Dear Santa,
I would like to draw your attention to the fact that I have been a very
good boy this year. Remarkably good in fact. Some would say that no boy
has ever been quite as good in a single year before. I have done many
good things, like I have been to almost all lectures and done my work. I
have read about how I am a bad man in the Guardian a few times, and felt
better about myself for doing it. I went to an anti-war demonstration
and pretended to be a hippy for a day, but I have also read some
editions of "The Mail" and found out, among other things, how much worse
Cherie Blair is than me. I have not eaten too much cake, but I do still
like it.
In light of all this, I wonder if you could arrange for me to receive
the following items:
- A photograph of Photo Jenny
- Tigermilk(ing)
- Bowling and Drinking
- A cigarette and a caravanette in Hull
- Services that I may reasonably require
- Bowling and Drinking
- Girl
- A spoon and a decent book
- Bowling and Drinking
- A special deal on renting from the man at rediffusion
- A documentary on radio 4
- Bowling and Drinking
Please also Santa, I would love it if you could perhaps organise some
Sinister Bowling and Drinking, I do love it so. I would organise it
myself but it might go very wrong.
Thankyou Mr Claus.
James
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+-+ "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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
(please excuse me, I'm writing an essay on Pope's 'Rape of the Lock')
*Canto I*
I would like to apologise to one of the sinister gentleman with whom I was
exchanging messages with earlier this fall...I seem to have lost his emails
in the dense mists of time. But it was thinking about him, and how I should
reply to his last email (although, despite my best efforts, I was unable to
find it) that made me remember this.
He said he found Glasgow cold and bleak. DidnÂ’t fancy it much. I wanted to
tell him, yes it is cold, and the endless concrete and harsh Weegie accents
can make it seem unfriendly.
*(apologies to all Glaswegians: I know youÂ’re a lovely friendly people. But
the weegie ned accent is in the top five most grating of all accents of the
entire world, and you all know it)*
But sometime in spring, when the days are starting to last well into the
night and the mornings canÂ’t wait till morning, you may find yourself
sitting up in your flat all on your own, trying to write an essay due the
next afternoon for which youÂ’ve not read the books when all of a sudden you
notice that the sky is lightening and the trees planted inside your flat
complexÂ’s yard are full of birds who think they have to cheer the sun along
in order to make it rise.
* ink polaroid *
I am wearing the black stretch Adidas pants that I bought to wear to the gym
(but who have only seen the inside of my bedroom as I relax with a book) and
the big red QueenÂ’s University (Canada) hoodie that I wear to invoke
studious karma. I heard the birds calling to each other in the trees, shut
off the standing lamp beside my coffee table/desk, and climbed up onto the
wide windowsill. Opening the me-sized screenless window as wide as I can, I
perch sideways on the edge of the sill, breathe in the smell of new leaves
and listen to the birds screaming in the trees.
(Incidentally, I might love that Arab Strap song just because it invokes
this memory)
IÂ’ve never told anyone about this memory, for no particular reason. But
whenever I think back on my time in Glasgow, being a student at the uni
there and living in a real live, genuine British flat, that morning always
sticks out in my mind. IÂ’m the only one I ever caught sitting on the
windowsill, enjoying the sound of the wind in the trees and loving the dear
green place. It belongs just to me, and to a really good time in my life. I
miss the days where everything was possible and nothing was urgent.
I miss Glasgow.
Here all the windows have screens, and the streets smell like gasoline. The
birds donÂ’t scream when theyÂ’ve all flown south.
DonÂ’t worry, Jen, the geese do take turns being at the head of the triangle
when they all fly south. The formation is designed to reduce wind
resistance, helping them use as little energy as possible during their long
flights sough. The further back you are in the formation, the less energy
you have to use to stay aloft. When the head goose gets tired, s/he falls
back to the end of the triangle, and another goose takes over.
The lesson here? Geese are bloody Commies! (go with it)
ThatÂ’s the kind of thing you learn when you live in the Land of the Canada
Goose.
They also poop everywhere and are slightly menacing. So I donÂ’t mind that we
only have them for six months of the year.
*Canto II*
I was thinking about KieranÂ’s post (and his post-post post) about the bus. I
lived within walking distance to my school until I got to high school. There
were two, then three, then four of us in my neighbourhood who went to the
same school, so we got rides in the morning from parents. We usually made
our own way home via public transportation, which gave us a taste for
freedom and independence. We began having adventures on the bus, and took it
lots of places (until we started to get our drivers licenses and wouldnÂ’t
deign to go anywhere without a point-to-point chauffeur). I remember waiting
at the bus stop, idly watching the traffic and looking for the noisy giant
beetle to come trundling along the right lane of traffic. People in their
cars would always gawk at us in the bus shelter, as if we were a particular
species of bus-people not often seen outside of zoos or travelling freak
shows. I think we overestimate our untouchability when weÂ’re in cars: we
think weÂ’re safe and cozy and inside, but weÂ’re separated from the outside
world only by metal and tires and plush seats. True, there arenÂ’t many
beautiful people on buses, but as I watched the cars go by I didnÂ’t see many
beautiful people in them, either.
They must hide somewhere else altogether. Jets, maybe. Or galleons.
Or maybe they were the exclusive recipients of those HoverCars we were all
promised by the year 2000.
Bastards.
(If anyone ever gets a HoverCar, IÂ’ll give them my set of B&S playing cards
for a ride in it. Wait...they were 30 Canadian dollars...let me think about
that one...)
*Canto III*
I sent out my Sinister Christmas Presents yesterday! I feel a bit gauche
cause I didn't have any glitter, but I made sure to use two gluesticks in
cut-and-paste efforts to make up for it. Hope it will suffice, and I promise
to invest in sparkly things for next year.
(Was I the only one to get funny looks for making presents for strangers on
a emailing list?)
I like giving presents to people I don't know cause if they don't like them,
they can pass them on without worrying if I'll be offended. If someone
didn't like the present I gave them, I'd rather they gave it away to someone
who'd appreciate it instead of letting junk clutter up their house.
*do I sense an onslaught of donations to someboysjumpers?*
I think I should stop now. Merry Christmas Shopping, everyone.
marisa.
_________________________________________________________________
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+-+ "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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Dear Sinister,
I´ve been a member since a couple of months ago but this is the first time i
write something......don´t know why I haven´t written before.....anyway,
know it feels like i don´t have anyone i really can talk because noone
really understands me and nobody cares (ok my mother), but it feels like
none of my friends understands me and i don´t really want to tell everything
because it´s so f***ing hard to talk about feelings....i think it´s
embarrassing and so because i´m let down again and again and i feel like a
big mistake.
Ok, it´s a guy....we´ve known each other for over a year and i´ve been in
love with him all the time. We were going out for a couple of months now
this automn but it turned out bad for me....he left me and i miss him so
much....it really aches inside and today i´m so down......this is one of
those really bad days. Yesterday was ok, but today it´s bad. Some days are
better and you feel really strong and think that you can go on without him
(he was a pig anyway and doesn´t deservs you)......but then the next day you
feel so weak and miss him so much. I don´t know what to do....i´m just
waiting for time to pass so i can forget him....because everyone says that
you will forget him after a while....time goes by and you will forget
him.....but it feels like time just passes by and my feelings don´t change a
bit....they just go stronger and i long to see him....so how long must i
wait? I just want him to come back to me....even though he has treated me
really bad....cause i can´t go on without him. I want.....i want so much
that i can´t have.....it´s like to wish impossible things....to wish
impossible things......the only thing i can put my trust into now are these
great bands in the world....like b&s, cure, a couple of swedish bands
etc....who sing about those feelings i have inside.....then i feel a little
bit better because i´m not alone in the world to feel this down.....
Anyway, i just felt for writing a little.....and actually it feels a little
bit better....a little bit.......i should try to get some sleep now (after
watching the telly for a while) because i have to go to work again
tomorrow.....
Thank´s for reading this....if you came that far....
/ love em from sweden
_________________________________________________________________
Bli förälskad på MSN Dejting http://www.msn.se/dejting/default.asp
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+-+ "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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Well hello
These past couple of weeks have been a bit funny (like rough not just
amusing), so I decided to think of things that have made me smile
recently, as a distraction. When I went over it in my head, there is a
lot of fab stuff going on if you pay attention.
Firstly, Velocity Farewell included some Dexy's lyrics in her post
yesterday, from a song that I love. I ended up with it stuck in my head
all day, but in a good way.
My 5 year old cousin read me a story for the first time at the weekend.
It was Little Miss Wise. She had some trouble with some of the words but
essentially it was her doing the reading. Its unbelievable, 3 months ago
she could hardly recognise her own name and now she can read books.
The geese that wander around campus are still making me smile. They
sometimes walk in formation, like they are practising for when they fly
in those big pointy arrows or something. I wonder how they decide who
goes at the front? I suppose the biggest, toughest goose does it,
although it would be nice if they took turns.
I saw a minor celebrity whilst out shopping the other day. Well, not
really a celebrity, just someone from the summer's Big Brother, but I am
frighteningly obsessed with Heat magazine and so this was quite a big
deal for me. (I won't go into details as no-one outside Britain will
know who I mean... That's not even the point)
Also, that very same day, I found a record that I had been wanting for 4
years. S.M.D.U by Brock Landars... A bootleg of prodigys smack my bitch
up and song 2 by blur. I was just rooting through the bargain bin and
there it was, on single and priced at just 49p! Its not a collectors
item or anything, I just liked the song and never managed to find it.
Its been so long, I couldnÂ’t even remember what it sounded like, only
that I liked it. And the good news is, I do still like it. I worried,
you see, when I got home. You know how it is when you remember something
as being brilliant, and then when you finally see/hear/smell it again
its not quite as good as it was in your head? But I still like it.
But possibly the most sure-fire way to make me smile at the moment are
the signs I've spotted in York. Yesterday, I saw an official road-sign
directing you to "Local shops", and another telling you not to let your
dog walk on the city walls, as well as last weeks "Pedestrians! Dead
slow" which I still don't quite understand. But I'm sure it is meant to
be helpful.
I'm not really sure if any of this is going to make anyone else smile
but maybe if you are feeling a bit down you could look out for similar
stuff in your life? Everyone knows, happiness is to be found at the
bottom of the bargain bin.
Jen
xxx
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+-+ "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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
I return from my weekend of drunken debauchery (which involved dressing up
in an Enid from Ghostworld cat mask, gaining odd bruises in odd places and
losing my phone in the back of a taxi) to bring you yet another CHRISTMAS
GIFT EXCHANGE public announcement.
Laura's email is playing her up something rotten, and some assignments have
not been getting through to people. Everyone should have got an email
telling them the address of the person/people they are sending to.
If you haven't received an email from Laura with this information in it,
please email her AND me, then we will get it all sorted out for you. This
may mean people get their gifts a little late but if you complain, we will
kill you.
I do hope everyone who can will be coming to How Does It Feel next Thursday
to watch SM spin some discs. First one to request the Birdie Song gets....
ostracized.
I am still over the moon about the return of the poetry parrot. Pickle
Prince, what on earth is he up to?
Much Love
Madeleine xxxx
_________________________________________________________________
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send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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+-+ "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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
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. ItÂ’s 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 youÂ’ll 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 wasnÂ’t 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 youÂ’re critically aware of the
pettiness, the insignificance of those annoyances, you know that theyÂ’ll be
forgotten once you reach wherever it is you’re 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 don’t you move into the shelter, if we’re all inside then maybe
itÂ’ll generate a bit of warmth and oh god itÂ’s fucking packed again and ok I
was going to sit there but and then no donÂ’t stand there right in front of
me, no donÂ’t 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 could’ve written your
name in the filth on the windows, or hilariously daubed ‘clean me’ with soon
blackened fingertips, couldÂ’ve 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
thatÂ’s an odd thing to have wanted, since IÂ’m 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 must’ve ‘why didn’t
those fucking kids give up that seat to someone elseÂ’ 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 donÂ’t 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
_________________________________________________________________
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To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe
send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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+-+ "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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
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
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To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe
send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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+-+ "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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
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
couldnÂ’t 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 couldÂ’ve 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 donÂ’t we? I guess thatÂ’s 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 didn’t stay to see how it finished, couldn’t
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 isn’t exactly proof they happen ‘all the time’ izzit?
But hereÂ’s 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 weÂ’d get one of
those older style buses whichÂ’re a bit smaller and have leather seats and
havenÂ’t 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 NazÂ’s stop itÂ’s pretty crowded and there
are people standing. Now technically I reckon that the seat weÂ’re on can
maybe sit three smallish people and hey, this was only year eight (I guess)
so weÂ’re pretty small so we budge up and Naz sits between us. Rock and Roll.
Only itÂ’s 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
didnÂ’t 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 didn’t we let her sit down, huh? Being only,
what, twelve, thirteen? At the time we werenÂ’t really in the business of Now
see hereÂ’s or Just a momentÂ’s which wouldÂ’ve maybe stood us in good stead
against this bloke who I, IÂ’ll describe him shall I? I can because, well I
was going to save this up for the end, but thereÂ’s not really much to spoil,
see we saw him on the buses a couple of times after the event IÂ’m 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 donÂ’t 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 didnÂ’t 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 ‘who’s 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. ThatÂ’s 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 itÂ’s been
done, but I think thatÂ’d 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 shouldnÂ’t
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,
weÂ’ll probably say that itÂ’s just displaced anger, worries about something
else manifesting themselves in this seemingly innocent situation. Ok. HereÂ’s
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 isnÂ’t *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 ain’t a dead language, it’s
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 knowÂ… 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?!”
“I’m afraid so.”
Something thatÂ’s 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 youÂ’ve 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 anyone’s posts. Fairly often I’ll think ‘that was a really good
postÂ’ or words to that effect, yÂ’know, but I donÂ’t really think that sending
an email just saying ‘that was a really good post’ is all that productive.
Though, I’d be happy to receive them myself – obviously I’d prefer some well
thought out commentary (ha) or someone answering a question IÂ’d posed or
whatever, but simple praise is always welcome with me too, and I donÂ’t
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 youÂ’ve 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 itÂ’s just to say that you thought it was
good. Bonus bonus bonus round too – if it works also more people will post.
So everyoneÂ’s a winner. Baby, thatÂ’s 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.
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+-+ "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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
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.
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+---+ 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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
