December 2002 - Sinister

Sinister: X0
by Kieran Devaney 10 Dec '02

10 Dec '02

Dear Sinister, I write now as one compelled to do so - not by inspiration or anything equally crude or vulgar, but more by a sense of internal guilt which is probably more proof of my neurosis than anything to actually be guilty about, but nonetheless. Its two twenty in the morning (why do I say that with some semblance of pride, as if me writing now is proof of my mettle or something) and tiredness plus a slight head cold has melded everything together into a kind of sensory miasma, so I hope youll excuse any (or more than usual) ramblings and non-sequiturs. But what, I hear yon reader gasp, has so drawn me from my bed well past the witching hour? Well. I was going over it in my mind and I thought that in the little story I told about being on the bus a few years ago I made the man who had a go at me and my mates at the time to be a bit of a villain of the piece, which wasnt quite my intention. See, I sympathise, I deeply sympathise with his feelings really. I know how aggravating getting the bus can be, how pointlessly aggravating too. It kind of got me down last year especially, all the little annoyances there on offer every day so that sometimes you so did want to just shout at someone, just vent. But at the same time youre critically aware of the pettiness, the insignificance of those annoyances, you know that theyll be forgotten once you reach wherever it is youre going perhaps only to be replaced with a new set of niggling irritations, but still. I was aware of it at the time, and aware of the futility of what he was saying because, like I said before, nobody really cared at all. In fact this man, trying to make a scene, to gain some support even was just another annoyance, another thing in the way slowing us down. Oh do shut up etc. So I sort of felt for him even then because it was a lose/lose situation anyway, though maybe he felt a bit better afterwards for having said something. Yeah, buses. It was always why dont you move into the shelter, if were all inside then maybe itll generate a bit of warmth and oh god its fucking packed again and ok I was going to sit there but and then no dont stand there right in front of me, no dont let anyone else on driver, I wont be able to get off and then sorry excuse me sorry sorry scuse me, thanks. And how run down it all seemed, the ugliness of everywhere some days you couldve written your name in the filth on the windows, or hilariously daubed clean me with soon blackened fingertips, couldve made a game of avoiding the globules of thick sputle around the shelters. And shivering at bus stops amongst the drab clothed, hard set habitual bus riders. Never any *attractive* people. I know thats an odd thing to have wanted, since Im hardly that myself and am now vaguely irritated by glaecit, pristine, vacant clothes horses at every turn, but better, I guess, to sit next to them, to be surrounded by them than by the eternally nondescript, plain, the bland. Unfair I know. Unfair. But I do sympathise, I can imagine myself thinking just as he mustve why didnt those fucking kids give up that seat to someone else and ok it was pretty low and cheap to act on that impulse and try to make a show of it, but we all have our off moments dont we? There. I feel a bit better now. I wont send this till tomorrow though. Bit late now. Well. Ok. As Henry Miller sez: I have made a silent compact with myself not to change a line of what I write. I am not interested in perfecting my thoughts, nor my actions. Right on. Bis bald. - Kieran _________________________________________________________________ Protect your PC - get McAfee.com VirusScan Online http://clinic.mcafee.com/clinic/ibuy/campaign.asp?cid=3963 +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: Writing For You
by Bradley Baron 09 Dec '02

09 Dec '02

Dear Sinister: I'd like to thank everyone who's written me re: an earlier question I had re: picnics. I'd also like to thank everyone who's read some of my work, I've enjoyed our discussions a great deal. If anyone has any stories or picnic memories from May-June of 2000 in Europe, please email me if you would like to share. -BBaron http://www.bradbaron.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: Math Rock
by Kieran Devaney 09 Dec '02

09 Dec '02

Dear Sinister, Talk amongst yourselves. At the post office cum newsagent queuing amongst the jazz mags and so on, ones about cars, fitness, computers caravanning cabbage patch kids etc, with other pensioners, past birthday cards of all types, Christmas cards, anniversaries, weddings, funerals, christenings etc of all kinds all stacked together next to stationery, pens pencils rulers of all sorts etc and postcards, you can actually buy postcards of tower blocks there down the whole length of the shop we stretched from when I got in to when I got out. Behind me a couple of women were having a conversation in a language I couldnt identify. Shrug. The British like to queue, natch. Cashier number five please served me, with his whole folder full of stamps of all prices and stickers of all kinds and colours. Like caged animals they are, post office workers. Imagine it. Just on the way out she there, uppity, menopause + Christmas = irritability I guess. Meniscus. She says haughtily I need you to guarantee this will be delivered by tomorrow. Exhibit A sez, and I was well within earshot Madam, nothing in this life can ever be guaranteed. Just like that. Go team! Score one! I couldve kissed him through the cut glass (of her accent, you know), she was you know, hamming it up as it were, I reckon this newsagentcy slash postoffice not be the most salubrious of settings, but we all have to use them dont we? I guess thats the problem. Anyway he, the PO worker, the employee saw straight through it and w/ deftness not usually associated with someone who sits down all day batted her away, knocked her down a peg or two to back somewhere between envelopes and, as the sign said snax. I didnt stay to see how it finished, couldnt have been as good as that bit anyway, she either, uh, concedes or does the whole fetch the manager thing and the moment of folly suddenly yields disaster. But they happen all the time, these little urban battles. Um, like years ago (though this isnt exactly proof they happen all the time izzit? But heres an example that features me anyway) I used to get the bus with my friend Robert, it took us about halfway to school and about halfway along that journey sometimes another friend, Naz, would get on. Nice. Great. Every now and again instead of the usual chunky single-deckers wed get one of those older style buses whichre a bit smaller and have leather seats and havent suspension. Well one day one of those older buses came along and me and Rob sat down near the front then, as I say these buses are a bit smaller you know, so by the time we reach Nazs stop its pretty crowded and there are people standing. Now technically I reckon that the seat were on can maybe sit three smallish people and hey, this was only year eight (I guess) so were pretty small so we budge up and Naz sits between us. Rock and Roll. Only its not cos this guy, standing just in front of us now pipes up and starts having a go at the three of us, but specially me and Rob cos why didnt we make room earlier on? There are plenty of people standing? You kids pay reduced fare, not like us. He motions to some poor woman for whom the already probably pretty awful trip to work on the bus in the cold has just become more hassle why didnt we let her sit down, huh? Being only, what, twelve, thirteen? At the time we werent really in the business of Now see heres or Just a moments which wouldve maybe stood us in good stead against this bloke who I, Ill describe him shall I? I can because, well I was going to save this up for the end, but theres not really much to spoil, see we saw him on the buses a couple of times after the event Im on about and then after a while we used to see him just walking up the road instead, so perhaps his money worries were really really real but I saw him as recently as last summer trudging up the road, and for all I know he still is, knackered jeans, you know how the fashion is now to have pre-worn jeans, you know what those look like right? Well. Actual jeans that have been really worn, worn from work and too much wear, cut on the job, as it were, not fashionably slashed, those dont really look any good. And one of those awful market fleeces, haggard face, nondescript and one of those shapeless black hats w/ BCFC embroidered on the front. We didnt dare stand up to him or even defend ourselves that day, so he sort of won but, as I say, a hollow victory not in a whos laughing now? sort of way but no one really gave a shit except for him, obviously, we even had a good laugh about it once we got to our stop. Thats what I mean though. The cut and thrust. I hated that bus though. The number fourteen. Me and my brother even changed our route to school because we both grew to despise it so much. Though I think by the end I hated the new route even more. So then on the way home I thought about how someone could write a play set in a post office queue, stop me if its been done, but I think thatd work. It could be a new Godot sort of thing. Most such battles are smaller though, not even big enough to be verbal, they exist just in a glance, or an awkward step round someone who shouldnt really be standing so close to that lamppost on such a thin strip of pavement, but occasionally even something like that will flare up and, ok, well probably say that its just displaced anger, worries about something else manifesting themselves in this seemingly innocent situation. Ok. Heres another little clash though involving yours truly. At school this time, a few years ago in art class we were learning a bit about colour theory, complimentary colours and colour wheels and all that jazz, anyway as a bit of an aside our teacher at the time who was a gaunt blonde Ms quote I am married *actually*, but I still use Ms. Ha. Anyway she went off on a minor diatribe about how actually the colour that we call purple isnt *actually* (actually ws her favourite word and she used it all the time) purple but is actually *mauve* and actually the real colour that is actually purple actually is more of a reddish colour. Well semantics here which in my then, as now, pretentio-precocity up shoots my hand and well actually Ms if everyone sez that a certain colour is purple, i.e. if we all call a colour purple then that colour *Is* purple English aint a dead language, its defined by popular usage not by dictionaries or whatever. Purple is purple. I say it, everyone says it, it is so. Well actually no, actually I was wrong cos in the *art* world, you know So yeah, I won that one, sort of. I think maybe I was just bitter though after she caught me chewing gum in the first year and made me spit it out into the bin in front of everyone. Even Stevens. But what about the child? There is no child. There never was. (aghast) You mean?! Im afraid so. Something thats been recently broached by various members of the upper echelons of Sinister, the cogniscenti, you might say the intelligentsia, the hamster dance, is how to get, er, replies when you post, how to make it so that when you open your email there are some twenty new messages and for them not to all be from seedy erotica websites advertising their lurid wares. No. For someone on Sinister to have been so touched or inspired or even outraged at what youve written that they felt the need to write back. Simple answer then, I spose is to write a) touching b) inspiring c) outrageous posts. Or. Actually, thinking about it, I hardly ever actually *reply* to anyones posts. Fairly often Ill think that was a really good post or words to that effect, yknow, but I dont really think that sending an email just saying that was a really good post is all that productive. Though, Id be happy to receive them myself obviously Id prefer some well thought out commentary (ha) or someone answering a question Id posed or whatever, but simple praise is always welcome with me too, and I dont imagine many of you being all that different in that department. But maybe a lot of you are also a bit like me, that is a bit reluctant in the replying department unless youve got something substantial to say. My suggestion is this, and if you like you can tie it to celebration of xmas, so that, as a gesture of goodwill to all people everyone should reply to at least one Sinister post this week, even if its just to say that you thought it was good. Bonus bonus bonus round too if it works also more people will post. So everyones a winner. Baby, thats the truth. Luv, - Kieran p.s. To those I *do* owe emails to, they are forthcoming - your text has been copied onto disk and I shall now go up and write some replies - I can't write properly down here, it's too public, you know. So if not later tonight then tomorrow. Promise. _________________________________________________________________ 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: a call to twee arms, or something
by Ellebelle 09 Dec '02

09 Dec '02

i really need to change the order of this. the important bit is at the end. don't bother reading this, just scroll down to *the important bit* well seasogreetingsreatings to you all. i'm in fine and joyous seasonal spirit because i've just glittered and posted my recipient lucky recepient. ho ho ho as a fat man is rumoured to say (did you know that ol' father christmas/santa is really more like the jolly green giant of sweetcorn fame and only wears red thanks to sponsorship by the ever so thoughtful and community minded coca-cola company). anyway, i'm in danger of keeping to one train of thought so i'll change now. change of topic. no, can't do it. still in a good mood and about to distribute end of year awards to the deserving. any nominations out there? personally i'd give the overall greatest achievement in the world (or something) to whoever invented immodium (anti-poo drug, to all you overseas sinistarians) and that wet toilet paper. i don't think i need to say more except i haven't been very well lately (got a sick note from the doctor for the first time in my life). real flu (real, please note) followed by a rather nasty little gastric number. ho ho ho indeed. the sad thing is i was sort of hoping for a little cold so i could have some time off work. i just didn't intend to buy into the ill thing so comprehensively. oh well, it's kicked off my pre-christmas diet rather successfully - managed to lose 6lb in a week. bonus. don't worry, i'll change the topic. actually, i won't. i just need to say sorry for not replying to emails and invites recently. i hope you understand. i just really couldn't leave the bathroom. and my modem lead won't stretch far enough. i did try. honest. real and proper change of topic. well, sort of. i want to know your end of the year award categories and nominations. now, if this is a sinister regular i am undermining and doing in quite the wrong way, i apologise but i don't really care, just nominate. *topic shift to rather an important bit* The january 2003 issue (why do they publish magazines a month before they're dated, it's most confusing) of Q magazine wants help spotting a lyric. it says: "Can you help? "Now listen Johnny, you're like a mother..." Can anyone name the song?" of course we can. we're sinister! I think everyone should email qmail(a)emap.com instantly to tell them they're looking for Slow Graffiti by our very own B&S. if loads of us email they might realise they need to devote some space to the twee ones. they probably won't. but i'll enjoy knowing they've been deluged with tweeness. well done if you've got this far. keep glittering Elle x have i followed the rules at all? thought not. sorry. __________________________________________________ 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: gooD thinGs wiLL coMe foR those Who wAit...
by velocity farewell 09 Dec '02

09 Dec '02

but... but I can't wait (sitting around) forever, like Kevin R. says.. I hope I've written the lyrics right. Seems that patience is a very rare virtue... I'd say, a quite overated virtue... what does it help us with? I'd say patience is the other side of the coin: that of defeatism... or a better name given to a real virtue this time... the one of 'lazyness'... Kasimir Malevich said that lazyness was the natural state of humans and he wrote a book about it too! But, the times of sheer genious are long over... the times where people would meet over in little cafés to talk about their passions and the "The Non-Objective World", the worlds of will and ideas, belong to history... walking around, talking with people, reading, looking, observing, this special 'something' is lost... instead, we have mediocrity, and what follows mediocrity, indulgence and tolerance... In music too... how hard is it to make 'good' music in nowadays? not hard at all... all you need is to know your references, i.e., your shite... then you do a bit of 'copy and paste' here and a bit of 'mending and patching' there, and there you go... you're on the cover of NME... And God forbade if you listen to something original!! Its boldness and innovation will scare you away... the bad reviews will eventually have the same effect. Or like Debord said, "represantation replaced life" and "experts' opinions replaced our own senses"... In other words, catch originality before it's recuperated... Main title: Young Soul Rebels Soul sounds and punk from 1977: Parliament: 'P. Funk Wants To Get Funked Up' and X-Ray Spex: 'Identity'. 'Soul Patrol on 107 FM... uncut funk across London town...' A parenthesis... There's a band called MickTravis... they've got a 7" released... titled "Yvonne"... If you feel bold and innovative you should listen to it... But do not if you feel like the crowd in Malevich's exhibition, thinking "Everything which we loved is lost. We are in a desert ... Before us is nothing but a black square on a white background!" ... 'coz there are more than that... what an idea to mix painting with music, eh? it's not the first time and it won't be the last... It's just that I was fed up with all the sulky, lil' twee hymns and sobberings, and I thought well, let's take it out... let it breath for heavens sake... And with my ucas application for 5 fine arts schools in London, I'll wave goodbye - for now - screaming "art schools englighten us ablaze..."... 'Let The Music Play'. The laughter and the dance continue over: END vel "WaR is the last possible creative act", Mick Travis, "IF" __________________________________________________ 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: these colors you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty.
by dagnyrae 09 Dec '02

09 Dec '02

notes: *eileen wrote the kind of post that made me join and come back. thanks for that. this post will pale in comparison. further commentary: they say that when you lose a part of yourself -- a limb, perhaps, or a fingertip -- you still feel it, even though it's no longer there. i think we feel this way about all parts of ourselves, physical or emotional; the funny thing about it, though, is that all we have from day one until the very end is what we were born with, what was always there. most emotions, or emotional attachments are not like that -- we create them ourselves. and when we lose one, we feel the pain of loss quite purely; we know it isn't there, and we doubt whether it ever really was. we don't feel like we still have that missing part; it is just gone. perhaps we can only truly lose those parts of ourselves that were always there, those fingers and toes and inclinations with which we were born. we cannot make additional limbs or fingers, though some days we might like to, and have them feel real and right. we can only adapt in what ways we know how and know, when some emotional attachment is severed, that that raw, freshly unadorned place in us is like an outlet on a wall, waiting for a new plug to be inserted, a new use. we all have those little holes to be filled when born, and, at that time, we have, too, a specific mold for which plugs must fit. we cannot force keys or forks or those little lite-brite pegs into our outlets without getting shocked. when we lose what we create, we must be comforted knowing that we can always create more with what we have, and have coming. *ian said he hoped that one day, people would still be twee. or something like that. i'd imagine if someone were to walk around my town carrying a teddy bear, of any size, he would be five, or considered 'odd.' i embrace oddities. i try to celebrate mine. and while sometimes overwhelming tweeness annoys me, i am that, i suppose, and i hope that everyone everywhere will someday retain that capacity to hold a teddy bear in public, which is just as good as saying i hope everyone will be able to remember what it was like to see the world colored by something more than things like war or images of what we are supposed to be in order to be deemed heroic and right. *music, in any form, should be the proper center of everything. if it comes from conversation or radios or mtv or a list, to dance and to sing without form is to be happy for a moment. i sing when i write, and i imagine that sometimes i sing always, even when sleeping or brushing my teeth or kissing some stranger in the basement of a house at a party. *elizabeth should buy light blue knee socks. i myself am wearing some right now, even though the cold outside warrants full stockings, and i wonder that i never managed to enjoy these when i was small. well. smaller. *** a thrift store in town closed this weekend, and i didn't know until today, when i went there to buy a dress, and found the windows covered with wide sheets of white paper. later, i heard the salvation army had bought the building, fired all the workers and sold the clothes and sundry goods inside at 75 percent off over the weekend. now i imagine fifteen or twenty people at home, fired and looking for new jobs two weeks before christmas thanks to, of all things, the salvation army. perhaps they can get jobs ringing those bells beside red buckets, raising money to help the needy through the charitable efforts of....oh. the salvation army. it's on days like these, with news like this, that i wonder about people and our inherent senses of right and wrong, animosity and goodwill. business versus pleasure. science versus romance. or something like that. *** for two years i was enamoured with a certain boy who i could find throughout the week at a certain coffee shop in town. he poured my tea and i flashed toothy smiles and i thought all would be well if i waited it out long enough. and one day not so very long ago, he and i sat on his porch, enclosed by a screen, on a couch with a bottle of wine and a pack of camel lights. he lit my cigarettes and i soothed his ego, and, in the end, he took my hand and led me inside without saying much. three days later, he said he hadn't meant it. he was drunk, of course, and i, like i generally do, read into things. gave meanings where there were none. i tried to get over it. in traditional girl fashion, i and my best friend got together over smokes and drinks and dissected, found all the asshole qualities with singleton glee and damned fuckwits worldwide. a few nights ago, at a party i chose not to attend, she and the boy kissed. and kissed. and kissed more. there is a date. that, apparently, will not be a "date," per se, just a jumping off dinner for discussion of friendship betwixt said parties. she won't care, they said of me. she'll understand. she loves us. she'll be ok. and so here i am, forty-eight hours later, wondering why it's ok to shit on someone you say you love in your own attempts at happiness. why, because that person loves you, you can assume that all will be forgiven out of love and the mutual human goal of attaining such happinesses. i'm not ok. i don't understand. and i feel as though i should. but now, through an act i did not create, nor would have chosen, i have lost something -- not necessarily a complete part, but a fraction of what i thought was a whole, honest, unconditional belief. i thought people meant the things they said. and the things for which they stood. perhaps, because i do mean the things i say, because i have the integrity of a non-falsified belief system, i am the minority after all. even the salvation army embraces hypocrisy these days. *rae __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.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: A life in an hourglass....
by Joan of Dark 08 Dec '02

08 Dec '02

When in your ears, forgotten, you find the sand of the noon and on the corners of your eyes, dried salts, but not of the sea, then you know. Every summer, anywhere I might set sails for, its always here that I cast anchor On the lost continent of my childhood years, the mythical Atlantis of memories. The shattered skies of teenage yearn for the faded images of my reflected self, the way they reflect through the broken mirror of memories. Here, the sight gets perched, looking for the girl with the short trousers and the knees that were covered with scratches, between the leafage of time and in the deserted alleyways where she was forgotten. What am I looking for, I wonder, and what nails me down? What magnet directs the north pole of my feelings? When melodies resound husky, as if from within your tired, troubled mind, songs forgotten or that never existed, songs that you want to convince yourself that you remember, so as to not let yourself admit that you are so utterly alone When the hazy, weary notes harmonize with the whispering of the leaves in the summer breeze and the sounds, following the rhythm of your breathing, are discerned with difficulty ; the practiced ear of memory gathers echoes from the partings all through the years. A memory that flutters clumsily in the air, a moist nostalgia of return or repetition, and a feeling of absence that burns on the isle of indefinable desire. Then, when Virgo was the constellation of innocence. Then, when names were real and words held the true weight of their meaning. Even miracles were real then, because I needed them to be. Because I believed in miracles. Then. . . On the clear nights of August I would press my hands on my ears so hard, to hear the flow of the Milky Way that was spilled on the heavens, while in reality I was only listening to the flow of my blood streaming in the veins of my arms. Such were the miracles that I believed in then. Yes. That the world was as wide as a stride of my childish legs, created to suit my size. That it was given to me as a present and I was challenged to win it or lose it. But now the pain inside me gets unbearable because I was told in loud shouts never to believe in these things any more, as they are the most vulgar of lies. And I feel deadly cold inside because I knew it all along but as always, I was too scared to admit it. Even to myself . . . Now the sun lustfully strokes my limbs but does not manage to warm the unbearable cold in my heart. Light changes angle and refracts, flooding my eyes, and a scent of mint and dried soil fills my lungs . . . Then I know . . . . . .That the season is coming to an end, and with it, the crumbs of the illusory dreams, which I kept feeding my emaciated soul with. I wake up one morning and I find out not that theres nothing left to me, but rather that I did not leave anything to myself. That, like maybugs, I held my dreams tightly laced around their necks with strings too short, tied around my wrist. Left them hum insanely from anticipation and the false hope that they could drift me along, to fly with them. And in the end, one by one they were left to moulder in their shackles. Some of them managed to break free and fly away. As far as possible. From my crooked, arthritic fingers that strangle everything. The season is coming to an end and all that is left to us is the tan lines that carve our bodies trying to retain a memory, a faint scent of pine trees and sea-ravaged rocks, for as long as they can through the winter. But summer people are different than the ones of winter. They wear swimsuits, pretend to be Adam and Eve; they are immersed in the illusion of physical bliss. In winter, wrapped in their coats, buried in their worries, they try to forget, their eyes avoid meeting. Then you know that this is the end of a season. Its colour you cannot discern, neither its scent or taste. Only thing I am left with is a string through which the beads of my mistakes are pulled. A colourful ornament to wear around my neck. But my truths are kept elsewhere. And maybe all the things that I really loved where the ones that I let slip away from me, unable to bear their weight. My thoughts, weary, cannot even stand to reproduce themselves and fall senseless on the floor. I forget them there. Cast music on my open wounds. Sing to my festered scars to heal them... joanna _________________________________________________________________ Help STOP SPAM with the new MSN 8 and get 2 months FREE* http://join.msn.com/?page=features/junkmail +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: As I crawl out of my cocoon
by I am Tortuga 08 Dec '02

08 Dec '02

*blink* *look around* Quite a lot of you here. Once I get my bearings we shall have to become acquainted. *stretch* Oh, seems I have wings now. I'm not sure, but it may have something to do with that Chu fellow traipsing about and spilling red bull everywhere while I was trying to have a nap in the cocoon. Whatever happened, I shall have to find a good way to put these wings to use. My name is Kara and I like Lata Mangeshkar. See you all again very soon, Kara www2.bc.edu/~brielman _________________________________________________________________ STOP MORE SPAM with the new MSN 8 and get 2 months FREE* http://join.msn.com/?page=features/junkmail +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: Am I wandering alone?
by sinkingpie 08 Dec '02

08 Dec '02

Music, on sinister? I'm sure someone said something along those lines, but I can't seem to find the post, hence no "" marks. So, music, and Storytelling. Seems to have been quite a lot of criticism of that considering this is generally a list of fans, and indeed criticism of the band's recentness (think I made that word up). Perhaps Storytelling didn't have the immediate catchy tunes from the If your feeling Sinister era, but perhaps that isn't such a bad thing. Some people evidently are not convinced by this style: "Here's my take on it: Storytelling was made for a movie, right? It's definitely not their best work, but it has some redeeming songs on it, right?....Anyway, what I'm getting at is that we should forgive them Storytelling..." I certainly enjoyed Storytelling, a nice mix of, well, everything really. From the opening instrumentals, to the out-of-context spoken word. The more lyrical offerings of "Wandering Alone" and "I don't want to play football" of course shouldn't be overlooked, but the trick with this album is that it is an album, not merely a collection of songs. Isobel's departure also should be mentioned perhaps. At first I certainly thought it was a bad thing, but if it gives Isobel more time for her solo projects, then I can see sense. The Gentle Waves sounded amazing when she was part of Belle and Sebastian, with more time, who knows what they can achieve. Anyway, I think I have stayed reasonably close to the guidlines suggested by ian's mirror, perhaps replies will happen, perhaps not. sinkingpie __________________________________________________ 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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Re: Sinister: you have nothing to live up to, you have nothing to live down
by Holly 07 Dec '02

07 Dec '02

"then again.... maybe its time to say it..... i thought 'storytelling' sounded half-developed, like a band chucking out something for their fans, and saying 'will this do?'. i've been disappointed by their recent live performances. i think its sad that isobel left, (although at the time i thought it was good, because when you're on stage you really shouldn't have someone at the front, yawning throughout for all the audience to see, because if you can't even be excited about your own music, how can you expect other people to be?) err...where was i...oh yes... but now... i think its sad ....about isobel's departure... if struan was the brain of b&s, isobel seemed like the heart, at least to begin with, in those glory days and crazy crazy nights.." Here's my take on it: Storytelling was made for a movie, right? It's definitely not their best work, but it has some redeeming songs on it, right? Wandering Alone has the really nice violin interlude, does it not? And Scooby Driver, while short, is definitely worth a listen. Big John Shaft sounds quite a bit like regular 'ol B&S and even the title track is decent. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that we should forgive them Storytelling (which I readily admit, was a bit of a disappointment), and see what they go on to do. Afterall, I was a bit disappointed in Legal Man - I liked the song, but when I heard the whole CD, I sincerely hoped that it wasn't going to be their "new direction" - and it wasn't. I really enjoyed Fold Your Hands..., Jonathan David and I'm Waking Up to Us. As for Isobel leaving, before I decide whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, I want to hear their new alubm. For all I know, it could be full of songs just as wonderful as "Lazy Line Painter Jane" or "Century of Fakers". Then again, it could be full of "Beyond the Sunrise"s. (blech!) Furthermore, Isobel could always rejoin the band. Sure, it seeems like a long-shot since she's now busy getting a new release together (correct me if I'm wrong there), but you never know. She might decide that she likes working with the band better. And even if she doesn't rejoin, she can always do the occasional guest performance. Anyway, that's my two cents. -Holly -- __________________________________________________________ Sign-up for your own FREE Personalized E-mail at Mail.com http://www.mail.com/?sr=signup One click access to the Top Search Engines http://www.exactsearchbar.com/mailcom +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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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