- Sinister - missprint.org

Sinister: The Shermans
by Tsong 15 Jul '02

15 Jul '02

Hello All, I don't post much, but I understand that the sinisters are a resourceful bunch and that if I ever had any questions, I could probably find the answers from one of us, so... Does anyone like the Swedish group The Shermans? I just got the Happiness is Toy Shaped album and I love it. Too bad that the lyrics don't come with the CD. Does anyone know where I can find them? I'd really appreciate any information. Cheers, Elsa +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: In the summer all the workers head out for the sandy beach
by Ben Apps 14 Jul '02

14 Jul '02

Good day to you Ladies and Gentlemen. And Ken. I am happy to announce the details of a Sinister knees-up in Southern California on Saturday the 27th of July. And just to avoid any confusion, no, a knees up isn't a sexual position as a housemate of mine once mistakenly assumed ;-) The Venue: Santa Monica Palisades Park. Meeting point: under the sign on the entrance to the pier. Here: http://www.geocities.com/SiliconValley/Lakes/1674/pierlive.html The Time: 3pm I will be your picnic daddy but the real boss will be Rachel Fruitloop. She reliably informs me that the park has nice green grass and shady palm trees, a CAMERA OBSCURA! and a municipal pool for all your junior life-saving needs. Plus there's lots of fun fayre on the pier and the beach so we can show off our perfectly toned and bronzed bodies. Bring food, bring drink, bring conversation, music and laughter. But most of all bring yourselves...and each other. I've probably forgotten something important. So if you want to come or think of something I missed send me or Rachel an email blind_lisa(a)yahoo.com . I'm really really excited and looking forward to meeting all the boys and girls in da 'hood! Over and Out Ben Bapps x _________________________________________________________________ Join the worlds largest e-mail service with MSN Hotmail. http://www.hotmail.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: UK listees: Help needed in Leeds next weekend
by Jules Markham 13 Jul '02

13 Jul '02

Hi, I'm not Jules, I'm just using her email account. I'm Mike, her lesser half. Anyway, my friend and I are going to indiepop festival gojonnygogogogo next weekend (20th & 21st) in Leeds and I was wondering if anyone has a floor I could sleep on? Preferably one that is indoors. Our current plan is to sleep in a park, but we feel we'll enjoy the Sunday shows more if we've slept indoors. You wouldn't notice us, we'd come in around 12.30am/1am on Saturday night and get up at 8am Sunday and head off to find a breakfast outlet. Hope someone can help us out. Cheers in advance if you can. We're very nice, by the way. Details of the event can be found at thisisindie.com Love, Mikey x _________________________________________________________________ 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: todo in nyc
by andrew andrew 13 Jul '02

13 Jul '02

Hello Sinister brats, i was wondering if any of you NYC kids would like to offer some advice for a group of us from toronto that will be in your fair town next weekend for the siren fest. I'd like a sinister perspective on where to go out, to shop for records and clothes, etc. thanks a lot, andrew __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! Autos - Get free new car price quotes http://autos.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: He thrusts his fists against the ghosts and still insists he sees the posts...
by Jason McKinnon 12 Jul '02

12 Jul '02

"The reports of my death has been greatly under-publicised. The tabloids has been curiously silent. Why bother bother faking one's death if no one notices?" Ermm....Oh, You're here...who let you in? Well, no matter, now the damage is done...just sit down and listen. You are good at listening, aren't you Sinister One? California is an odd place...one filled with all manner of uneven events. >From L.A. Cops investigations, to SF Pot decriminalization. I stare at this place in awe and some measure of horror. This SF, CA, USA. We have zip codes here, ya know...(like 90210). Mine's 94107...a slight bit of Barbary Coast heaven called Potrero Hill. The only goats here are getting long in the tooth, and short on the truth. So, I have this apartment/flat/humble abode...it looks upon the Mission District and the Twin Peaks beyond garishly adorned by a giant out dated antennae that we affectionately call "God's Roach-Clip". It's a bit ridiculous cause everyone know that God smokes a bong...jeez! As you can imagine I spend a good deal of time looking out the windows...and cleaning wood flooring. Murphy's wax and playing jacks on shiny well-kept floors...somehow It's easier to stay indoors....in my castle where I am despot. Staring down the long corridor of days, I am dumb with something intangible...a general lethargy. A buzzing of flies around my head always keeping me from concentrating. A faint notion that the cosmology I have built is working for me no longer (or was it ever?). I found this supplement called 5-HTP...I took the happy pill on accident one day. Made from some African plant and it took some of the flies away...but I think it's just placebo. It hovers, that cloud of confusion...and I beat it back with reason. Sometimes I do. You see, I write you when the buzzing stops....just long enough to type a short missive from Interzone..(i mean) California. And try to bridge the gap that exists between my brain and the world. Sometimes it takes all I can do to convince myself that the bridge exists...to make it substantial by sheer will. But mostly, I sit and watch the fog engulf the sun and the night cold creep through my window...and the time ticking tocking. And dream of denser days. The Pickle Prince P.S. Gordon scares me no more than looking into any other Mirror. It's difficult to grasp the profundities of self-reflection..but I feel it's much easier and more penetrating when filtered through someone else's experience. IS THAT WHAT SCARES YOU? _________________________________________________________________ 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: FUN in LUNDUN
by Mark Casarotto 12 Jul '02

12 Jul '02

Hello Sinister! Just a reminder this time to everyone who may want to come to the LONDON PICNIC being held tomorrow, 2pm onwards, on top of Primrose Hill (or, if raining, in the Spread Eagle pub on Parkway in Camden). Newcomers are extremely welcome indeed, especially those with children :) We tend to congregate within about 20 yards of the summit of Primrose Hill, though a lot of people don't get there immediately on time, ahem. Oh, and can someone bring a football? Ta! After the picnic (and no doubt an adjournment to the pub), everyone is cordially invited to STRANGE FRUIT, a rather smashing club Upstairs at the Garage in Islington. I'll be doing a little DJing, but you can just cover your ears until I've finished and then have a good time. I've arranged a £3 entry fee for Sinisterines, so it's not even dear. See, you HAVE to come. It just remains for me to mention http://www.joannou.net/biondino in case anyone thinks me writing a weblog is a good idea at all. Feel free to leave comments :) Hasta banana, Mark xxx __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Everything you'll ever need on one web page from News and Sport to Email and Music Charts http://uk.my.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo(a)missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+

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Sinister: 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. 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