November 2002 - Sinister

Sinister: The Void
by The Space Shed 07 Nov '02

07 Nov '02

Space... Big, isn't it? The earth is several miles below. It seems unreal to look at it in such a manner. It looks quiet, and innocuous enough, from this distance. It looks like a pleasant place to live. I don't miss it. It isn't my home any more. I should say something Holy....'Truly, the glory of creation shines through as I witness the work of our Lord all around me'.. Something like that. But, the truth is, it is no more apparent up here than it was down there. The emptiness clears my mind. The void hints at hidden truths. But I've had enough of hints of Truth. Either give me the real thing or leave me alone. Hello, and welcome, my lambs of Divinity, My name is Sister Janice, and I have given my life to Jesus. That is, I had given my life to Jesus. Now, I suppose, I have it back. I wish I knew what to do with it.. The space-ship doesn't have a control panel. I have never been a scientist. Nuns generally aren't. People tell me science and faith don't necessarily go together. They don't understand that science is simply one more faith. But, it remains the truth that nuns are not scientists. And they're also crap at building space-ships. There is only one way to return to Earth. I switch off the fuel, and prepare for a crash-landing. And I pray to someone I once thought I knew all the way back to the planet. ---------------- Somewhere I can hear someone crying. I don't think it is me. The shed door swings open, its hinges broken, and I have no choice but to step out into the chaos before me. The street is lined with traffic, ambulances mostly. Further up the road, I can see lights blinking in the gathering darkness. People gather around them.. shouting, crying or just walking around, looking helpless. A woman rushes up to me, grabs my shoulder, and collapses onto me, sobbing. She allows words to flow from her mouth, fast and incoherent.. an Australian accent. I say nothing. She doesn't need someone to listen, not yet. She just needs to talk. I stroke her hair, and try to offer her comfort, but I know it is useless. I am beginning to realise where I am. A holiday island. Somewhere people came to escape the misery of their everyday lives. Somewhere people came to find something, something better than the reality they have had thrust upon them. Instead, a different reality was presented to them. One that cannot be escaped from by aeroplane. There is something of a crowd around me. An old man is shouting at me 'calls himself a GOD, claims to care...how could he allow this to happen?' I don't answer him. There isn't an answer. It is people with all the answers who commit such acts of destruction. I let him shout. He needs someone to blame. One by one, they drift away. Realising that I'm no use in this situation, they look for somebody else who is. They're looking in the wrong place. They won't find that person in a habit. They won't find it in another person at all, if they can't find it in themselves. I wish I could tell them how to do that, but, after all these years, I'm still looking. Back to the shed. I flick a few switches and hope for the best. Before long, I'm in the air. Into space. Into nothingness. Where I don't have to answer, or ask, difficult questions. At least, not until I'm ready. Perhaps I should pray. I kneel, and close my eyes, but there's nothing to say. The void is huge. It hints at hidden truths. It is cold up here. Sister Janice +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: ~ is a very specific word, actu-wah-leeeeeee
by Hewitt, Stephen 07 Nov '02

07 Nov '02

ian said: ~~~blah~~blah~~~up the bum~~~etc but kiddywinks, sinister already has a use for the ~, look: http://www.missprint.org/sinister/mhonarc/199802/msg00295.html to go round ~ing all over the place is asking for trouble, you may stir the sleeping ghosts of tag and N. and possibly even NORTHY HIMSELF!!! (it's called a tilde you know, although searching the archive for "northy snake" brings up five times as many references as searching for tilde) nice to see the list picking up a bit, i think several ppl had been holding their virtual breath until the tr*as*re h*nt clues were released :) i don't have much more else to say i don't think, i've been listening to TWATTYBUS a bit recently (EYFITS particularly), cos i was walking home and saw orion t'other nite (NB in the sky, not walking down the street or owt). DV was banging on abt the chalets (for a change), he said: on November 9th there is an afternoon gig somewhere and then that evening they play popular club Strange Fruit i'm assuming the afternoon gig will be at Notting Hill Art Club (ah Troy, how i miss you (NBB Troy is their cheap turkish lager, not a hunky barman or anything, no, really)). I'm going to see the turner prize on saturday though, so i guess i'll miss this, although i'm almost certainly going along to strange fruit. Also mrs carsmile thinks ken only arranges bowling for sundays cos he knows she can't go cos he is worried that she'll turn her <ahem> miraculous technique (oh god, what a dreadful attempt at content) into actually being able to aim and everything as well and thus whup his sorry little ass (and it is small ladies). also mrs carsmile bought some t-shirts last nite that were allegedly for age 6-7, but which fit her, good thing she's called meg and not jean really... La Kaiser said: I might have to resurrect my trumpet fnar, snork, guffaw etc... he also said: Sinister needs its new blood. There may even be some peanut butter in it for you... which i'm hoping isn't a euphemism for anything. if it is Mark, i think you'd better see a doctor... I suppose peanut butter is quite salty and sticks to the roof of your mouth though... ...oh, and full of protein. well, i don't think i can top that ;) xoxo CarsmileSteve **************************************************************************** For the latest City Lit news & information, please visit our website www.citylit.ac.uk **************************************************************************** The City Literary Institute Registered Office: 16 Stukeley Street, London WC2B 5LJ Registered in England no: 2471686 Registered Charity no: 803007 *************************************************** PRIVACY AND CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE. *************************************************** This e-mail may contain privileged or confidential information. The message and any files transmitted with it are intended only for the use of the recipient or organisation to whom it is addressed. If you are not the intended recipient, no action may be taken on the information nor may it be copied or shown to a third party and you are asked to notify the sender named above. Views expressed in this message are those of the individual sender, except where specifically stated to be the views of The City Literary Institute. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: ~ is the word
by ian 07 Nov '02

07 Nov '02

~ is the word its the ~ that you heard its got ~ its got meaning ~ is the time is the ~ is the motion ~ is the way we are feeling hello my fluffy bunnies of rage. i hope you are well. in fact, i hope you are better than well. i hope you are ~ you look confused, i'll explain. this morning, i got a letter from texas. my hands trembled slightly as i opened it, because i knew who it would be from. i've been in sporadic contact with the polyphonic spree* for some time now, i've written them stories, sent them my songs and my musings on life, shared jokes with them and they have, on occasion, written back. the last letter wasn't very positive, but i KNEW this was the one...the one.. they want me in their band, they do.. 'Dear Ian, Whilst it may appear that we are peace-loving, white-robed hippy cultist gorgeous lovely happy people, you should bear in mind that we are also Texans. We know people with VERY BIG GUNS. If you don't leave us alone, they'll SHOOT YOU Best Wishes The Polyphonic Spree p.s. you're nearly 30 now, its time you learnt to use capital letters' oh. i wasn't expecting that. i put the letter down, made myself the usual morning brew (white spirit with just a spot of milk - no sugar, i'm careful about what i put in my body) and pondered who i knew with BIG GUNS who i could send out to avenge myself. how could they? how COULD they say such a thing?? nearly 30? i'm.... as old as my tongue and slightly older than my teeth. and that's as old as i'll stay. and...capital LETTERS??!?!?!?!?!! my list of friends with nasty weapons:- 1. archel playforth - problems: not so much a 'friend'.. more of a sworn adversary. but i HAVE heard her talking about her 'buzzing bazooka'. that said, she's probably at some all-week s&m party right now, and she might not help me anyway 2. saddam hussein - problems: kind of busy at the moment. and i don't ACTUALLY know him. but if i tell him i voted for him he'll probably believe me. lots of people did, i hear.. 3. the little boy across the road that throws fireworks - problems: he might throw one at me. saddam hussein it was, then. but he's very difficult to get hold of right now. i tried to talk to his chums, but they kept saying things about infidelity and hanging up on me. i sat there, staring out of the window. (it wasn't raining, marianna, but there was a bit of dew on the ground) and i realised there was nobody i could turn to. it is said that all the great mystics have to endure a dark night of the soul. st john of the cross; teresa of avilla (or somewhere similar); julian of norwich; sylvia of peterborough... all of them suffered great agonies before The Truth was revealed. bloody ancients. always so melodramatic. i made do with a grumpyface over a cup of tea and i thought of my PLAN. sinisterines... we shall form my...er that is ..our own CULT. i have seen the light and the light is ~ consider the ~ i bet you never have. look closely at what is before you. no, put that away and look at the keyboard.. what was it shakespeare said? :' there are many things in earth and heaven, horatio, which aren't quite what we think they might be. some of them are ~ ' sheer poetry..** the ~ . it sits, quietly, in the back of our minds. we all know the ~ exists, but how many of us have ever taken the time to consider it? i mean, really, really consider it, and its inherent possibilities? does this time of year, or any time of year, make you feel strange? (i KNOW it does..) do you sometimes feel a sense of dissatisfaction, without really knowing why? (i KNOW you do) do your sex toys always break before you've had them very long? (mr casarotto, this one's mostly for you..) it is because your ~ is imbalanced. you're smiling. you don't think you have any ~ . but have you ever looked within? still your mind for a second. no words, no thoughts. you can stop them coming in if you try hard enough. hold just one thing in your mind. the ~. feel the ~ flow through you, imparting its ~ishness all around your body as it goes. feel the ~ from your head to your toes. feel the ~ flow out of your nose. and back in again, of course. how did it feel? are you at one with the ~? do you feel a sense of peace? practice this once a day, my friends, and you will know The Truth. you will never need music, or drugs, or sex, again. although when we're a proper CULT we may as well indulge in them, because they'll probably make our experience of the ~ even more profound. and we will write our own music. and we will be great. and the message of ~ will flow around the world. for the moment, though, you can just send money. to: the ~foundation, selly oak, birmingham. it'll get here. i've bribed the postman. love and ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ian * if you don't know who the polyphonic spree are, go here: http://www.thepolyphonicspree.com/main.html ** the passage about ~~ in shakespeare's much overlooked work 'that hamlet, and how he couldn't make up his mind' was removed by many early editors who, under the fist of whatever religion prevailed at the time, were prevented from revealing the inner secrets of this great man's work. this absence is now beginning to be recognised, and modern audiences will soon be able to gain a whole new insight into areas of old will's plays that were denied their predecessors. maybe +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: In My Dreams
by Madeleine McNeil 07 Nov '02

07 Nov '02

Greetings, Sinister Kids. My, hasn't it been busy of late? Goodness knows what those naughty boys and girls in #sinister have been cooking up. Pigz and Archel were talking about undies (one of the most used sentences ever, I think). And hooray for patterned tights. I had a pair once, but I covered them in fag burns, as I seem to do with every pair of tights I own. Some girls can pull this off in a kind of "Oh, goodness me! I'm so ditzy yet cute and the fact that my clothes are all moth eaten and fag burnt only serves to enhance how beautiful I am" way. I only manage a "Jesus, you're tights have got holes in them. Are you going out like that?" And yes, I am enigmatic when it comes to underwear. Except that time when I showed my red pants at Red Knicker Day to prove I wasn't cheating. Oh, and that time when I was at a party and my skirt slid down to reveal my undies. Oh, and that time yesterday when I'd been wandering around at work for about an hour before I realised my zip was undone. Except for all those times, and doubtless many others, my pants are a state secret. Recently, I have been behaving in a very grown up way (except Saturday night, but that doesn't count, surely?), what with studying and bookshopgirlism and a Committed Grown Up Relationship. Last night I went to visit my girl in her new flat. It's really nice if you like lying in the dark (no lamp in bedroom) or sitting on the floor (no sofa). She had some plan to hang something on the door and I was forced, in my most Joyce Grenville voice to say "Yes, dear, and last time you hand an idea like that, the door fell on your head". I found this far more amusing than I should have. Then I remembered watching The Empire Strikes Back on Tuesday and asking her "So, is the Emperor in charge of Darth Vader then?" and she replied "Yeah, he's like Darth's line manager". So, I got the giggles and was exciled to the fire escape. Good thing I was dressed in my towelling robe and turban, and had remembered my little guitar. After a few rousing verses of 'Moon River', I lit a cigarette and looked out over the glorious city scape of Leicester. My mind wondered. And wandered. And as I drifted off into my Audrey Hepburn induced reverie, I felt a burning sensation on my knee. I looked down. Holy fuck! I've set fire to my bath robe! I leapt up, cursing, dropping cigarette and ash and glowing embers. I heard a voice, "Well, you're a complete fuckwit, aren't you?" "What? Eh?" I looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, "Who said that?" "Me, you dippy tart". And the pain in the arse that in the poetry parrot came to rest on the railings beside me. "You! But... you were here last year and I sent you away. I sent you to Australia to get rid of you!" "Yeah, and now I'm back. I've been watching you for a while. Audrey Hepburn my arse. You look more like Alma Hippo. And why are you hardly dressed, with wet hair, out on a night like this? You'll catch your death!" "But WHY are you back?" "Oh, you must always ask questions, mustn't you? I went to see Stout Robin and the fucker buried me!" "Goodness", I replied "But he always seemed like such a nice boy" "Yeah... but it's all a facade. He's a parrot-slaying freak, if you ask me.... And then I wanted to eat his brains, but he wouldnt let me. Yes, selfish, I know. So he sent me here. Said I should eat your brains instead" The parrot peered into my ear, pecking at my hair and pulling it, just to upset me. He squawked. Very loudly. "Fuck me! Not only is that Stout a fiend to parrots everywhere, he's also a liar! Your brains are full of red shoes and gin. Ooh, and you're thinking about smooching..." "Get out of there!" I swiped the little fucker but he only squawked his laughter and perched back on the railing. Le harrumph. Who does he think he is? But now I've got him here, maybe he can be of some use. "So, parrot, you old bastard. I'm taking a course on poetry at uni. What do you think of the aesthetic/didactic argument? Is the purpose of poetry really to teach and delight like what Sidney said?" "Shut the fuck up and find me some whiskey" So, off I went in to the kitchen. And I thought of this: In My Dreams by Stevie Smith In my dreams I am always saying goodbye and riding away, Whither and why I know not nor do I care. And the parting is sweet and the parting over is sweeter, And sweetest of all is the night and the rushing air. In my dreams they are always waving their hands and saying goodbye, And they give me the stirrup cup and I smile as I drink, I am glad the journey is set, I am glad I am going, I am glad, I am glad, that my friends don't know what I think. I placed the bottle of whisky on the fire escape and slammed the door. I could hear the parrot squawking and fussing outside the door. "You can't stay here!" I shouted "Go and visit Liz Daplyn. She's nicer than me. Don't eat her brains, but if you play your cards right, she might rustle you up some lemon cake" And with that, the most offensive parrot in the world... EVER (TM) vanished into the night. Madeleine xxx _________________________________________________________________ MSN 8 helps eliminate e-mail viruses. Get 2 months FREE*. http://join.msn.com/?page=features/virus +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: Quoth the Parrot, "Nevermore!"
by robin stout 07 Nov '02

07 Nov '02

One of the best things about a train journey is that, as you totter slowly along like a poodle on a dog track, you get to see the holey fences, knotted washing lines, crooked sheds and chintz curtains of Modern British Suburbia. Even better, at this time of year, if youre lucky youll get to see a procession of Tesco, Sainsbury and Asdas finest amateur fireworks displays. At one point on my journey home I felt as if I was a passenger on the train from Back to the Future, and the firework lights were bubbles of space glue as the sky melted around us and our line branched into a wormhole. Of course, if that had been true Id have arrived home on time, instead of having to trudge home in the cold and wet, gloves and hat, at a quarter to bedtime. When I was young dad would nail a Catherine wheel to the side of the rabbit hutch and give us our own little fireworks display. Even when it was in full whirl and the rabbits were jumping about with red, yellow and pink sparks reflected in their trembling eyes, I was looking over the fence at the neighbours display, which had rockets and bangers, golden fountains and roman candles. The neighbours always have a better display than you do thats the law until youre thirteen and can buy fireworks of your own and EXACT YOUR REVENGE.* So on one hand I was lucky, walking home all by myself, because I could see all the neighbours displays at once. I was thinking this to myself as I walked up the hill towards my house when a very noisy firework indeed fell at my feet. The blackened husk lay twitching for a bit and for some reason, instead of going home to put the kettle on, I bent down to have a look at the brightly coloured label that could still just be made out on the battered blob. I looked closer. It wasnt a label at all. In fact, it seemed to be a feather. The firework turned over and looked me in the eye. Squawk it said. Poetry Parrot is that you? The parrot, for it was he, painfully gave a little nod. Squawk it said. But, what happened to you? Are you okay? The parrot painfully shook his little head, and his one remaining feather fell to the ground. Squ... he said. And then he dropped dead. +++ As I dug a parrot sized hole in the back garden, alongside my vegetable patch, I began to think how it was funny that our rabbits always seemed to pop their furry clogs at this time of year too. Must be the weather or something. +++ A mouth full of toast, I opened the letter without getting too much butter on it and moved into the sunlight. It was from Lucy Alder and it ended something like this: ======================= And then I sent him on his way, with instructions to visit... *Mr Robin Stout* ...because Im reasonably sure that hell look after the Parrot and keep him alive WONT YOU? ========================== My toast became as tasty as yesterdays socks. All that responsibility and what had happened? The famous Poetry Parrot was taking composting lessons from the worms in my back garden. Well, its not like it was my fault, though, was it?? I felt a little guilty and walked out to the little mound of soil. At least he had gone to a better place. I was reminded of a poem: For an old wizard - by John Hegley your boy brought me to you in the hot Welsh hills I had lost a love and thought Id not recover soon after my arrival you dished me up a plate heaped to stupidity with mashed potato and all I thought of was her the next morning you got us up at eight (youd let us lie in til late) and you made us spade out potatoes until that baking days close until all I thought of was potatoes As I whispered the last words the very spuds underneath my feet began to a-quiver and a-tremble. I looked down at my feet. I blinked. There was the Poetry Parrot, shaking soil out of his shiny, colourful feathers and looking at me with an enigmatic smile a tricky job for a parrot at the best of times, even more so when hes just climbed from an early grave. Oi, fuckface! What did you go and bury me there for, eh? Down in the jungle next to the carcass of a dishy young toucan, thats the place for me, not in some stinking vegetable patch in your cocking yard next to your cunting potatoes! Oh, I replied, a little hurt. I thought that, well, seeing as you were dead... Sorry about that, by the way... Eh, whats that ya big bastard? cursed the parrot as he dusted off his gleaming plumage. Sorry, you know, for burying you when you werent dead. Werent dead? Oh no, I was dead alright, good and proper, you could have stuffed a pillow with me feathers and I wouldnt have even chirped. So how come...? How come Im as handsome and gorgeous as ever?? Well, you reading that godawful poem must have shaken up some strange spirits. Theres a lot around at this time of year, you know. And so, the forces of evil being what they are, they decided that as punishment for you for that stupid verse, theyd turn me into a zombie parrot, he said, fixing me with a yellow bloodshot eye. So bend down a bit, would you, so I can eat your brains out. What?? Eat my brains out? Yeah, sausage head. Thats me job, you know. No offence. No offence?! Ive done you a favour, you stinking bird. You should be grateful! Now, shake your feathers then beat it. Fly to Leicester and to Maddie. Im sure her brains are tasty, if theyre anything like the rest of her. Oh I suppose so, said the Parrot. Your brains arent up to much anyway mate. Probably taste like rhubarb. Im off to find some brains full of juicy thoughts. Toodle pip. Then with a hop and a flap he was off, flying over the charred fences, sooty washing lines, burnt sheds and melted curtains of Modern British Suburbia. So, sorry Maddie, theres a zombie parrot on the loose and he wants your brains. But I think a good poem would do just as well... Robin x *erm, don't do this kids! _________________________________________________________________ MSN 8 with e-mail virus protection service: 2 months FREE* http://join.msn.com/?page=features/virus +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: Royal Recognition?
by Dean Gillon 07 Nov '02

07 Nov '02

You know when queenie warned about mysterious, sinister forces? Well... do you think.....oh never mind. Dean XX __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Everything you'll ever need on one web page from News and Sport to Email and Music Charts http://uk.my.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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: name me one thing you can't improve by covering it in melted cheese
by David Hewitt 07 Nov '02

07 Nov '02

Gday Sinister. Sometimes I worry about you lot. Rachel Sunnyset is trying to clean fish while theyre still alive and flopping about the kitchen, and Miss Marianna is leaning her head back and drinking the rain... in London?! Ive seen that rain, and I wouldnt go out in it without a radiation suit. While you lot are all enjoying the autumnal delights that the Northern hemisphere has to offer at this time of year, down here at the antipodes, were still wading through spring. And really, its not that bad. Theres a bit more sneezing, and the leaves arent as pretty, but at the moment its rather pleasant. Actually, come to think of it, there seem to be a few more Australians kicking about the list than there used to be maybe we should resurrect the idea of a picnic or get-together of some sort. Meet you at Ayers Rock at lunchtime, then? Grand. Oh, sorry, that should be Uluru. My bad. Seriously, though, Ive met a fair few of you now, but never on home soil. Ive moved to Melbourne (from Adelaide, but the long way around, via New York), and Ive even managed to drag an unsuspecting Sinistar back with me. Back when this was discussed some time ago, we were all too spread out for it to be feasible. And then everyone (myself included) buggered off somewhere else for a while. But if anyone fancies a picnic and/or a hearty display of pintsmanship at some indeterminate place and time, please drop me a line. Plus, if any of you lot from overseas (particularly the ones whove been so welcoming to me when Ive darkened your respective doorsteps) happen to be heading down under, you know who youre coming to see. Oh, and after youve seen them, you really should pay me a visit too. Thats it, actually. Oh, and dont bother with the new Apples in Stereo record. Its bloody awful. Bulk love, -Vanilla Flavoured David. PS: This isnt directed at anyone in particular, but Ive tried to read things that arent in paragraphs, and it hurts my brain. So, from now on, I cant be fucked trying. Sorry. _________________________________________________________________ MSN 8 helps eliminate e-mail viruses. Get 2 months FREE*. http://join.msn.com/?page=features/virus +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: Ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba ba BABY! Love is stronger than THUNDER!
by Miss Marianna Longmire 06 Nov '02

06 Nov '02

Drums. Did I ever tell you when, growing up on a farm, our creek would often overflow during a torrential downpour and my brother, sister and I used to go DIY white-water rafting down it on pool floaties? No? Oh. It was dangerous. And so, SO much fun. So, despite the occasional hankering for the warm delights of home, living in Blighty is a continual stream of joy due to the almost continual stream of nature's love juice and the fun you can have with it. There are, of course, the usual delights associated with rain - splashing in puddles, standing still with your head tilted back, mouth open drinking fresh rainwater, staying in and snuggling. but personally, the BEST thing about rain, is the way it inspires pop artists and more importantly, pop video directors. Of course, I'm not talking about those clichéd video clip shots of an artist looking all melancholy out a window whilst the rain beats down outside, beating in a way that reminds them of the time their heart beat that fast, mocking the "my heart's been attacked by a cheese grater, then dipped in molasses and fed to the horses by, sigh, THE ONE" pain that they feel now. Isn't it sad? Doesn't she look pretty singing her song, despite being the hollow shell of the girl she was before. Isn't she /such/ a tortured artist therefore making her inane lyrics seem mildly profound? Incidentally, are artists actually tortured or indeed starving these days? All the ones I come into contact with who are STRUGGLING ARTISTS (copy write) still manage to pay £800/month rent for a room on Old St. I like them. Rather, I like making amusing comments about their hair cuts under my breath as we air kiss. NO! I'm talking about sexy rain. The kind of rain in film clips that provides teenage boys with one handed pleasure after viewing (Sabrina's Boys, Boys, Boys - oh, but she's in a pool. But it's water [which comes from the sky - gosh!] so close enough.) The kind of rain that makes young girls want to BE in the film clips with the singers. Case in point, Ash's "Goldfinger". Mark Hamilton vigorously makes out with a girl whilst the rain is, raining, all over them. It's totally lustastic and makes me giddy with delight. As does Take That's "Relight My Fire" where, for the first time ever I briefly toyed with the idea of moving my allegiance from Mark over to Jason Orange. Simply 'cos he was getting' all wet with a girl in the shower. He looked good. Which was as surprising as it was sexy. That is, a little. I wish Belle and Sebastian would make film clips in the rain. WET T-SHIRTS, yo! Lyrically, rain has inspired some of the greats to pen a ditty or four. Can you say, "It's Raining Men"; "The Raining King and Queen"; "Here comes the RAINdeer section - Anthem of a sodden youth" and; "I'm gonna come down like a thunderbolt on yo' ass, showering you with slammin disses while you talk to muh HAND soggy boy!" My own personal favourite is, of course, Milli Vanilli's "Blame it on the Rain". Their follow up single "Don't forget my number" is pretty great too. I remember that well from earlier this evening when I watched it on my Smash Hits Party 89 video tape. There's a plot and everything! Rob (or Fab) is a playa and gets the number of a hottie. He then goes home and tries to call her, but as he does, Fab (or Rob) walks in and the note (with number) flies out the window. Cue a mad and often hilarious romp around London IN THE RAIN to find the digits. Oh, and they're sporting Lycra bike pants, thumbing their noses and have choreographed dance/jumping about like loons moves. Aren't they great? I like my men the way I like my Milli Vanilli: stylish, crazy dancing buffoons whose words belong to someone else. Gosh. In fact. Realisation. I like myself the way I like my Milli Vanilli too. Making out in the rain and not caring that it's ruining her coiffure, Miss Marianna Longmire xXx +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: saturday night's alright for television
by s. lord 06 Nov '02

06 Nov '02

it was a long weekend - long enough to take till tuesday to feel fully recovered - even though there are still shockwaves of discontent flying around - i feel genuinly good about myself and how things went - i had a friend come down to visit me - and that in itself is usually a chore - it is not that she is a bad person or anything - it is just that she makes bad choices - and she has gotten into a way of asking people what to do before she does anything - i lived with this girl for a year of her life - i left the situation feeling about 45 - and that i had just reared a 6 year old child for a year - it was time consuming and when you didn't have time it was a problem - she would kick and scream and throw tantrums often - if things didn't go her way she would break down completely and cry for hours - so when i left that situation i rediscovered my life - that was a fantastic time - so it must be known that she is also a lovely girl - just a bit messed in the head - so she was coming down from minneapolis with a friend to go to a party with me on saturday - everything was good for the most part - on friday we got drunk on my porch listening to 'boy with the arab strap' - lovely album - but it is not quite fall music - so we mixed it up with the white stripes and everything was fine - on saturday we spent all day nursing hangovers and getting ready for the party that night - the party was sort of a belated halloween costume party - we couldn't go out on halloween because most people had work in the morning - but the weekend we decided was good enough - so we got dressed for the party - the party was dubbed white trash and one had to wear something white trash like to gain admittance - funny mostly everyone wore something from the 80's - a black sequin and pink taffeta bridesmaids dress - a lemon yellow wedding dress that looked early 80's with a huge bow right on the ass - and i myself had a lovely peach and baby blue plaid suit - once at the party we danced to really bad 80's music and disco - everything was going well - people were happy and there was much merriment - but sometime during the night everything started to unravel - it came to my knowledge that the girl i came with was missing - after sevral failed attempts to get me to dance she suddenly disappeared - so i stared to look for her around the house - she was eventually found crying under the deck outside - and it was not my fault either - she said everyone was ignoring her - and she was pretty drunk - shortly after that incident my friends boyfriend was then found in the laundry room with another boy - oh dear things are getting exciting - aparently he was keeping that boy away from another boy who aparently wanted him - ? - and to top off the evening - someone stole all the hosts perfume out of her bathroom cupboard - that was very low of the person who did that - we were all pretty shocked about that - i still do not know who nor have a clue what type of person goes to parties looking to pick up a few new fragrences - oh well i believe it shall remain a mystery - - the rest of the night was spent tending to the boy crying in the bedroom - the girl crying about perfume - the girl angry she was being ignored - and the boy angry cause he was caught - thank god someone showed up late and drove us all home - ----------------------------------------------------------------- - interesting i was speaking with a friend of mine last night and she commented on how the evening seemed to fly by - the first three hours went very quickly - but once everything fell apart time just stopped - it was quite true the more i thought about it - everything did get much slower after te first problem arose - i can still remember the girl running up the stairs in slow motion - eyeliner coursing down her cheeks murmuring - 'ralph lauren, where did you go' - although most of that would be the liquor talking i am sure - but oh well - so it goes - i think that will be the last party that i will be going to in a long while - suddenly sitting at home and watching television on a saturday night does not seem so bad - _________________________________________________________________ Add photos to your messages with MSN 8. Get 2 months FREE*. http://join.msn.com/?page=features/featuredemail +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: seven years of river walkways
by Sunny set 06 Nov '02

06 Nov '02

Before the his idea occurred to him, Stuart David fished the Leven for seven years I have no idea what the Leven is like (I suppose it must have a lot of fish for a person to stand fishing for that length of time) but having just returned from a walk with my dog, belle, by a river I doubt it could be that bad to stand by a river for that long. Im not sure I would really like to catch any fish mind you. They tend to be fairly slimy horrible creatures. I remember being violently sick when I tried to clean a trout myself. So slimy! When it escaped from my hands and flew across the kitchen that was the last straw. Not that I have anything against eating fish (yes Im a hypercrit) Although Ill admit that, that time in Portugal when I went to a restaurant that served a million courses of fish all for one price, which wasnt at all slimy, I was quite sick the next day. (Nothing to do with the jugs of wine they served with it) But Getting back to the topic. Im sure Stuart David must have quite enjoyed standing fishing. Why else would he do it for seven years? It wasnt his job or anything look: work is a curseStuart David visionary poet cursed it before trying it And as I think I have just explained there is only so much fish a person can eat before becoming illso why? The river where belle and I went today was peaceful and chaotic all at once. We didnt go down to the water today so Im not sure if there were even any fish in it. Once we leant over the bridge and looked over at the fast moving brown water. No one disturbed us and the only sounds were that of the roaring current and a few birds oh and belle whining because we were standing still. Im sure I could stand there for seven years looking out at the rocks. Watching the trees change colour and the river rise and fall as seasons changed. Imagining the length of time that the river had been there carving great channels in the surrounding rock. I could even accidentally forget to put a hook on my fishing line just to make sure I didnt catch any fish The fish may even get to know me after a while. Im not sure if fish are very affectionate but Im sure they would appreciate the fact that I was standing there day after day feeding them maggots then again perhaps the fish might prefer bread. Maggots are fairly unpleasant too. I think all in all Stuart David had his head screwed on. I might decided to fish my local river for a while You never know if I wait long enough I might just manage to hear the sweet voice of Stevie Jackson coming over the reeds. Take Care Rachel ************* With the current crop of disposable jaw lines and manufactured inanity, it seems that we need our heroes now more than ever before. http://www.friendsoftheheroes.co.uk ***************** _________________________________________________________________ Add photos to your messages with MSN 8. Get 2 months FREE*. http://join.msn.com/?page=features/featuredemail +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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