Well, I just joined the list about 2 weeks ago. Been
reading things "here, there, and everywhere" at random.
I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Shane,
from Maine in the US of A. I'm 16 and enjoy being
critisized for being a Belle and Sebastian fan by my
friends. I don't know how it is in England or
Australia, but Belle and Sebastian are almost as
unknown as anyone can possibly get over here. I'm
critisized for not liking loud guitars that dominate a
song and/or rap music (if you want to call it music). I
looked for this list for some people that I actually
have something in common with musically. Plus, I've
gotten 1 too many "wuts sinister meen" from some of the
morons I hang out with.
I think I am going to keep myself very low profile,
only responding every once in a while, but I will read
most everything. My favorite Belle and Sebastian is a
cross between Sinister and Arab Strap. I especially
like listening to how smoothly a transition "A Space
Boy Dream" goes into "Dirty Dream Number Two". Speaking
of, Dirty Dream Number Two happens to be my favorite
song.
Peace,
Shane Morin
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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,
Before I start proper a tiny addendum to last time’s post – I mentioned that
the Moldy Peaches were playing in Sheffield on the 21st November. Well, as
any English student will tell you, close reading is key – unfortunately I
neglected to read the advertisement poster closely enough to discern that it
is in fact just Kimya Dawson, who is one half (roughly) of the above
mentioned band thatÂ’s playing, but it should still be good anyway.
Nonetheless, a lesson is to be learned here – don’t go reading posters
whilst running past them at a considerable distance and talking to someone.
Is toothpaste a liquid or a solid? ThatÂ’s what we were talking about. No
firm conclusions have yet been drawn – what do you reckon? See I’m thinking
that stuff like toothpaste disrupts the whole notion of the solid/liquid/gas
trichotomy as itÂ’s taught in low level physics (I gave up on physics after
GCSE, I was no good at it and the department was up three flights of stairs)
and instead that states of matter should be seen as a continuum rather than
three separate entities in themselves. Possibly most scientists would just
say: “Well, obviously” to that, but we were always taught that you had to be
one of the three. ItÂ’s all up in the air anyway. IÂ’ve started proper by the
way now, in case anyone isnÂ’t clear. I really want to talk about the song
‘Trash’ by Suede now – you’ll remember me saying in my last post that they
didn’t play anything I requested at the most recent Offbeat, well ‘Trash’
was one of the songs I requested then. Even though, if I were forced to
choose, IÂ’d probably say I was more anti Suede than pro them, I do think
‘Trash’ is one of the best singles of the 90’s, easily the best thing the
band has ever done etc. Though IÂ’m not at all sure why, itÂ’s not markedly
different from the trademark lush, vaguely anthemic in a
pseudo-anti-anthemic sort of way trademark Suede trademark sound. I donÂ’t
know. ItÂ’s healthy to have irrational likes and dislikes anyway. Since they
didnÂ’t play it at Offbeat the other Friday then I requested it yesterday
evening (which was Thursday evening if I donÂ’t get round to finishing this
before tonight is done). Actually I might go off on a little tangent first
about the Thursday night Fuzz Club at Sheffield SU – or at least about
Coin-Op who were the band that played there last night, they have bands on
before the disco bit in a clever hybrid of gig and club, giving you just
that little bit more for your money, unless, as frequently happens, the
bands that are on are crap. I wanted to go backstage or shout and ask them
if they liked The Pixies and The Fall quite a lot but I didnÂ’t get round to
it. They were good though, I enjoyed myself. And anyway, itÂ’s unfair and
lazy to describe bands in terms of combinations of other bands, or just in
terms of other bands really – I’m not saying Coin-Op were Pixies/Fall
copyists anyway, they werenÂ’t, but there were definite vocal inflections and
dynamics in their sound that heavily recalled both those bands. No bad
thing? Well that depends. Anyway, speaking of all that, I saw much
maligned/adored American emo-folkster “about as alt as alt-country gets” (Q
Magazine) types/type (IÂ’m not clear on where the band starts and ends
really, is it just Connor Oberst that counts as Bright Eyes or are the rest
of them part of it – ditto The Magnetic Fields and The Divine Comedy) Bright
Eyes on Wednesday in a tiny venue in the back room of a pub in Leeds – yes
his ears really do look that big from up close. To be honest I probably fit
more into the ‘maligned’ (as in I malign them, him, not the other way round,
gah) side of the above split, but it was a good show with the boy Oberst
quaffing a whole bottle of cheapo red wine on stage (which isnÂ’t, I donÂ’t
imagine, a very good sign for the tour – if you need to be that trashed to
make the evening go ok then it canÂ’t be a very stimulating tour, musically
or otherwise) and flailing around and singing and generally looking like an
indie poster boy extraordinaire. He sang some old songs too, which I
recognised, and that was nice. Thing is, though, his music is so defiantly,
brutally introspective (which is what puts, I guess, a lot of people off –
it certainly puts me off – or not just that it is introspective, but the
manner in which it is and how thatÂ’s expressed) that I expected the gig to
be quite low key and acoustic – more about drawing the crowd in rather than
projecting to them, and in such a small venue he could easily have gotten
away with that, in fact it might even have worked better, but instead he and
his band thrashed (ok it wasnÂ’t quite that crude, but there was a sense of
abandon, I think, to the way they went through the songs – again, not a good
sign that this is a very stimulating tour for team Bright Eyes) their way
along, turning even the more delicate numbers into cathartic paroxysms of
angsty indie rage, and as Oberst got drunker and drunker even those laboured
words of his began to blur into one another, just leaving his hoarse,
abstract exorcisms behind. Perversely, not being a fan of his lyrics
particularly, this actually made the gig more enjoyable for me – and my
friends, who are all pretty much confirmed Bright Eyes fanatics didnÂ’t seem
to mind either, or perhaps they were just too star struck to notice. If you
were there (you never know), then my friend Laura was the one who jumped on
stage right at the end of the encore and gave your man a necklace. Cute.
Also, we managed to charm the (ok non-existent) security and ran backstage
afterwards to meet the band, who obviously had no interest in us and didnÂ’t
want us there (they canÂ’t really be blamed for that though, I think IÂ’d be
the same) and I stood awkwardly while other gobs hung open gazing at
ConnorÂ’s lovely blottoed visage. Then they bought tshirts and stuff and we
went home. Yay. Oh, yeah, while IÂ’m thinking about it, during the gig I
really, really felt like heckling. Is this natural? Barring the wittiest of
the witty, IÂ’m generally not at all impressed by heckling, I donÂ’t think
many people are – but during the oddly reverential between song silences of
Wednesday night I was itching to make myself heard. I felt like shouting
something like: “Say something profound, Connor.” I’m glad I didn’t
actually, it wouldnÂ’t have worked. That is, it wouldnÂ’t have been a
sufficiently witty heckle to get the crowd onto my side, not that Oberst
wouldnÂ’t have said something profound, lord knows, he might have huge chunks
of the Dhammapada to heart, and what a bootleg that would have made.
Incidentally, my philosophy lecturer, the one who made the mistake about
Tracey Emin last week, this week redeemed himself by using the term ‘scare
quotes’ which I like. Presently we come to something of an impasse – next
week is reading week, which means that I donÂ’t have any lectures or
anything, most people have gone home for the week, but I couldnÂ’t face that
personally – not that I’ve anything against my family, of course not, but
weÂ’re having building work done at home at the moment, and the thought of
being stuck in that tiny house whilst builders traipse through all the while
really doesnÂ’t appeal. IÂ’m going back soon anyway, for some A-Level thing at
my old school, I canÂ’t decide if IÂ’m looking forward to seeing various
people or not, some of them I definitely didnÂ’t stay in contact with for a
reason – I imagine it’ll be all “How are you getting on?” “Oh fine, you?”
“Fine, yeah” type conversations and then we’ll all go back home and wonder
how we could grow so far apart after just a few months. Or I will anyway.
But an impasse here because I donÂ’t really have anything to do, particularly
– I have letters to write and a couple of essays to do, but that doesn’t
really structure my days very well, not that they particularly benefit from
being structured – I suppose this is the eternal paradox though, if I’m ever
obliged to do anything at all then I moan about it, and now that I have a
week so empty that there will be barely anyone around that IÂ’ll have to
grunt “alright?” at as we pass on the street and I moan about that as well.
I suppose IÂ’m just worried that IÂ’ll retreat back into the malaise of doing
nothing except staying in bed reading and keeping completely unsociable
hours as I did during the summer. It wasnÂ’t that bad, really. I just donÂ’t
particularly want to be there again, even if it is just for a week. Still.
And itÂ’s not as if I donÂ’t have enough free time anyway, in fact I have
inordinate amounts – I suppose I always did though. Almost everyone being
gone is almost certainly a good thing, though, I think – no more queues for
dinner, no more long waits for the lift, even if it is just for a week. Oh,
and I meant to tell you this last time, but further to the tales of
‘hilarious’ student debauchery, the guy who lives opposite to me, lets call
him ‘Matt’ (it is his name, after all, and any possible allusions to a dull
surface are appreciated as well as appropriate), this is the person that
plays ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and, recently that Bombfunk MC’s record that was
around a few years ago, a song which I thought had been thankfully consigned
to the annals of one hit wonderdom, but apparently not, repeatedly, loudly
during the wee small hours of the morning, as well as several other hours
during the day (‘wee small’ is a bit of a tautology isn’t it? That blonde
girl has fair hair), he anyway, managed to break his sink by throwing his
weights at it, whilst drunk. Oddly, and disconcertingly he didnÂ’t seem at
all bothered by what heÂ’d done the next day, still found it highly amusing
actually. Some people, honestly. HeÂ’s a bit of a case all round really, from
the lewd posters on his wall to the other day when I was, not out of choice,
mind, sitting opposite him and dinner and he started complaining about how
hard it was to do work in his room, about how it was too noisy and about how
there were too many distractions. But itÂ’s you making all the noise! All the
time! Some people. Honestly. Actually, I was mulling this over the other day
on the way home from something, we more or less have absolutely nothing in
common, Matt and I, no shared interests, no common ground, we donÂ’t have
anything that even remotely resembles a rapport in conversation. Chalk et
cheese. I was wondering, then, whether this is a good thing or not. Is it
beneficial to occasionally come into contact with people that you absolutely
cannot relate to at all? Does it somehow affirm your own sense of being?
Prove the eternal variety of the human spirit? Which lead me, sans an actual
conclusion on the above (other than to think that occasionally I am drawn to
struggling through, say, a really hard book or article thinking that it will
be somehow beneficial to have read it, despite not having enjoyed it very
much, not sure that this is quite analogous though), to wonder if we maybe
had one thing in common, I worked backwards on this one, reasoning that itÂ’s
easier to change him than me in this unlikeliest of scenarios – that, say,
he enjoyed the novels of Vladimir Nabokov (he told me, incidentally, that he
doesnÂ’t like reading the other day, so there doesnÂ’t seem to be much chance
that he does on the sly, but I suppose you never know), would that then give
us enough grounding to be able to get on with eachother without there being
an awkward and occasionally menacing air when we speak? But then I thought,
no, because if he did like Nabokov then surely this would change, albeit
fractionally, his entire countenance – or would it? Could he be the same
person exactly, but just with this one tiny addition? I didnÂ’t think so,
Nabokov isnÂ’t a good example, obviously, but in a sense, to like certain
things you have to be a certain way – it’s not really a chicken and egg type
situation and one canÂ’t function with the other. But then I thought that I
was being far too essentialist – why shouldn’t someone completely different
to me enjoy the same things as I do? There isnÂ’t an answer to that. The
reason Matt and I donÂ’t get on runs much deeper than just surface interests
– there are plenty of sporty people (and yes, I appreciate how much of an
oversimplification that is) that I get on with and plenty of bookish people
that I canÂ’t stand. So, depressingly, it looks like our differences are
irreconcilable. Pity that. The thing is, I feel that way about most of the
people on this floor - that there is this huge vista between what I think
and what they think – about everything. Pity that. So why is it that I still
think of them, of Matt especially in terms of just those interests? Do I see
them as a manifestation of the bits of his personality that are
irreconcilable with mine, and with people I like that have similar interests
to him, do I bury those interests and just see the personality that I do get
on with? This is what keeps me up. That and the toothpaste thing, anyway.
Perhaps this is why my friends seemed so horrified when, in Leeds a few
weeks ago after we were drunkenly insulted by some townie types about the
way we were dressed, harmless enough, I suppose, but not very pleasant, and
typically our conversation turns to how moronic these people are, how they
all dress the same and etc etc and I suggested that if that was all we could
come up with about them was that, then we were no different from them anyway
– we think we’re better, they think they’re better simply based on the way
the other side appears, the only difference being that the townies have the,
I donÂ’t think guts is quite the word, but the impetus at least to voice
their prejudices. I thought the whole point of not being like them was to
*not be like them*. DidnÂ’t go down too well though. Perhaps IÂ’m trying to
make a point about indie as a whole now, though guardedly. IÂ’ll not press it
though. IÂ’m as guilty of it as anyone else is anyhow, so IÂ’d be a hypocrite
if I did. I wonder if Matt recognises this difference – or more to the
point, I wonder what he actually thinks of me – it’s a subject I’d quite
like to broach with him, if only I knew how. Incidentally, I donÂ’t
particularly mean to single Matt out, itÂ’s just that his room is so close to
mine and I seem the most estranged from him, itÂ’s a discussion IÂ’d like to
have with plenty of people, but itÂ’s one of those things thatÂ’s just too
close to the bone to actually take up with anyone, even people I am friends
with. IÂ’m rambling now. Still. HeÂ’s gone home for the week anyway, Matt, so
have most of them, itÂ’s quiet. I think I already mentioned that. Still
rambling, then. As ever. See, I did it with the pun on ‘Matt’ above,
actually, witty as it was and as nicely as it lead on to ‘it does exactly
what it says on the tinÂ’ type nonsense I was still completely on the
surface, totally 2D. Nobody is 2D. Perhaps this is whatÂ’ll happen when I go
back to school for that presentation, weÂ’ll all go back to seeing each other
as just 2D people, strangers, I suppose they are now, in a sense, most of
them. But I was here to talk to you about Suede. So I requested ‘Trash’
Thursday evening and they played it and I danced and in my cinematised
version everyone was ecstatic and the song fit the moment so perfectly that
all other music momentarily paled in comparison and today I went out and
bought a second hand copy of ‘Coming Up’ for a fiver because I don’t
actually have the song up here with me and IÂ’ve been listening to it on
repeat all day the end.
Love, Kieran
Xxx
p.s. I thought about taking out all the punctuation. Maybe next time, what
do you think?
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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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
why, hello!
RACHEL PLAYFORTH (MISS) SAID:
<<It was infuriatingly precious when they wouldn't do press or appear on
sleeve photos etc, I know it was. But it did give us something to
*wonder* about, and if you can't have wonder then what have you really got?
A fey Scottish band made up of scruffy, skinny lads and winsome lasses, who
you might have forgotten about already if the NME didn't occasionally remind
you. Oh I don't really believe that, of course. But suffice to say, I have
not been reading the Q&A page on the website.>>
But have you been reading StuartÂ’s Diary, Rachel? It seems he just canÂ’t
help being smutty. Have you seen his latest entry? ItÂ’s full of porn and
Dentist Sex, and is like a big mountain of spunk! Look!
<<Well I was lying back, and the dentist was jabbing away, and the assistant
had her whole hand in there as well, and my saliva glands were really
working overtime! I mean the girl was meant to be sucking that stuff up, but
it was too much. And it overflowed and started running down my neck into my
hair! Really, it felt like a complete flood, like a tributary of the Nile or
something. And I was trying to attract the girl to what was happening, but
of course it's hard when you've got two people pinning you down like that.>>
Crikey! I hope he remembered his cap!
And then he says heÂ’s bored of sex. Too much of it, I think!
Archel also said:
<<Personally I hate bras, but you've
got to have them sometimes. It's like nits.>>
And I thought she said “tits.” But she didn't. She did say “bras”, though.
He he! Bras!!
On a less smutty note, I quite like reading the diary and stuff. I donÂ’t
think it reveals anything too sensational and really quite like the way
Stuart spends most of his time being lazy, and isnÂ’t like a proper rock star
at all. I canÂ’t think of many other artists who would set homework like
this, either:
<< But here's a little assignment for you. In the spirit of what I was
talking about earlier I want you to write in and tell me something you found
sexy. But the thing is, it's not to include any sex. Because sometimes
someone can do something so attractive. but it's nothing to do with that
media fed notion of sex I'm so bored with. It's something different. I was
going to give you an example, but I'm so jaded.. you're just going to have
to use your imagination.>>
This is like the opposite of ArchelÂ’s underwear competition I think.
ArchelÂ’s is easier, because I think about bras A LOT, but I think I might
enter StuartÂ’s too. Everyone else has (he he! snigger!)
IÂ’m off to the dentist then.
bye x x robin
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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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Mark Casarotto said:
>so if anyone has any decent recipes, please feel free to send them to me!
You should go here: http://joannou.net/topofthestairs/sinifood/
The Sinister Recipe Tree is rolling along nicely. Caitlin Pigtails is doing a fantastic job of archiving the recipes. If anyone wants to join just let me know. There are some fantastic recipes - Alyson Snowball's Hazelnut-Parmesan Asparagus is the best thing I have done with asparagus (in terms of eating anyway...), and Jeanette's Chocolate Chip Pecan Pie is to die for. I am slowly working my way through all the recipes everyone has sent in.
I have had a permanent smile on my face all day today, and have been in a suspiciously good mood for the last couple of days. Perhaps because I handed in my last assignment yesterday, or perhaps because it is Swot Vac and I love Swot Vac, or maybe because it is sunny and warm and just deliciuos outside. I would suggest a combination of the 3. I also went shopppig today with the 2 girls I live with, which is always fun. And I didn't have to carry the box of fruit and vegetables we bought from the markets! I insisted one of the girls carry it - I would of but I refuse to reinforce gender stereotypes ;) Then we went to the supermarket and I got to push the trolley and coast on it, which is my favourite thing in the whole world possibly.
My car's tape player broke a week or so ago, which means I can't listen to tapes. I had just made this fantastic B&S mix-tape, and had listened to almost half of, when my tape player just stopped working. The upside to all this is that I've been able to listen to "Good Time Oldies, 1080 6IX" on a regular basis. I'd forgotten how good it was, and would like to thank Helen for reminding me of its greatness.
After reading David Hewitt's post it got me thinking about how many Australian's are actually on Sinister, and where they all live. I know there is at least 7 here in Perth and at least 2 in Brisbane, 2 in Melbourne and 1 in Adelaide. Maybe everyone from Australia could reply to this and tell me where they are?
bye bye,
terry
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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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
You know the way the first rule of sinister is you don't talk about
Sinister? I am nevertheless going to engage in some meta comment, because it
seems like there's been a sudden outbreak of Old Sinister action on the
list. Top marks, that's what I say, seeing all these old jokes, tropes, and
characters from before my time dredged up. Soon I will have assimilated
everything and be able to pass myself off as an old timer too, muttering
about the Earl of Fotheringay* the while.
I must reply to a post that mentioned me.
Carsmile Steve wrote:
> DV was banging on abt the chalets (for a change),
now I feel very self conscious. I saw the Chalets play again last friday,
and I completely wuv them.
Sirrah Carsmile went on to say:
> i'm assuming the afternoon gig will be at Notting Hill Art Club
yes indeed. They will play RoTa at the Notting Hill Art Club at 4.00pm. My
sources in the world of The Chalets also tell me they will play Strange
Fruit at 8.00pm sharp. They would also like to remind Sinister that The
Chalets include former Sinister subber Paula Cullen Booze Explosion. The old
timers among you could go along and marvel at what happens to people when
they unsubscribe.
I feel like some kind of grubby list abusing publicist now. I will not
mention The Chalets again for a while.
I will mention Serge Gainsbourg. "L'Histoire Du Melody Nelson" has finally
fallen into place with me, and I wuv it. I reckon I would wuv it even more
if my French was up to following the lyrics (which apparently are about
getting it on with some young one who then dies in an unlikely sequence of
events). I have also been enjoying the France Gall album I bought in Beirut,
which features many Serge composed songs. My favourite Gainsbourg track
remains 'Nazi Rock' off "Rock Around The Bunker". People may scoff at Isobel
Campbell, but it is thanks to her that 'Nazi Rock' looms so high in my
pantheon of Serge, as she was the first person I ever heard bigging it up.
"Rock Around The Bunker" is a G*R*A*T*E record. It presents a load of pop
tunes with second world war and third reich related themes, many of them set
in the bunker where Mr & Mrs Hitler wile away the time before the end. Never
one to shun controversy, Serge also sings about how great it is to be Jewish
and wear the yellow star. It's funny how slow I am, it never really occured
to me until recently that Gainsbourg was lucky to avoid extermination in the
second world war. He is a strange man to be able to make light of it in that
kind of way.
A strange man, and a pop genius.
I also had the good fortune to see the band Luna last week, who did a
stonking version of Gainsbourg's 'Bonnie & Clyde', complete with those odd
cockatoo noises. Top marks, top marks.
Apart from "Rock Around The Bunker" and "L'Histoire Du Melody Nelson", does
anyone have any other Gainsbourg album recommendations.
et maintenant, il faut que je parti.
DV
*I have no doubt misdescribed the gentle peer, thus clearly marking myself
out as not part of the in-crowd.
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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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Space...
Big, isn't it?
The earth is several miles below. It seems unreal to look at it in such a
manner. It looks quiet, and innocuous enough, from this distance. It looks
like a pleasant place to live.
I don't miss it. It isn't my home any more.
I should say something Holy....'Truly, the glory of creation shines through
as I witness the work of our Lord all around me'..
Something like that.
But, the truth is, it is no more apparent up here than it was down there.
The emptiness clears my mind. The void hints at hidden truths. But I've
had enough of hints of Truth. Either give me the real thing or leave me
alone.
Hello, and welcome, my lambs of Divinity,
My name is Sister Janice, and I have given my life to Jesus.
That is, I had given my life to Jesus. Now, I suppose, I have it back.
I wish I knew what to do with it..
The space-ship doesn't have a control panel. I have never been a scientist.
Nuns generally aren't. People tell me science and faith don't necessarily
go together. They don't understand that science is simply one more faith.
But, it remains the truth that nuns are not scientists. And they're also
crap at building space-ships. There is only one way to return to Earth. I
switch off the fuel, and prepare for a crash-landing. And I pray to someone
I once thought I knew all the way back to the planet.
----------------
Somewhere I can hear someone crying. I don't think it is me.
The shed door swings open, its hinges broken, and I have no choice but to
step out into the chaos before me.
The street is lined with traffic, ambulances mostly. Further up the road, I
can see lights blinking in the gathering darkness. People gather around
them.. shouting, crying or just walking around, looking helpless.
A woman rushes up to me, grabs my shoulder, and collapses onto me, sobbing.
She allows words to flow from her mouth, fast and incoherent.. an Australian
accent. I say nothing. She doesn't need someone to listen, not yet. She
just needs to talk. I stroke her hair, and try to offer her comfort, but I
know it is useless.
I am beginning to realise where I am. A holiday island. Somewhere people
came to escape the misery of their everyday lives. Somewhere people came to
find something, something better than the reality they have had thrust upon
them. Instead, a different reality was presented to them. One that cannot
be escaped from by aeroplane.
There is something of a crowd around me. An old man is shouting at me
'calls himself a GOD, claims to care...how could he allow this to happen?'
I don't answer him. There isn't an answer. It is people with all the
answers who commit such acts of destruction. I let him shout. He needs
someone to blame.
One by one, they drift away. Realising that I'm no use in this situation,
they look for somebody else who is. They're looking in the wrong place.
They won't find that person in a habit. They won't find it in another
person at all, if they can't find it in themselves.
I wish I could tell them how to do that, but, after all these years, I'm
still looking.
Back to the shed. I flick a few switches and hope for the best. Before
long, I'm in the air.
Into space. Into nothingness. Where I don't have to answer, or ask,
difficult questions. At least, not until I'm ready.
Perhaps I should pray. I kneel, and close my eyes, but there's nothing to
say.
The void is huge. It hints at hidden truths.
It is cold up here.
Sister Janice
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+
To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe
send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
ian said:
~~~blah~~blah~~~up the bum~~~etc
but kiddywinks, sinister already has a use for the ~, look:
http://www.missprint.org/sinister/mhonarc/199802/msg00295.html
to go round ~ing all over the place is asking for trouble, you may stir the
sleeping ghosts of tag and N. and possibly even NORTHY HIMSELF!!! (it's
called a tilde you know, although searching the archive for "northy snake"
brings up five times as many references as searching for tilde)
nice to see the list picking up a bit, i think several ppl had been holding
their virtual breath until the tr*as*re h*nt clues were released :)
i don't have much more else to say i don't think, i've been listening to
TWATTYBUS a bit recently (EYFITS particularly), cos i was walking home and
saw orion t'other nite (NB in the sky, not walking down the street or owt).
DV was banging on abt the chalets (for a change), he said:
on November 9th there is an afternoon gig somewhere
and then that evening they play popular club Strange Fruit
i'm assuming the afternoon gig will be at Notting Hill Art Club (ah Troy,
how i miss you (NBB Troy is their cheap turkish lager, not a hunky barman or
anything, no, really)). I'm going to see the turner prize on saturday
though, so i guess i'll miss this, although i'm almost certainly going along
to strange fruit.
Also mrs carsmile thinks ken only arranges bowling for sundays cos he knows
she can't go cos he is worried that she'll turn her <ahem> miraculous
technique (oh god, what a dreadful attempt at content) into actually being
able to aim and everything as well and thus whup his sorry little ass (and
it is small ladies). also mrs carsmile bought some t-shirts last nite that
were allegedly for age 6-7, but which fit her, good thing she's called meg
and not jean really...
La Kaiser said:
I might have to resurrect my trumpet
fnar, snork, guffaw etc...
he also said:
Sinister
needs its new blood. There may even be some peanut
butter in it for you...
which i'm hoping isn't a euphemism for anything. if it is Mark, i think
you'd better see a doctor... I suppose peanut butter is quite salty and
sticks to the roof of your mouth though...
...oh, and full of protein.
well, i don't think i can top that ;)
xoxo
CarsmileSteve
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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
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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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
~ is the word
its the ~
that you heard
its got ~
its got meaning
~ is the time
is the ~
is the motion
~ is the way
we are feeling
hello my fluffy bunnies of rage. i hope you are well. in fact, i hope you
are better than well. i hope you are ~
you look confused, i'll explain.
this morning, i got a letter from texas. my hands trembled slightly as i
opened it, because i knew who it would be from. i've been in sporadic
contact with the polyphonic spree* for some time now, i've written them
stories, sent them my songs and my musings on life, shared jokes with them
and they have, on occasion, written back.
the last letter wasn't very positive, but i KNEW this was the one...the
one..
they want me in their band, they do..
'Dear Ian,
Whilst it may appear that we are peace-loving, white-robed hippy cultist
gorgeous lovely happy people, you should bear in mind that we are also
Texans. We know people with VERY BIG GUNS. If you don't leave us alone,
they'll SHOOT YOU
Best Wishes
The Polyphonic Spree
p.s. you're nearly 30 now, its time you learnt to use capital letters'
oh.
i wasn't expecting that.
i put the letter down, made myself the usual morning brew (white spirit with
just a spot of milk - no sugar, i'm careful about what i put in my body) and
pondered who i knew with BIG GUNS who i could send out to avenge myself.
how could they?
how COULD they say such a thing??
nearly 30?
i'm.... as old as my tongue and slightly older than my teeth. and that's as
old as i'll stay.
and...capital LETTERS??!?!?!?!?!!
my list of friends with nasty weapons:-
1. archel playforth - problems: not so much a 'friend'.. more of a sworn
adversary. but i HAVE heard her talking about her 'buzzing bazooka'. that
said, she's probably at some all-week s&m party right now, and she might not
help me anyway
2. saddam hussein - problems: kind of busy at the moment. and i don't
ACTUALLY know him. but if i tell him i voted for him he'll probably believe
me. lots of people did, i hear..
3. the little boy across the road that throws fireworks - problems: he might
throw one at me.
saddam hussein it was, then. but he's very difficult to get hold of right
now. i tried to talk to his chums, but they kept saying things about
infidelity and hanging up on me.
i sat there, staring out of the window. (it wasn't raining, marianna, but
there was a bit of dew on the ground) and i realised there was nobody i
could turn to.
it is said that all the great mystics have to endure a dark night of the
soul. st john of the cross; teresa of avilla (or somewhere similar); julian
of norwich; sylvia of peterborough... all of them suffered great agonies
before The Truth was revealed.
bloody ancients. always so melodramatic.
i made do with a grumpyface over a cup of tea and i thought of my PLAN.
sinisterines... we shall form my...er that is ..our own CULT.
i have seen the light
and the light is ~
consider the ~
i bet you never have. look closely at what is before you. no, put that
away and look at the keyboard..
what was it shakespeare said? :' there are many things in earth and heaven,
horatio, which aren't quite what we think they might be. some of them are ~
'
sheer poetry..**
the ~ . it sits, quietly, in the back of our minds. we all
know the ~ exists, but how many of us have ever taken the time to consider
it? i mean, really, really consider it, and its inherent possibilities?
does this time of year, or any time of year, make you feel strange? (i KNOW
it does..)
do you sometimes feel a sense of dissatisfaction, without really knowing
why? (i KNOW you do)
do your sex toys always break before you've had them very long? (mr
casarotto, this one's mostly for you..)
it is because your ~ is imbalanced.
you're smiling. you don't think you have any ~ . but have you ever looked
within?
still your mind for a second. no words, no thoughts. you can stop them
coming in if you try hard enough. hold just one thing in your mind.
the ~.
feel the ~ flow through you, imparting its ~ishness all around your body
as it goes. feel the ~ from your head to your toes. feel the ~ flow out of
your nose.
and back in again, of course.
how did it feel? are you at one with the ~? do you feel a sense of peace?
practice this once a day, my friends, and you will know The Truth. you will
never need
music, or drugs, or sex, again. although when we're a proper CULT we may as
well indulge in them, because they'll probably make our experience of the ~
even more profound.
and we will write our own music. and we will be great. and the message of
~ will flow around the world.
for the moment, though, you can just send money. to:
the ~foundation,
selly oak,
birmingham.
it'll get here. i've bribed the postman.
love and ~~~~~~~~~~~~
ian
* if you don't know who the polyphonic spree are, go here:
http://www.thepolyphonicspree.com/main.html
** the passage about ~~ in shakespeare's much overlooked work 'that hamlet,
and how he couldn't make up his mind' was removed by many early editors who,
under the fist of whatever religion prevailed at the time, were prevented
from revealing the inner secrets of this great man's work. this absence is
now beginning to be recognised, and modern audiences will soon be able to
gain a whole new insight into areas of old will's plays that were denied
their predecessors.
maybe
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+
To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe
send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister
+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Greetings, Sinister Kids.
My, hasn't it been busy of late? Goodness knows what those naughty boys and
girls in #sinister have been cooking up.
Pigz and Archel were talking about undies (one of the most used sentences
ever, I think). And hooray for patterned tights. I had a pair once, but I
covered them in fag burns, as I seem to do with every pair of tights I own.
Some girls can pull this off in a kind of "Oh, goodness me! I'm so ditzy yet
cute and the fact that my clothes are all moth eaten and fag burnt only
serves to enhance how beautiful I am" way. I only manage a "Jesus, you're
tights have got holes in them. Are you going out like that?"
And yes, I am enigmatic when it comes to underwear. Except that time when I
showed my red pants at Red Knicker Day to prove I wasn't cheating. Oh, and
that time when I was at a party and my skirt slid down to reveal my undies.
Oh, and that time yesterday when I'd been wandering around at work for about
an hour before I realised my zip was undone. Except for all those times, and
doubtless many others, my pants are a state secret.
Recently, I have been behaving in a very grown up way (except Saturday
night, but that doesn't count, surely?), what with studying and
bookshopgirlism and a Committed Grown Up Relationship.
Last night I went to visit my girl in her new flat. It's really nice if you
like lying in the dark (no lamp in bedroom) or sitting on the floor (no
sofa). She had some plan to hang something on the door and I was forced, in
my most Joyce Grenville voice to say "Yes, dear, and last time you hand an
idea like that, the door fell on your head". I found this far more amusing
than I should have. Then I remembered watching The Empire Strikes Back on
Tuesday and asking her "So, is the Emperor in charge of Darth Vader then?"
and she replied "Yeah, he's like Darth's line manager".
So, I got the giggles and was exciled to the fire escape. Good thing I was
dressed in my towelling robe and turban, and had remembered my little
guitar. After a few rousing verses of 'Moon River', I lit a cigarette and
looked out over the glorious city scape of Leicester. My mind wondered. And
wandered. And as I drifted off into my Audrey Hepburn induced reverie, I
felt a burning sensation on my knee. I looked down. Holy fuck! I've set fire
to my bath robe!
I leapt up, cursing, dropping cigarette and ash and glowing embers. I heard
a voice,
"Well, you're a complete fuckwit, aren't you?"
"What? Eh?" I looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, "Who
said that?"
"Me, you dippy tart".
And the pain in the arse that in the poetry parrot came to rest on the
railings beside me.
"You! But... you were here last year and I sent you away. I sent you to
Australia to get rid of you!"
"Yeah, and now I'm back. I've been watching you for a while. Audrey Hepburn
my arse. You look more like Alma Hippo. And why are you hardly dressed, with
wet hair, out on a night like this? You'll catch your death!"
"But WHY are you back?"
"Oh, you must always ask questions, mustn't you? I went to see Stout Robin
and the fucker buried me!"
"Goodness", I replied "But he always seemed like such a nice boy"
"Yeah... but it's all a facade. He's a parrot-slaying freak, if you ask
me.... And then I wanted to eat his brains, but he wouldnt let me. Yes,
selfish, I know. So he sent me here. Said I should eat your brains instead"
The parrot peered into my ear, pecking at my hair and pulling it, just to
upset me. He squawked. Very loudly.
"Fuck me! Not only is that Stout a fiend to parrots everywhere, he's also a
liar! Your brains are full of red shoes and gin. Ooh, and you're thinking
about smooching..."
"Get out of there!"
I swiped the little fucker but he only squawked his laughter and perched
back on the railing.
Le harrumph. Who does he think he is? But now I've got him here, maybe he
can be of some use.
"So, parrot, you old bastard. I'm taking a course on poetry at uni. What do
you think of the aesthetic/didactic argument? Is the purpose of poetry
really to teach and delight like what Sidney said?"
"Shut the fuck up and find me some whiskey"
So, off I went in to the kitchen. And I thought of this:
In My Dreams
by Stevie Smith
In my dreams I am always saying goodbye and riding away,
Whither and why I know not nor do I care.
And the parting is sweet and the parting over is sweeter,
And sweetest of all is the night and the rushing air.
In my dreams they are always waving their hands and saying goodbye,
And they give me the stirrup cup and I smile as I drink,
I am glad the journey is set, I am glad I am going,
I am glad, I am glad, that my friends don't know what I think.
I placed the bottle of whisky on the fire escape and slammed the door. I
could hear the parrot squawking and fussing outside the door.
"You can't stay here!" I shouted "Go and visit Liz Daplyn. She's nicer than
me. Don't eat her brains, but if you play your cards right, she might rustle
you up some lemon cake"
And with that, the most offensive parrot in the world... EVER (TM) vanished
into the night.
Madeleine xxx
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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! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
