? BTW, according to my Sinister Book of Ready Rules, items in quotations don't get hit by the body parts gallery rules. And Mogwai were even louder than when I first saw them, and that was LOUD. ARS 2 Speaking of ars, Seamus wrote of <<ex-of-this-parish Joss Moorkens and his beautiful band Joan Of Arse being interviewed on Ireland's (nah the world's) premier indie video tv program 'no disco'.>> Oddly, Joss looked very sinister on that interview, whereas he didn't look sinister when on Sinister. It wasn't the kind of interview that will shift the units. But it did give a good picture of the trials of being in a band that's building up very slowly. They are well worth a listen; I keep hearing a Neil Young tinge in their music. Am I going deaf as well as blind? I recorded the interview. I don't know how to make copies but I could post it to anyone in VHS videoland who wants to make a copy. The video for the song doesn't fit though. JOA would be better served by the vomiting ballerina video for Nina Swedishsoundingname's video (Honey used to praise her). Non ARS 1 The vomiting ballerina didn't provide the subject line, though. It's from a born-again Christian bulimic former flatmate of Vodkabird, according to VB in today's digest (the last post in the weddingfeastatcanadigest) A subject line I was tempted by was Archel's <<the time i dropped villette by charlotte bronte in a rockpool in pembrokeshire>> Both would be good sillustrations? Non ARS 2 Grainne quoted from a Frames site: <<all the money that gets taken on the night [at Belfast gig] gets taken out to a large toy emporium on the following day by the bands and a pile of toys are bought for kids in need for christmas >> Considering what Ireland did to SM last time, I think he should be kept away from toyshops. I can imagine him smashing everything (is it the shamrocks or the Guinness that gets to him?) and there won't be any money left and it will be too late for those kids to get anything. In fact the safest thing is to bring him to Dublin instead to do a solo gig (under very close supervision) and let the rest of the band do Belfast. Martin C Sinister Senior Citizenry PS Those who, in their adolescence, liked both Catcher in the Rye and Carson McCullers (thanks for reminding in recent post, Dahling) would probably love Michael Collins's Keepers of the Truth. May be hard to get but is really exceptional. This email and any files transmitted with it are confidential and intended solely for the use of the individual or entity to whom they are addressed. If you have received this email in error please notify the system manager. This footnote also confirms that this email message has been swept for the presence of computer viruses. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: I'm Waking Up for my Bus (ho ho!)
by robin stout 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

Everyone's waiting for something to happen... >Check the website on friday morning. It may well confirm what you >already >know. >~cant wait till friday... >Hmm. *fed up* Well something just has. Have a look at http://www.belleandsebastian.co.uk/home/, for news, photos and scary flop-eared dogs. That subject line really is awful, isn't it? R x _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: I don't know about you, but its usually the sbject line that determines whether or not I'm going to read an e mail. And if it mentions porn, or loans or things like that, I usually delete it without thinking about it too heavily. But hey, today I'm feeling a little perculiar, and I can't think of a decent subject line. Any recomendations will be gratefully accepted.
by idleberry 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

hiya everyone, Well, I'm trying to give up smoking again. Success rate so far? 3 days 2 hours and twenty five minutes. I've also taken up various lotions and potions in order to make me feel better for whatever reason. Hmm. *fed up* I'm feeling quite fed up at the moment, and extremely receptive to things people have to say. I'll try not to interupt, but today I feel like listening. *realises theres nothing really to tell* Why can't I live like I do in my day dreams? Suggestions please. Thanks Idles. ===== http://clubs.yahoo.com/clubs/corduroysmoke and the world did get covered in a thick haze of corduroy smoke. And it felt good. __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Find a job, post your resume. http://careers.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: belfast gig +++++
by Neil Robertson 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

Easy there Philip, I don't know who your source is (although the Brixton rumour might lead me closer to guessing). You were on the ball with the Belfast gig, but there ain't nothing happening in London. I can also say that "Beat Patrol" doesn't exist anymore, so the chances of doing something for them in Glasgow are pretty slim. Just keeping you straight, Neil +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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None
by Tim Banning 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

Hello. I have to be at work at 7a.m. I don't like the thought of that. I especially won't like the thought of that when I'm wiping the dew off of my cadi's windshield with a dirty towel...I should go to bed. But I won't, just yet. I loved the VodkaBird's post about housemates. When I first moved away from home I lived in the dining room of a kondo/house. I thought it would be a great experience, you know kind of like a "suffering for art" sort of thing. Well, it got old quick. Three walls and a curtian next to a kitchen didn't cut it for me, I lived like that for 6 months. It only got frustrating a couple of days a week, though it was a blessing to have a room. My housemates were no treat at the time either. One was a hardcore Mormon girl who had to pray for me for about a half hour after I said some...well...not so mormon things one morning. The other was on too many medications to name, and was pretty much the bane of my existence for a number of months...ah...so nostalgic. We all moved out but we all went to school together. We graduated and then the mormon girl went to BYU (brigham young university) in Utah this summer and she discovered it was NOT what she wanted and has sort of bloomed a little bit since then. I think the other girl just replaced her anti-depresants with pot so...whatever. It usually turns out to be all okay in the end. I had some great roomates and a great house for a year after that, so, like VodkaBird said, it could be worse. I'll say hello to the SoCal sini kids that are hanging out on friday. Sorry I couldn't be there. I'd really like to hear the new songs, does anyone have a link or an mp3 I could maybe uh...borrow? man...I'm tired. have a good one everyone. Oh and I'd also like to say that I really look forward to everyone's post. It's such a great thing going on here.... take care, tim _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: what will you do when your suntan is fading....
by Kirsten Kenyon 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

stopped at a red light, i watched as a group of schoolchildren ruthlessly harassed a poor crossing-guard just trying to do his job. there was a whole swarm of them...little girls in knee-socks tugging on his bright orange vest, boys jumping up and pulling his cap down over his eyes...and he couldn't very well fight back. he just waved his arms, slowly, so as not to injure one of the little monsters. this one attempt at maintaining his dignity only made him look all the more ridiculous, like a great orange teddybear waving mechanically from a shop window at christmastime. one especially pretty little girl seemed to be the prime instigator, standing off to the side, pointing and shouting and laughing as her shiny ponytail whipped around her face. she reminded me of a horrid little girl from elementary school, a girl called stephanie who once blamed me when it was discovered that an anonymous mittened finger had printed "stephanie is a whore" in the frost on the classroom window. i hadn't done it, but after finding the word in the dictionary during the lunch break, i secretly wished that i had. tonight it seemed that the sun, instead of sinking slowly in the west, was rudely snuffed out by a damp towel. the fog was heavy and smelled like a cold car on a winter morning. i drove through a park, and all i could see were scattered splotches of soft yellow light from the lampposts. breaking through a wave of grey, i saw a large ball of orange and purple, long blue beams floating out the windows of an old stone building the firefighters use for practice. i couldn't see the building at all. a long time ago, i sat on the little gravel path which circles that building, watching fireworks and absentmindedly braiding the tassels on the soft flannel blanket i shared with a boy i barely knew. we were seventeen, i guess. he bought me cotton candy and i didn't have the heart to tell him how i feel about cotton candy..i tried to eat it. i realized tonight that i hadn't really noticed the stone building since that night with the fireworks. i drove past slowly and stared at the fire blazing just where we had been sitting and, for a moment, i thought it was summer. the boy...i saw him at a wedding in july. for the first time in...well, three years, i guess. all the girls were talking about this gorgeous boy at the bar, so i looked. and i realized who he was...i took my glass of champagne out onto the terrace and slowly smoked a cigarette and tossed little bits of food to the flamingos and hoped he hadn't seen me. it was hopeless...he found me. he's nearly finished pre-med now, and he looks like someone on the cover of a magazine. and then there was me, pink with champagne, sitting alone with the flamingos and stomping out a cigarette with my clumsy black heel. dropped out of two universities. working in a clothing shop. passing my time by writing saccharine stories nobody will ever read. probably. he made me dance...four minutes, maybe five, spent awkwardly close to a boy who'd told everyone i'd broken his heart. when we were seventeen. i looked at the fire for a few minutes and thought about this, then i drove to the tiny church where my parents spend their sunday mornings, and i sat down at the piano. the members of the men's choir filed in lazily and called me "miss kirsten" and said things like "haven't seen you around here in awhile." i didn't know what to say to that. i waved. the director handed me some music and apologized for the short notice, and i said i thought i could manage well enough. so i played and they sang and my father's crystalline tenor never wavered, and i looked over and he was smiling at me. i guess i must have been reading the music okay. either that, or he was just happy to see me in a church. whatever the case, i sort of smiled back. i'm not as easily amused as i could be. i'm more easily baffled than i should be. strangers have called me "smiley." friends have called me "serious." i never call anyone, but once in awhile it's nice to hear the phone ring. love kirsten Care2 make the world greener! http://www.care2.com - Get your Free e-mail account that helps save Wildlife! +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: in this harvest day...
by Astrid Wiezell 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

Oh, hello sinister! I just realised that I´ve made a major mishearing on I fought in a war; I sang: Keep your head down, pal there´s trouble plenty in this harvest day i can´t see hope i can´t see light when it´s supposed to be: keep your head down, pal there´s trouble plenty in this hour, this day i can see hope i can see light. i didn´t remember what harvest meant. I thought of it as something very hard to do. Then I started hesitating, looked it up in my big fat dictionary and laughed my arse off, almost. Oh dear. With that kind of lyrics maybe the title should´ve been "Don´t fold your hands child, you walk like a peasant". Hee hee hee. Sorry, my bad humour again. I´ve began to think in sinister posts; I sometimes walk around and think "Wow, this is something I would like to describe to them so that they´d understand how beautiful things can be" and then I do something and forget about it. But it´s very strange. I always think of Little House on the Prairie when I hear the wrong girl. I do not know why. Or too much summer heat. It´s so wonderful, there´s so much love on sinister, so much nice people; so many people who are like ME, who won´t get tired if you sneak in a lot of B&S all the time. My friends are going absolutely raving mad. I only talk about music, or weird stuff. And I talk even more about B&S. I hope they don´t kill me. A girl from a swedish organisation against mobbin called Friends, at it was good. I thought of what I would od if I was alone every single break, all the time. I think I would be the kind of girl who would sit in her own quiet place, always to be seen with a book, a notebook and a freestyle. I would always listen to music. It´s the best way to shutting the rest of the world out. Believe me - I experienced it today actually. In a sort of weird way. When we had this little small lesson with half of our class (we´re divided into two small classes sort of) today, we were about eight boys and there was one other girl if you don´t count me. Anyway, we were working with whatever we wanted to, because we had time over; and the teacher starts calling my name. I do not notice, I am enjoying a funky strokes-track and stomping my feet lightly and kind of nodding with my head to the music. The teacher calls my name a couple of more times. I do not notice. All the boys starts to call my name. I do not notice. Kine, the other girl, poke at me, and I take off my earphones and say "eeeh" in a very dumb way. And the teacher LAUGHS madly at me and say that I am funny and that I have the music so loud that the others can hear it as well and that I have to turn down the volume. And I go "Oh, well, sure" and puts the tape back on. Kine told me after the lesson how many times they had tried to get my attention. Oops :) Do you KNOW what happened today?! IT SNOWED!!! YES!! SOME SNOW! I LOVE SNOW! Ah, I am so happy... it is so COSY and nice and snow is just the gratest ever. It became a bit warmer and it all became rainy and discusting instead, but still, it snowed, yay! I live just nearby a very big park, with a mountain in the middle of it. When I was smaller, I used to climb it which is very easy, and sit there, looking at the sunsets. I have som pictures of it. Maybe I´ll put them up sometime. Last winter I got so delirious that I put on my bibig earphones that I usually just use when I´m at home because they´re so ugly, and I had a hat over them, and then I dressed up warmly and I went out and the white, thick, glimmering snow, and I danced to the music, I danced like mad. I could just fall down if I wanted to, a soft fall, oh it was so lovely. I took pictures then too. I like taking pictures. But I´m always so delirious so they always turn out quite bad. But still. I have a picture of me laying in the snow, I look sulky but that was because I was so tired of smiling in every single photo. I think I´ll put it up as well. Oh, my schoolfoto will be up too. It´s phototime, yay! I am the antimobbing-pal in my class together with Anna. Not that someone ever comes and say "Well, I am getting harrassed" which is a shame because It could make a difference, but I don´t know. You go to a meeting once in a while, talk a bit, you get a free ice cream of your choise in the school cafeteria every spring. Tomorrow will be grate; since I and Anna are the one´s from our class, we don´t have to go to school tomorrow! Because the anti-mobbing organisation friends are having an all-day training for us! YAY! There´s been a lot of talk about B&S songs, and especially Judy & the dream of horses. My view on this is: Stuart sings about a girl he used to know, a girl who always would cheer him up and who always was his bestest friend, but then Judy changed and they got distant. And he tried to be like the boys that she had come to like, he was willing to try, but he wasn´t really sure he could be like them. And then, as an adult, he looks back at it and sing about it. Kind of. Oh, everyone had really good one´s. Mine is NOT good. Oh, yes, I wanted to tell you; I´ve designed a very fast-made homepage for my band!! http://brightenyeah.cjb.net brighten.cjb.net was already taken, cause we are named brighten because that´s what we want to do, so i just put in a silly little yeah. don´t forget the guestbook now. Let me just remind you again that this was something I made very quickly, so the design is not the best. altough our logo is there. yup. I have to go down lots of stairs to get down to the houses where I live. And today, and yesterday, I´ve danced along, spinned around, taking little funny steps, skipping, doing very strange little jumps right up in the air and funny wiggles with my arms to the music I´ve been listening to. Yesterday during the steps it was Le Pastie De La Borugeoisie and today it was Ooberman - Shorley Walls. I LOVE that song: It´s so gorgeous. Ah, I´m listening to If you´re feeling sinister at the moment, It´s my favourite album with B&S. I´ve started the most unnecessary collection of all time; getting all of the b&S-things on vinyl. NERDISH. I have This is just a modern rocksong and Jonathan David, I´ve seen Fold.. and I can tell you, that cinyl was MADE for me wanting it. Ah. I have to sleep now. Here are the links to the stuff I´ve been talking about: Me on this years schoolfoto (up on public demand, hahaha): http://www.angelfire.com/ego/astrid/astridschool.jpg The sunset I like to watch, the view is amazing but it´s like 50 000 times more beautiful in real life. it seems dark and cold on these pictures. oh what the hell: http://www.angelfire.com/ego/astrid/aroomwithaview.html Kärlek to you all, Astrid x P.S "in this harvest day"... isn´t there a limit for how stupid you can get? _________________________________________s_p_r_a_y_ Här börjar Internet! Skaffa gratis e-mail och gratis Internet på http://www.spray.se Ny chatt på Spray! Fartyget M/S Spray har anlänt till http://www.spray.se/ohoj +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: Losing Hope, an excerpt from a work in progress, not to mention list abuse...
by Andre Alessi 08 Nov '01

08 Nov '01

Heya folks, Cunning Andre here. I'm using my schneaky second email addy because I wanted to try something a little different. As some of you know, I'm in the middle of writing my Great New Zealand Novel, called "Losing Hope". Below is a rough draft of the first chapter, intended for your reading pleasure (or annoyance, depending on how much you dislike complex sentence structures.) Feel free to offer criticism (or insults) via email, either through this addy or my Uni one ( aale002(a)ec.auckland.ac.nz ) As for complaints that this isn't really B&S content-well, you're right, in a sense. BUT, I should point out that the narrator, while being loosely based upon myself, has been significantly informed by my listening of Tigermilk, to the point of almost _being_ Sebastian (maybe Sturan should sue for infringement? :) ) Additionally, every word has been writen to the strains of B&S, which may quite possibly account for the more whimsical, dare I say "twee", characteristics of the piece. (Apologies in advance for the crappy layout, and the lack of italics, which would make some of the sentences make a little more sense than they otherwise do.) Chapter One An absence is not a thing to share your bed with. As has often been pointed out, in crass pop songs and by the sly grins of drunkards, absences do not keep you warm at night. But there is only so much room in one bed (even a super deluxe king-size bed bought as the result of some vague, atemporal anticipation), and absences are difficult things to push away. They cling to you. And what person in their right mind would try and compete with something that isnt there for space in a bed with someone who doesnt realise that both they and the bed they sleep in are haunted by an emptiness? Well, I dont know if they were in their right minds, but this story is a seemingly misguided attempt to answer that question. (Rhetorical questions have always bugged the fuck out of me. If you ask a question, expect an answer.) Perhaps its also a kind of confession, I guess, an attempt at a peculiarly mundane redemption; but dont expect juicy revelations or cringe-inducing, self-indulgent self-examination, because (and this is a secret storytellers dont want you to know, so pay attention) its all made up. Mostly. And the bits that arent are mine to own, not yours. Every story has to be about something, and this story is about Hope. Not the idea, but the person. Well, maybe its not about her but about her absence. So maybe it is about Hope the Idea. Or maybe its not even about Hope the Idea, but about me. Or about my friends and how crazy they all are. Or about the Big Questions: Life, Love, Lust, Longing, Loss, The Meaning Of It All (I couldnt think of another L word, but All has two ls, so that counts), or Well, its about something, Im sure of it. I just dont know what. I guess well find out together. Anyways, Hope. A name portending great things. An epic name, almost. Does that make me the hero? The only hero Ive ever identified with was Odysseus, in the time before the Battle of Troy. He really was quite happy just to stay at home with Penelope and Telemachus and plough the beach, but those crazy Greeks had other ideas. Yet even when he found himself far from familiar lands, fighting for a cause he didnt much care for, all he wanted was to go home. Home. Theres another magic word. Maybe thats what this storys about. Its certainly not about the hero getting the girl (whatever that might mean.) I met Hope at the end of my teenage years. She was working as a daytime duty manager in a franchise bookstore, a dead-end job for English graduates and other oppressed minorities. I had signed on as a counterperson as a way of answering my mothers silent, nagging complacence and my own steadfast conviction that I was destined for great things someday. Id already been working there for a month before we met. The most remarkable moments of your life seldom herald themselves before the fact, yet even now, six years later, the moment I saw Hope remains burned into the interior of my skull in every minute, mundane detail: the doorway to the tiny storeroom swinging open (to the left); the light bulb inside dark and unrevealing; the white of her blouse and the black of her skirt clinically leeching the tangibility of pale skin and red hair as she stooped to pick up a box of microwave cookery books; her smile and eyes calling me to respond; the spiky presence of Doug, the store manager, to the right of the door as his voice initiated an introduction to destiny It should go without saying that when Hope and I first met, there was no spark, no chemistry. I wasnt much of a lad at that point in my life, still adjusting to the dislocation from small town New Zealand to Aucklands buzz, unsure of myself around women that hadnt seen me hairless and naked; while she was recovering from the abrupt disintegration of a quiet but stable relationship. We were workmates, often the only two staff members on during the days. Wed also work many of the public holidays together, as we both lived within easy walking distance of the store, and had no social lives. Such folk are the prey of the rosters of store managers. Our work was seldom strenuous-a suburban bookstore makes its money after five p.m., not during the day. In the fast-paced rat-race that is low-paid franchise management however, that fact brings a pressure of its own. Her superiors would often remind Hope that her shifts were not archetypal examples of efficiency and profit, and she would pass such messages on to me (and whomever else might be working) in the form of half-hearted threats and breathed vulgarities. (Perhaps now is a good time to mention that, for all Hopes delicacy in appearance and demeanour, she could and did swear like a sailor. Mostly around me, apparently, although Im sure thats just a coincidence.) The days passed slowly, as they do when youre waiting for nothing in particular. Hope was, like most in the industry, entirely uninterested in reading, meaning that for us, interacting with customers was at best a diversion from putting those little price stickers on the backs of newly-received books. And at worst? Well, the service industry would be filled with cheerful, polite, committed, creative people if not for the prevalence of a certain type of customer we like to refer to, obliquely, as the problem customer. Excuse me, Miss, but I was in here the other day, and I bought this book (displays the latest Oprahs Book Club emotional paperweight.) Yes? replies Hope, Something wrong with it? Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. You see, I asked you, and I distinctly remembered asking you, for a book that I would enjoy, and you recommended this (shakes book like a cheap Taiwanese snowglobe, waits for significance of statement to settle upon the poor serving girl.) Hope raises her right eyebrow dangerously. You didnt like it? Ermm (blushes deeply, swallows.) Im sorry, sir, but its not exactly store policy to offer refunds or exchanges after youve already read the book Look, this book has far too much sex in it! Sex everywhere! And swearing all over the place. Felt like I was reading Playboy or whatever. Hardly appropriate for a widower my age, is it? Couldnt finish the damn thing, I was so embarrassed! (rocks back and forth on heels, snorts like a horse with pepper up its nose.) Ah, I see. Well, sir, Im afraid that there really isnt anything I can do about that says Hope, fighting back a grin. You damn well better do something, missy! I paid good money for this trash, I solicited a service from you, and you misled me! I want my money back! Im sorry, sir, but thats not really an option Isnt it, now? Well, wheres your manager? Just bring your boss out here, and well see exactly what can be done about this! The store manager wont be in til tomorrow night. But hell just tell you the same thing I have Nonsense! Ive been a loyal customer of your store for three years! Never had a problem like this before. Hell sort things out. Sort you out too, missy! Whats your name? At this, Hope simply turns and walks through the Staff Only door at the back of the shop. Problem Customer, walking stick and counter preventing pursuit, turns to me. Whats her name? Umm, not sure, let me think Dont give me that! Whats her name? She needs to be taken down a peg! Reported, thats what. Sorry, Ive only just started here. Dont know her name yet. Really? Well, whats your name then? Salvatore. Sal. Sal DellVecchio. Sal. Hmph. Figures. Bloody wogs and women ruining things...well, Sal, just you tell that little missy that I fully intend to report this to her boss! Get her fired! Just what she deserves. And wouldnt be surprised if you get a right talking-to from your boss as well! Dont know her name! Hmph. (wanders off out the door, still muttering.) You okay? Hes gone? Yeah, Im okay. Prick. Arseholes like that get on my wick, too. You did the right thing, walking away. Dougll say the same thing when he calls back. If he calls back, which I doubt. Shit. He sounded like he really was going to make a complaint? I dont think itll happen. Whats he going to say? That you wouldnt refund a dirty old mans money after hed gotten his rocks off? Hopes laugh is the first thing you really notice about her. Before she laughs, she seems somehow ephemeral, forgettable. But as soon as you hear that tinkle of silver bells, she suddenly bursts into your awareness, like sunshine through a cloudwrack. Thats probably right. Bastard couldnt keep his eyes off me. I didnt give him your name, anyway. Gave him mine, though. Wasnt thinking. I dont think itll matter. Like you say, Dougs probably going to be on my side with this. But its just one more thing to hold over my head at the next meeting. Fuck. I hate this shit. I really, really do. So, when did I fall for Hope? Honestly, even now, I dont know. I know that she was, and remains, a very beautiful woman. That she was petite helped matters (I have always had a thing for tiny women), as did her air of mischievous, elegant otherworldliness that bespoke of nothing so much as a slightly randy pixie. Rather predictably, perhaps, I dubbed her Tinkerbell in response to her (presumably pejorative) nickname for me, Peter Pan; and to me, Tinkerbell she remains. I do remember a day, sometime between Christmas and New Years, a day of no particular significance in itself, when golden sunlight slanted down through a dirty window housing a promo for the latest Barbara Cartland to set her aflame (Hope, that is, not Barbara Cartland), for what seemed like a thousand years, but was probably more like thirteen seconds, as she stretched up to tear down some green tinsel from the display; moving briskly, her burning hair tied up; eyes the colour of the late afternoon sky narrowing upon her goal; lips pouting slightly in determination; skin glowing like molten silver; the susurrus of the traffic outside lilting like a choir of angels; breath catching fire in my lungs; the world around her gradually fading to an inconsequentiality, leaving me ever more distant from her; and the strange, inescapable intuition that I was in way over my head. In what? In love? No. Not then. Not yet. On a night about three weeks later, I couldnt sleep, and I wasnt sure why. Id been avoiding caffeine and sugar all week (Im excitable at the best of times, but add stimulants to the mix and I start terrifying small children with excessive pupil dilation), yet I felt as though Id just mainlined half a kilo of arabica. At this time, Max TV was still subverting Aucklands musical tastes, so I flicked on the idiot box, hoping for a chance to indulge in what is perhaps my only unforgivable vice: DIY-karaoke. I like to think that Im a fairly rational, sceptical person. Many of my friends consider me almost too rational. But I have a few odd beliefs, and one of them is that, every now and again, when you least expect it, something will happen to you that is both entirely coincidental and profoundly meaningful. I dont know if we just construct the meaning of these events out of thin air, or if there really is some sort of order and purpose to what happens at times like these. What I do know is that many of us, myself included, perceive these omens in the world around us, and make life-changing decisions based upon them. Its hard to talk about these things without sounding like an utter fruitcake. What makes it even worse is that the particular omen I feel I witnessed that night seems sopop-cultural, so postmodern. Two songs by New Zealand artists I was particularly fond of at the time played, one after the other. First Prove You Wrong by Second Child, then Bic Rungas Bursting Through, both songs about needing someone who wasnt there, and being dazzled by the beauty of the things that that made you feel. Tacky? Tawdry? Mundane? Yup, all that and more. Specifically, the more was a realisation that the way I felt about Hope wasnt just a transitory attraction, but something I wanted to pursue. When I say pursue, I dont mean stalk. Whatever it was I was feeling, it was less about Hope than it was about the feelings she stirred within me, at least at first. We often think back to our young adulthood as a time of obsessional desires with random individuals. What we forget is that it is also the time we first learn of the extraordinary pleasure that comes from simply feeling something, anything. To be suddenly aware of the ability to experience an emotion so overwhelming it threatens your very sense of identity is one of those rare moments you can pinpoint in your past to say, I grew up a little that day. To learn that you might want to feel so strongly about another person is a surprise in itself. And no one was as surprised as me-there I was, a twenty-year-old university dropout, still living at home, faced abruptly with the realisation that my life would never be the same again, and that I would never want it to be. What to do in such a situation? How to respond to the emotional equivalent of the Kraken, rising unbidden from the deeps of my soul? Such a dark and doubtful presentiment of longing carries with it its own demand for action, for one to do what must be done, regardless the consequences. Only one thing to do, of course. I wrote her a hopeless, desperate letter demanding her acquiescence to the demons of my need, which I then slipped to her in a plain brown envelope, on the pretext that it was a late Christmas card. Right-o, that's all, Cunning Andre ________________________________ Irony is killing our generation. Freaky kitties do my head in: http://www.konstructiv.net/kitty_02.html _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. 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