July 2002 - Sinister - missprint.org

Sinister: Customers Are Taking Too Many Free Napkins
by Caitlin Pigtails 12 Jul '02

12 Jul '02

Sometimes, you just sit and stare at your screen and you don't know what to type. You don't know what you should do, and you end up looking for distraction. I'm not talking about posting to Sinister. I'm talking about work. I fluked my way into a small job at a small company -- called S&M Ltd -- and I have no idea how to do it. I impressed the boss at first by whipping up a couple of programs on demand, and fixing a few problems that had been puzzling him for months. But now that's over I have to get into the real work, and I'm stuck. I just don't have any clue. The code I'm supposed to be editing is just one big hairball of 6437592 different files with no manuals or instructions, and I'm out of my depth and drowning. For fuck's sake, all it does is sell insect repellent. Over the Shiny New Interweb. Oh, and bagpipes. And jewellery. And scale models of distillery equipment. As it happens, though, I'm on holiday at the moment. The boss wanted to go away for the weekend (to go to a party and pester TV producers with game show proposals), so S&M Ltd has shut down for a few days. I hope none of the computers fall over whilst I'm gone. I have to keep logging in every few minutes to check the site is still online, the mail server isn't overflowing, and orders for insect-repellant aren't disappearing into hyperspace. When I get home I'm dog-tired. I sit in bed and can't sleep, because too many things are on my mind. When I'm at work I sit pretending to work and looking out at the hills and the garden, and I dream of things. I know I've not been at my best lately, because I've been dreaming of the ocean again. I dream of going to a beautiful beach up in the north-west somewhere, looking out into the Atlantic. I dream of getting into the water and starting to swim, aiming for the horizon, heading west and swimming until I pass over the edge of this world and into the next one. I know none of you reading this actually think I'd ever do it. None of you think I'm being serious. At night, though, or in the office, I think I'm serious. There's nothing to stop me. I have no family, not that I still see. Noone would care if I left. Noone would notice. I *am* going to do it eventually; it just might take time. See, you think you have friends who will support you, you think they're one of your best friends, but one day you turn round and you realise that for months they've been telling you that they don't care any more. They've been telling you for months and you were just too dumb to realise. When it gets to that point, you may as well start swimming. The Isle of Avalon lies somewhere out in the western ocean. The mythical apple-orchard of paradise. I want to try and find it. love love love caitlin -- "When life gives us lemons, we just sit there and sulk about it, in the corner of the room, in a fetal position." - Matthew Henderson, on the Sinister mailing list. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: that lightning bolt was mine
by amy longcore 12 Jul '02

12 Jul '02

today at work, i walked by a wooden palette holding some large industrial equipment. i just happened to notice that the letters "PLY" were written in bold black permanent marker at the bottom of said palette. no doubt referring to plywood. how boring. what i decided i should do is get my bold red parmanent marker out of my pocket and place a symbolic and stately "A" between the "L" and the "Y". so, i did it. this is what i'm promoting right now. play. PLAY. i don't get enough of it. *** i am going to play next week for sure. i'm going to be seeing blondie. this can only mean a major frolicking good time. spirits will be high. friends will laugh and dance. that's always a good thing. i can't stop listening to "there's too much love" today. it's sweeping me away. i sang it to myself at work, trying to daydream when i didn't have a chance to peek my nose back into my book. i thought of how happy i was in detroit, hearing that song live. i think it made my heart boom lots, i can't quite get that feeling back. would sure like to. i wish i could be one of those sini posters who's full of informative information heard from informative people. i hadn't written you all in awhile. isn't it odd, that guilty feeling that comes over you when you haven't posted to sini for a month or so? i can't decide what it is that keeps me from it. you sign on, post your life's story for awhile, then fade into the back. i'll go in phases with you, i think. i already love our little recipe collectors' club, and we haven't even had our first sharings yet. i think i'm going to go get my ideas for submission together now, so when the magical sini wooden spoon looks my way, i'll be ready. i've been on a health kick. i'm getting smaller and bigger. muscles are cool. they feel good and sturdy. i have a new balance. i'm getting the royal Ts dvd tomorrow. it'll be nice to come home to. hmmm. this is the spot where i SPAM. but, only 'cuz i've made a decision to take care of this differently than i originally had in mind. here's the deal. i got a bunch of my records together and decided to sell them. yeah. i took pictures of some even, ready to put them up on ebay. but i was talking to the sweet nicola the other night about them, and he was interested in some of them. so, i'm pretty much just selling them at costish to good people. i'd like to give, but i'm saving for a new car. i'd trade for some things, but i can't imagine what right now. so, if you have a craving for stereolab, petula clark, dusty springfield, the clash..there's more.. basically, if you are a vinyl freak, let me know, and i'll get a list together for anyone who might be interested. howard shady, you haven't been the only one in hiding. gosh. have any of you ever gotten a casual phone call from your mother in the middle of the night? i just did. it interrupted my writing you. when she calls in the night, i always assume someone's dead, but i'm easily settled when i hear her giggle my childhood nickname, "hi snorkybear". she called her nightowl daughter to inform her that she bought her lovely shampoos and conditioners. what a good mum. big ups to mom post. gotta love it. i haven't had a chance to talk with madeleine mcfeel in some time. i miss her. i miss you, mad. a cute boy was supposed to call me, but he hasn't yet. this does nothing for a girls' confidence. but, maybe i did nothing for his when i slipped my arm around his waist during a half-drunken moment, then pulled it away, exclaiming, "i don't know why i just did that!?" i was feeling shy, i come off the wrong way. i'll just keep hiding, i guess. ok, that's enough. love and stuff, amy *** for those with a mark c inclined mind, please know i'm not reffering to SEX when i say PLAY. thank you, and goodnight. oh! p.s. 2 gold stars will go out to the first person who can tell me where i got my title for this post. the line struck me as i was peeking my nose in that book at work today... _________________________________________________________________ Chat with friends online, try MSN Messenger: http://messenger.msn.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: Son of Evil Reindeer
by Craig Morrison 11 Jul '02

11 Jul '02

D'you think the cover of the new Reindeer Section CD's a bit rude? My girlfriend won't let me keep it in the kitchen because she says there's a vagina on it, or half a vagina to be precise, just visible on the right hand side. Can this be confirmed (not in The Church of Rome I expect)? I don't really like using the word vagina, especially not in writing. That's probably why I don't post much: because I pepper my email's with vaginas. It's better that though than peppering vaginas - which probably explains why they should be kept out of the kitchen. Very bad taste (peppered vaginas, that is). Very off message. Very contrite. Very best wishes. Craig Morrison > +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ > +---+ 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 > +-+ "hey nonny nonny" - stuart david, looper +-+ > +-+ "Isobelle Campbell to Lose Virginity Live on Net" - New Media Age July 2002 +-+ > +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ > +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ > +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: Painting the Land Rover green and other stories
by Kieran Devaney 11 Jul '02

11 Jul '02

The earliest thing Clive could remember, the first thing, was pressing his face right up against the TV screen so he could see the picture as a neat grid of tiny pixels. Clive started to count them. Did you like the bright colours? his mother had asked him as she lifted him gently away. Clive had to go back a second time to see what she meant. Clive was gifted. All his teachers said so. He was years ahead of his classmates, they said, when it came to anything mathematical, which was true; Clive could do long division before he learned to read properly. At primary school they had worried about his temperament, he whizzed through his maths work, was bright, questioning and always careful and accurate, even with problems usually considered far too advanced for his age, but when it came to other subjects his manner changed completely, he became lethargic and disinterested, doodled numbers in the margins of his stories. Clive saw the world in series of graphs and charts, numbers, tessellating shapes. To him a tree was area of shade at various times of day, number of branches and leaves and equally, number of rings on the stump, the sky was percentage of cloud cover, the speed of the wind calculated from the movement of the clouds. He hated cloudless days. Clive liked computers, but rarely ever used one; he loved the idea of computers converting everything, pictures, words and sounds into binary, loved the idea that things could be quantified so purely like that. He had the idea of writing a whole book in binary, practised translating sentences from his schoolbooks until he was fluent, but he couldnt think of anything to write about. At secondary school, times grew worse for Clive. He was on the concrete curled up; he counted the kicks, counted the time between each one. They were shouting things at him now but he didnt hear them, he counted their syllables, and in front of his eyes flashed a ratio for each assailant, number of kicks against number of syllables, he tabulated the results mentally before black dots with thin silver rims like spots of ink on a pane of glass gathered and joined in his field of vision. He estimated correctly that it would be three seconds before he passed out. He didnt have many friends at school. Most of Clives teachers hated him; his attitude to non-mathematical subjects hadnt changed since primary school, but luckily Clive didnt care what they thought, or perhaps thats putting it too strongly, it didnt occur to him that they thought at all they were outside the moment, outside his mathematics. Clives exams went surprisingly well. Of course, he passed the maths exam with embarrassing ease, tackling each question with an unmatched relish and speed. In the English exam he shocked everyone by writing an eerily moving story about a girl who took a summer job as a gardener, and went blind because she was violently allergic to the most beautiful tropical flower in the garden. Clive just managed to pass enough subjects to stay on at school, owing to the good grade in English. The subjects he chose to carry on though, were maths and further maths. He couldve done more subjects, but he simply wasnt interested, and the teachers at school didnt try to change his mind; Clive was disconcerting to talk to, he had a polite, distracted air, and only ever seemed to be half concentrating on the conversation. When you left him alone, he didnt seem to notice, didnt change his posture, but carried on staring into the middle distance. Clive never looked at anyone when they were talking to him. It was as if hed never learned how to converse properly some people arent very good at talking to people because theyre shy, or because they feel intimidated, but conversation didnt scare Clive, he just seemed mildly annoyed by it, talking to him made you feel like youd walked in on something, interrupted his private circle of thought. Clive didnt have many friends. It was autumn, and school was starting again. Clive was feeling excited to be learning maths again. Over the summer he had read Pascal and Betrand Russell, mathematical philosophers, but they hadnt meant much to him really. He had also spent many joyous hours puzzling over Andrew Wiles solution to Fermats last theorem; the proof was so beautiful, so flawless that tears welled up in Clives eyes, he was crying at the purity of Wiles work, but also because he didnt think there was anything left. He felt as though he had plumbed the depths of maths to its very core, that he had exhausted all known sources. He still loved what he knew about maths, but it was the discovery, learning new thing tht gave him the most pleasure. And now he felt there was nothing new out there. In fits of desperation he spent the last few week of the holidays ploughing through books and magazines at the library in the vain hope of finding something he had missed. But as you might imagine, Clives keen, logical mind had already devoured everything. If there was hope, it lay back at school. Clive learned that of everyone, he had achieved the best score on the maths exam. It didnt surprise him, but the school decided to give him an award anyway, and he and his parents went there one evening, when lots of awards were being given out. Because it had been such an important exam, Clives award was one of the very last to be presented, and protocol demanded that he say a few words of thanks when he received it. On stage in front of the microphone Clive looked out at the columns of heads, instinctively he started to count them, number of people present, percentage of women, percentage of children, average estimated age these figures, and graphical representations of them, pie charts and tables floated through his mind. He shut his eyes, but the bright stage lights burned a bright orangey-red through his eyelids. He blurted: Thankyou into the microphone and bolted from the stage. The first maths lesson of term was a great source of excitement for Clive, his new teacher, Miss Lecksi only taught maths at this advanced level, and was reputed to be among the finest mathematical minds in education. Her repuatation at the school was somewhat enigmatic, since so few people ever found out what went on behind the doors of her maths lessons, and those that did were generally reluctant to tell. Miss Lecksi was a greying, almost bald woman with a stuffy, Victorian style of dress. Clive, who was normally very good at that sort of thing, estimated her age at anywhere between thirty and seventy. Now she addressed the class, there was an atmosphere of nervous expectation, of poorly concealed fears, Clive could barely sit still. Miss Lecksi spoke of the course they were about to undertake, of exams and homework, the tension began to fade. Perhaps the rumours werent true. But then Miss Lecksi stopped and surveyed the class, a blunt, affected look in her eyes. She spoke slowly and deliberately, as if there were some part of her story that she couldnt quite reach, but which was the most important part: The day after I finished my finals at university, my elderly proffessor, for whose teaching I am eternally grateful, called me to his office. Once there, he showed me this now she went over to a small shelf at the front of the room, and pointed to a small box there in the middle on its own. It looked old, but perfectly preserved, with a fine, rich green baize covering offset with an ornate gold trim, and a tiny, delicate jewel-studded lock. The classroom was silent. In this box, her hand quavered above it, lies the secret to all mathematics, the key to its understanding, the essence of number. Nobody knows for sure when it was made, but it has been passed down for aeons from great mathematical mind to great mathematical mind, she stared straight at Clive my proffessor gave it to me that day, its the reason I went into teaching. It has never been opened since its creation, we can only guess whats inside. So the rumours were true! The class immediately burst into a flurry of questions, Clives hand was one of the first in the air, but Miss Lecksi batted them all away. It remains here for inspirational purposes only, again her gaze turned to Clive, and I have the only key. She pulled a thin metal key on a fine gold chain hanging from her neck and showed it to the class. Now. she said, her voice returning to its more usual matronly tones as she handed out a stack of battered textbooks, Page one. A few weeks later, at home, Clive was once again poring over Fermat, but his attention kept returning to that box in Miss Lecksis classroom. He went to bed early and immediately began to dream. He was in a windowless room, full almost to the ceiling with tiny stainless steel ball bearings. Clive wasnt sure how he had got there, but he knew that his task was to count the ball bearings, he looked around him, it was an impossible task, he wasnt sure how far down it was to the floor and where was he to put the balls he had counted? They were all identical. He also had to lie flat on top of the pile, if his weight wasnt evenly distributed then he would sink and surely suffocate. He lay there for a few minutes, puzzling over the problem before a solution came to him, as he counted each ball bearing he would swallow it. Pleased at this idea Clive began methodically eating and counting the tiny metal spheres, each one trickling cold and hard down his throat. This went on for some time, until Clive began to feel quite ill, whenever he moved he could hear and feel the balls rolling and clattering around in his stomach, they wouldnt stay still. He didnt seem to have made any impact on the amount of ball bearings in the room either, and he had counted more than five thousand. Reasoning with himself, he knew there was no way out other than to finish counting, so he wearily commenced the torture once more. After twenty or so more ball bearings Clive suddenly began to feel a violent pain in his stomach, a hundred times worse than his earlier discomfort, horrified he felt the tiny balls stretching at his skin, almost breaking through, he squirmed to try and somehow rid himself of this awful pain, but as he did so the now paper thin skin of his stomach burst open, and hundreds of ball bearings began to spill out. Clive reared up onto his knees with the pain, and as he did so he began to rapidly sink into the balls, knowing there was no way out Clive tried in vain to take one last gasp of air before his head went under. He awoke gasping and sweating. It was just after eight oclock, and the light was just beginning to fade outside. Clive gathered his things and snuck downstairs and out of the front door. Now he could breathe. He looked up at the cloudless sky, knowing it was fruitless to try and count the stars. The moon was a sickly sliver of yellow light, waning, waning. Sometime later he arrived at her house, checking the address was right on a bit of paper. Finding it had been easier than hed imagined. He correctly guessed that she would already be in bed, her front door had been left open and he had padded up the stairs, his footsteps muffled by thick carpet. Her room was deathly calm, there was a strange emptiness to it, the walls stark and unpainted, and the only item of furniture was the small, even child sized bed upon which she now lay. Clive crept up, so close that he could hear her heavy breath, feel her movements, gently he pulled back the bedsheet, the clasp glinted orange in the streetlight below, his hands cringed from the sallow, pock marked skin of her neck and shoulders as he carefully undid it and removed the chain. Pocketing it, he hastily left the house, remembering not to shut the front door, so he could return the key as easily as he had attained it. Brimming with excitement, Clive near sprinted to the school. But he must be calm, he knew that, and he paused in front of the black, wrought iron school gates to catch his breath. He crouched and forced his way through a small gap in the fence used by savvy latecomers after the school decided to shut its gates on the stroke of nine oclock. Clive made his way round to the maths block, his heart doing a mile a minute in his chest. He knew the caretaker lived on site, but there was no light from his window so Clive figured he must be sleeping too. With that in mind, he snuck up to Miss Lecksis door, and with a great deal of relief, he thought of the doddering caretaker ambling through the coridoors, admonishing people for running in the halls, though they were barely even at medium pace. Clive grinned. Even if he did make enough noise to wake the caretaker, he would be long gone before the old man had made it out of bed. Miss Lecksis classroom door was mysteriously unlocked and as Clive pushed it open he couldnt help feeling slightly uneasy. Miss Lecksi locked her classroom whenever she left it during the day, and it was rumoured that even the cleaners werent allowed in at night, so it seemed odd that it would be left unguarded on this particular evening, but Clive was not about to question his good luck, so he soldiered on. Inside, the classroom was very different to Clives daytime experience of it, theres something lost and sad about an empty classroom and even in the dark Clive noticed scuff marks on the threadbare carpet that he hadnt seen before. His head reeling, Clive made his way toward the box, sizing it up. Not wanting to arouse suspicion he hadnt had a proper look at it up close, even tried to ignore its presence where others deliberately walked past it, near brushing against it on the way in and out of lessons. Clive kept to the other side of the room and was never seen staring at the box, though it permeated his every thought. And now, now he could see its rococo gilding, the gleam of the gems around the lock, the work of a master craftsman. Clive pulled the key from his pocket and sized it up against the lock before pushing it in. It was a perfect fit, of course it was. He shut his eyes as he turned the key in the lock and lifted the lid, his fingers brushing the exquisite baize, even he who knew nothing of fabric could tell that this was of the highest quality. When he opened his eyes he was taken aback for a moment, and had to steady himself on the desk behind, he rubbed his eyes violently with the heels of his hands until they watered, and looked again. There was nothing in the box! His mind flooded with a million questions, a million images, Fermat, Wiles, Pascal, Pythagoras! He reeled back, clutching his head in trembling hands. And then he stopped with a slow realisation that made his eyes burn and stood up straight. He strode deliberately back to the box, the wood inside was rough and grainy, he ran his fingers over its untreated surface. Of course! he muttered to himself, and only the worry of waking the caretaker stopped him from shouting it out loud, he barely stifled a joyous burst of laughter. Of course! He quickly closed the box, locking it tight and almost ran from the room, from the school until he was back outside, panting and ecstatic. He took his shoes off and felt the grass and the ground, hard and moist, tickling under his feet. As he approached Miss Lecksis house, the first light of dawn was beginning to rise and he heard the birds trilling and chirping, saw the greenish glow of dawn just behind the horizon. He felt tired and elated as he once again mounted the carpeted stairs. Inside her bedroom, the light had changed everything and Clive saw there was a fine balance to the décor, saw the subtle shades on the walls that he had not picked up on before. He stopped a second. Now Clive once more approached the bed, once more pulled back the bedclothes and began to replace the chain. This time the skin felt soft and inviting, he let his hands linger there a second. As he turned away a calm voice called out to him from behind, Wait. He looked back, and saw the new dawn light shining in her eyes, looking straight at him. He moved towards her. She understood. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Take care - Kieran _________________________________________________________________ MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos: http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: time wounds all heels.
by richard john gillanders 11 Jul '02

11 Jul '02

something including the word 'intolerance.' don't try to read it too much. or into it. too much. I trust you. for to make it not lots and lots of fun to read. but/and without having made any promises. --I'm certainly no more bohemian than I was. and not actually any more moravian. this is all I'll say about anything like that. I think I've decided. unless I'm invited to. or I'm able to deem it appropriate enough. ...AND YOU WILL KNOW US BY THE TRAIL OF THE NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD the people. they have moved here. but they're different. to how I had expected! no, not different to. but different! haha. people! some of them anyway. I heard there's one who will still come and who is still the same. I don't doubt it an awful lot. but I won't hold my breath: I would die. I AM happy that people have moved though and I'm happy with the ones that have [they are very nice] and although I think I may still allow myself to be sad sometimes, well, it won't have to be around them [I try not to be a party-pooper] and I can still let myself get angry too but it's unlikely it'll be with them and I will talk no more of emotion. ever. today. MAD MAX BYGRAVES I went to see belle & sebastian too. on a thursday. it was really, really a lot of good fun. I think I really enjoyed it. if I stop for a moment. I got hugged beforehand as well. I DO like hugs. I guess I must just pretend that I might not. but I don't pretend so much that I would make a sort of repulsed-looking face when faced with the prospect of ME GETTING HUGGED. yeah. I like hugs as much as any other: I am human too. well, neil robertson. isn't HE a NICE guy? HEY. I wouldn't say something like that if I didn't mean it; I say something like that since it really, really seems to be the case. I don't expect any favours from him in the future. nice fella. caitlin pigface. I mean TAILS. and yet...hm...I'd always choose heads. for simplicity. and like...something else. CAITLIN PIGTAILS: he's got him a movie. he wants us to know. [that was a while ago now but I don't care enough to not have typed it now]. he said to me that I looked serious a lot of the time. this was at the concert. and I think he said some nice things about me in the past. I won't rake them up. though. it's funny that people say nice things to you and you can only ever say things in return that are completely interpretable as not-nice. actually it isn't too funny, really. and it isn't you, either. I should get better at receiving compliments [IT'D MAKE MY DAY-TO-DAY LIFE A WHOLE LOT EASIER, I'll tell ya]. actually. I think I want to get better at complimenting. or complying. or cementing. or, BUBBA, people'll just think I'm rude. I DO look serious sometimes. a lot of the sometimes. I take enjoying myself very, very seriously. play hard...play smart. but it. HAHA. it isn't no! HAHA. juicy lucy had not included me in her people-that-were-there list from that concert a while ago. she apologised to me too. I waved a hand, like: "p'shaw." like, y'know. later at the bar she did a great underworld impression. and I ain't talkin' no al capone. I just sorta wisht lucy had included me then and that david moore had done an impression like hers. but I'm thankful for small mercies. +she remember'd me this time around. but I WAS conspicuously absent from other people's people-being-out-together listings. conspicuous only to myself, perhaps. some people get upset about things like that. I did type 'upest' at first. freudian typo. I, however, can't really get upset since: I only ever wanted mentioned by david moore anyway. the carsmile did some hideously belated Reporting Back. but. let's face it, at least he did some Reporting Back. with it he said "LLPJ with Monica, as it should be ;)" I could try to agree with that. if only I had ever seen it suchly. why, oh why do they never ever have monica join them onstage for glasgow gigs? I swear... especially when I'm drunk. +sometimes I make blinded statements of non-truth. usually about nothing important. simply situations. I met a boy called michael since the concert too. despite all his energeticness. he seems genuinely nice. I hate these people that are ingenuine in their niceness. or in their unniceness. well: he knows who is in control. although he's pretending not to. but we both know it's pretense. and I don't mind that at all. I'll say nothing of the post. but. AC/DC? then. paranoid? I had thought that was a black sabbath. but wait a minute! it actually wasn't michael grant!! what WUZ I thinking? something else. it was paul healy! thanks. I know you think we're crazy. but I think I know you think you're crazy too. so. okay. CAT STEVENS ON A HOT TIN ROOF and. mark casarotto was in glasgow for a weekend. there were lots for turning out for to see him on friday night too. it was fun in a little room. doesn't happen often enough. like that. I didn't say too many things to him but I only have myself to blame. I wished we had been on the same football team too. that way I coulda tried tussling wit' him. without having much to lose. I didn't hear him talking in that which most seem to agree to consider the most important/interesting topic of the day. I musta been elsewhere pretending to listen about prosthetic BALLS [like, I did hear] and [not entirely associated] daniel's reasoning for the elimination of cancer. but, I'm not sure. shame no-one [not peter, I've learned] talked of the football from this weekend at any great length. it was a magnificent show that those watching didn't really appreciate. there'll be more football in glasgow soon too! there is some football there already but. germany back to australia. the way it should be. but for how long? I don't suppose it matters really. I don't even know where australia is. and I'm not too sure where...whatever that other place is...is. GEA missed out on that concert. went to visit some victims of snowblindness or something instead. charitable she is. I will take care to enter a number for her sometime soon. and she has even more pieces of metal than before. I had thought that wouldn't have been very possible but. thinking about it: she does seem to have some sort of magnetism about her. she just has to watch what/who it is she's attracting. +where's ian nicolson when you need him? decorating. it seems. maybe I'll have an opportunity to see the fruits of his labour sometime. I will talk not of his loins. although, he may have been inspired by george square. unfortunately orange doesn't go with everything. he needs his 'the seventh seal' back and I miss him, if he's reading this: I'LL BE IN TOUCH AS SOON AS I ACTUALLY AM. squares. once I was in a big ol' square somewhere! and, like, I found myself on the phone to someone else and what they had said was "I'll send someone. meet them under the famous clock." and I, of course, immediately thought of london. but not because of a clock. I think I was actually thinking of ondon. you betcha. of which to talk: mister cook. he wrote a top ten list I really liked a while ago that I thought maybe I wasn't going to have seen. but I read it again lately and it wasn't how I recalled it. there were still ten in the top. I don't know! he professes some but it seems he ain't no professor. not in his chosen field anyhow. birthplace? and he tells ME to close the door! and I tell him: only if he gets off the table. mandee light is coming for me finally. the purpose of her trip wasn't so obvious. let me reveal. she is on her way in order to try to sign me up to star in a picture entitled 'mister wright: the early years.' no, I'm not sure. I haven't seen the screenplay yet. but SERIOUSLY. not on her way for me. not actually. but. to near me. I'm excited by her decision not to just stay at where she's going but to go to another place where we are. where I am too. she might even shake my hand. or her fist. I wish she could have had a travelling companion from near her origin as well. but. ALAS. [I read SOMETHING ELSE from before too that made me have a reason to wish I WAS a girl]. [but, HEE-HEE, come to think about it: I'm quite glad I'm not!!]. <-I don't even know. dimitra's coming too. AGAIN. she already has come? she's here now? AGAIN. well, it's not like I'm bored or anything. well, not REALLY. [you needn't ask what [any of] this means as it obviously doesn't mean anything at all]. SEE YOU SOON DIMITRA! XXXXXXX and this is where it just breaks down [sorry]: I ain't got the moves again I'll indulge myself in not minding. but sometimes I really think I could do better with having the moves. and two stories. perceived I wish I could be/feel as big and clever as I used to be/do. do/be. although. some people say I have gotten bigger. and I'm beginning to doubt. that I'm not. bigger. or. that I'm nought. I have no reason to lie. even if I switched that around a bit. I still have no reason. do-be-do. we can work out all the inversely-proportional relationships we like but will we really discover anything new?? yes: mathematics is only of use when you're able to use it properly. [this is what I hinted at above but not clearly enough]. it'll be saturday soon. all of you LOT who are in glasgow or can get to glasgow should either stay there or go there and attend the winchester club at woodside social club and allow yourself to listen to and even see aerospace [they ARE swedish] and christopher leonard [hehe, he ain't] as they are playing live music and then, afterwards, you can let yourself listen to [and even dance with, if that's your bag] some nicely selected recordings. I'll definitely be going as the people who run it seem to like destiny's child even more than I do. maybe twice as much. SO! it seems this is now just a list. and it shouldn't be. I mean this, though. received neuralgia just ain't what it used to be. I wanted to type something about choice here but it's too similar to something I already typed. all of this has no basis! I'm completely unsure of my basis. and only rather unsure of my bases. except when sarah's flatmate's room's free. thanks to lucy and to gavin for some stolen lines. deceived time has passed. time is past. UGH. something else with 'intolerance.' and then 'even if it kills me.' all of this-1.52%. <-the actual figure. [not sure]. loved, richard. __________________________________________ Join http://www.toast.com today for your own free, flash-based webmail! +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: hello hello
by morgan a 11 Jul '02

11 Jul '02

hi, i'm a new girl who's been sitting around on the list for a while without the time or motivation to write anything...until now. my excuses for this are final exams and a trip to alaska - so i'm back in seattle after three weeks of learning about oil drilling in the arctic and watching herds of caribou and muskoxen wander through the wilderness, and i'm finally able to post a message: i'm not really sure how i discovered belle & sebastian, but they immediately rose to the status of "my favorite band" (err, except for the beatles). besides a few friends, most people seem to think i'm weird, because i listen to "some scottish band that they don't play on the radio..." (what they don't know is that b&s is played on the radio - non-profit, college radio (university of washington), not corporate-mainstream-shit radio.) anyway, i'm happy with the self-proclaimed label of "dork", which is the short-answer explanation of my music tastes for everyone who doesn't understand..."oh, you're a dork. that explains it," and they walk away singing "underneath your clothes..." or "what's luv..." i'm not sorry to say that i don't understand or appreciate rap. however, if anyone does, please, enlighten me. i'm happy to report that the u.s. made it through independence day without any attacks by scuba diving terrorists. whew, what a relief; i was worried for a second (i apologize for any undue sinicism, but the press and that genius president of ours have left me with no choice. as a side note: i realized today that i don't think of george w. as president, but rather as more of a mascot - representing the u.s., and serving no real purpose other than showing up at public and political events and giving pep talks...but enough of the negative side of things. i love kraft macaroni & cheese and jell-o pudding snax. yum. sorry...) b&s could almost be described as an addiction. something about the voice of stuart, the lyrics, the instrumentation, and the music as a whole compels me to listen over, and over, and over, and over again to the point where i lose my desire to be social and hole up in a corner with my diskman - there are few bands whose music i can loose myself in...maybe you know the feeling. between that, eating, sleeping, hunting for quality lps at half-price books, and crew, my summer is complete. now that you're sufficiently bored (not my goal, i assure you, but i have a feeling that may have been the result of slogging through this whole thing), i thank you for inspiring me with your own posts :) for now, morgan __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Sign up for SBC Yahoo! Dial - First Month Free http://sbc.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: Tits is just a modern bosom
by Kenneth P Y Chu 10 Jul '02

10 Jul '02

Hello my internet friends.. I'm still at the Internet cafe and Muse are playing in the background right now, and I thought of you. Haha, that sounded the most unflattering.. no I don't really mean that you're unbearably dull and uninspirational and full of shit. I just wondered whether "Muscle Museum" was written with "Arse Muscles" in mind. Speaking of arse muscles, it was nice to know that Thomas Henderson pissed into a cup in Glastonbury.. must have been a big cup! I hope he has labelled his cup "The State", and then gave it to other people and said "Look, it's the state urine". Good chat-up line, maybe. Perhaps as good a chat-up line as one can get, with a cup of piss in hand. All the piss a-flowing reminds me that, a flowing e-mail requires links between one paragraph and another, like a train, which is a form of public transport, a bit like a bus. Riding on city buses for a hobby is sad. I did the other night though, although not necessarily as a pursuit. It was more like a chase, for three buses that took me from one side of North London to another, and then to the middle of North London again. Oh and I am now too late for the last tube home. Tube. There is this young couple next to me in this internet cafe who seem to be having sex with clothes on. Rod Stewart would have said, "blimey!". Maybe I should too, blimey. Cock. Can't wait til Saturday to shuttle cock with Archel! Balls. And bowling on Sunday! Tits! Udders and Red Bulls Ken P.S.: Check out my Blog! Http://www.missprint.org/sinister/latest-date.html _________________________________________________________________ Chat with friends online, try MSN Messenger: http://messenger.msn.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: tell the truth, it really helped you...
by Declan Haskins 10 Jul '02

10 Jul '02

What's ^ sinister... I've been around here for a little while (out of the nursery for only a few months, but a B&S fan for much longer) and I've been touched as of late, with the help of a fellow sinister (thanks Michelle), and moved to kick out my keyboard and send you all my first post... so here goes... I guess I'll start out and say that the B&S show I attended up in Atlanta a few months back was one of the most amazing experiences of my life... but then I had been anticipating it for almost two years, since my first exposure to the band when on a whim I picked up a copy of 'FYHCYWLAP' because of its cool cover. I won't ever forget pressing play on my CD player as I sat there in my car parked outside of the record store and hearing for the first time the soft voice of Stuart singing on its own "I fought in a war..." and the most amazing music that followed shortly after... and my life has never been the same since that day... Back to the concert... that night I was standing right up in front, just under where Mick was standing and was next to all those crazy and wild kids who came up from Miami and were having such a great time out partying for the show. And even with the abscence of Isobel that night, the show left me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside like I had just came on to some wonderful and great drug... Thanks so much to the fellow sinister who posted the pictures of the show on their website a while back. I downloaded them all and they've been rotating quite frequently on my desktop! Onto storytelling... I think its a wonderful album and the more I listen to it the more I seem to appreciate it and the genius that went into creating it. I've yet to see the movie and so I'm void of any connections between the songs and the movie's themes and plot... And so I've constructed my own personal meanings for them... isn't that always the case with music, its always so personal. I have to say that 'Black and White Unite' is my absolute favorite and that everytime I listen to it I think of imagery of the 60's in america and all the strife during that time period (the riots and such between blacks and whites in the struggle for equality)... and I imagine someone (the perspecive of the songwriter) unaffected by all the hatred and madness around them and finding a way to transcend it all and finding beauty and love. Anyways, thats about all for now... Thanks to many of you fellow members especially those who live in the U.K. and always post about bands similar to B&S that I've never heard of... some of you mentioned trembling blue stars, camera obscura, and mum amoung others not to long ago and it opened up a whole new world of great music for me... plus mum's coming to florida in august!!! that's more mellow indie excitement then we've had here in over a year!!! (incidently I was on mum's website the other day and noticed the cover of 'FYHCYWLAP' on a band photos link, anyone know anything about this... what's their connection to B&S). Unfortunately audiogalaxy is gone now... do any of you know of any good sites to get mp3's, such as the rare B&S live stuff that audiogalaxy used to have (epitonic is decent but very limited and I've tried morpheus and winMx and they both suck), email me of list. on a side note I'll be up in Atlanta again this coming weekend for the Neil Halstead show with some friends... any fellow sinisters who happen to be up there (any fans of slowdive, mojave3???) I'll be wearing a B&S t-shirt and looking kinda like Moby... say hello!!! good times and music to all love, -D "this is it, my world, the real world, the secret, where there are no teachers, no schools, no unanwerable questions, where on can be without having to ask anything" Carl Jung __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Sign up for SBC Yahoo! Dial - First Month Free http://sbc.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: E. Wilska and sgazzetti in B'cassim housing SHOCKER!
by Emily Wilska 10 Jul '02

10 Jul '02

Ah, Sinister. *BEGGING* It's true: the eternally wonderful sgazzetti (AKA JDS, or that bloke teaching English in Slovenia) and yours truly will soon be travelling to somewhere in the middle of the Spanish Mediterranean coast (let us not discuss my far-reaching lack of European geographical knowledge) to attend the FIB, where B&S will entertain the CROWD OF THOUSANDS with their rock stylings. (Hi, long and impenetrable sentence.) Given our advanced ages (28 and something greater than 28, respectively), and given my slightly high maintenance desire not to have to queue in order to shower, we were hoping to find accommodations other than the free massive festival campsite. Alas, we were a bit--comment dit-on?--behind the 8-ball, and it now appears that all of el Pais Valenciana is booked. ALL OF IT. This is where you come in: do any of you happen to have an extra hotel room (or similar--space in a bungalow or chalet would also be smashing) kicking about? I know Jordi mentioned one a few weeks back, but I've a sinking feeling it's loooooong gone by now. We are simple folk, John and I, and don't require lots of care. We can regale you with tales of travelling across the wilds of southern France, and would gladly ply you with alcohol, and would cast upon your feet the mantle of our eternal gratitude. Any and all leads on this front would be MOST APPRECIATED. Please give me a holler off-list (wilska(a)microsoft.com) if you can help save our sorry asses from having to burrow into the sand on the beach to bed down for the evening. *NOT BEGGING, BUT A REQUEST STILL* I hasten to add that even if you can only tell us we're S.O.L. as far as housing goes, if you're going to Benicassim, WE WANT TO HANG OUT WITH YOU. It's true that we're American, but John is worldly beyond his years, and I can easily pass as Canadian (complete with correct pronunciations of 'sorry' and 'pasta'), and we promise to be sufficiently witty, erudite, and alcoholic. All interested parties should please be so kind as to email either of us (me at address above, J at sgazzetti(a)yahoo.com) and state their intentions. *IN OTHER NEWS* Did anyone else notice that supposedly mild-mannered, soon-to-be-English-teacher Molly Due had the phrase ANAL LEAKAGE in her e-mail addy? That fact coupled with the vibrating bed thing (other models are know as the Sandman) leads me to doubt her innocence. Not that she necessarily claimed any, mind. On the WEblog front, I humbly remind you of my own: http://divert.blogspot.com Finally, after you've finished 'Everything Is Illuminated', [stressing now about placement of that comma outside quotes], you should hasten on to 'Prague', by Arthur Phillips, which is both brilliant and brilliantly sarcastic. You heard it here first (possibly). I will now celebrate San Francisco's faux summer by attempting to take my lunch outside. Soon enough it'll be unabashedly cold yet again. I remain, The Un-nicknamed, Emily +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: princess whiny bitch
by bus stoppers 10 Jul '02

10 Jul '02

good morning candyland, who's sleepy? raise your hands... ooo! ooo! pick me! okay. i'll stop now. the other day at work, i was slapped in the face with such a reality. i cried. but the thing is is that i already knew this thing to be true, but alas, realized at the same time my denial. double slap. players: sara-sad girl accepting realities she is in denial about frances-wishy washy girl stuck in the middle, but choosing sides jill-mean girl who hates sara steve-jill's b.f. and sara's supervisor story in a nut sack: sara and frances are friends. jill and steve and frances are friends. sara and jill think each other are the b-word. steve busts sara's balls at work for no reason. steve and jill told frances sara was trying to use her. frances and jill and steve are the "cool kids" and sara is a pocket protector*. when frances and sara hang out, frances is nice. when they are all at work, frances ignores sara. sara started ignoring frances. jill told a manager that i tried to hit her with my car**....ect.... basically: stupid drama bullshit. *pocket protectors CAN be useful, just try it. **jill cut sara off. if sara had one of those hourglass necklaces in harry potter, she would have hit jill with her grandpa's car. to quote a wonderful friend of mine: "i'm going to kick you in the cunt if you don't stop being mean to sara. word up!" isn't that beautiful? WORD UP! i think that i finally realized that as much as i try to be "cool", it's just not going to happen unless i give in and act like an asshole. WHY! do i try to fit in a groove that i'm obviously not fit for!? i probably shouldn't have cried, but i hate that constant tug of not wanting to trust anyone anymore. than what would be the point of existing in this forsaken world if i couldn't have friends, right? i'm babbling, but i'm sad so i don't care. i was leaving campus yesterday afternoon listening to the good life in my headphones (the beaten path) while i walked on the grassy patches that make a pattern with the gum-marked cement walkways. walking on grass has become one of my most favorite things ever! i can't really explain that either, but try it. anyway, there were little youngin's on the grass, i think on some summer activities thing, playing red rover red rover. remember that shit? i failed p.e. in 2nd grade because i didn't want to play any of the races or games. competitiveness scares me! i faked stomach aches. got an f on the report card because i sat on the sidelines 5 days a week. i stopped and watched them a bit. there were older kids and younger kids playing together and the little tiny kids were so cute. swinging their arms and chanting send so-and-so over...well...there was this one girl. she yells, call for someone WEAK so we can win. who the fuck is that bitch going to turn out to be? i wanted to go pinch her damn ear because sure enough, they call the tiniest boy from the other team who gets fucking neck slammed and almost falls on his ass. yeah! whoo! the bitch screams. i can't really think of a way to put it all together, but somehow it does. i think. i'm okay with not being accepted. i used to take it personally, but fuck it. right? it's just when i feel...i don't think betrayed is the right word...um...abandoned...? maybe i should have a copy of a disclaimer with me at all times. "if i plan on acting like a friend, then i am a friend. if i don't like you, i will not go on under false pretenses. i'll simply leave you alone. i promise." please sign on the dotted line. right next to the X. the word of my emotion is disappointed. maybe? here's to not having any expectations, love sara p.s...i'm sorry i had to get all that out. p.p.s...on a happier note! when i checked my e-mail today, i had one of those e-mails that isn't spam, but somehow i don't know how i got it kind. anyway, this was the subject line: FORANOTHERDREAM, ENLARGE YOUR PENIS TODAY! GIVE YOUR WOMAN MORE PLEASURE! i'm NOT kidding. no. i don't have penis. now. if it had been: FORANOTHERDREAM, ENLARGE YOUR BREASTS TODAY! JUST FOR THE HECK OF WIDE-EYED SIDE GLANCES! i wouldn't have clicked to get off their wonderful e-mail list. ===== all the people'd stare as if we were both quite insane someday my name and his are going to be the same __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Sign up for SBC Yahoo! Dial - First Month Free http://sbc.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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