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Sinister: Damn you High Fidelity, Damn you to a closed sheep pen!
by Adam Leier 10 Mar '02

10 Mar '02

Has anyone else encountered fellow humans who automatically dismiss Belle and Sebastian just becasue Jack Black has told them to do so in the seething High Fidelity? It's really quite infuriating, just like the times i dismissed The Strokes as telephone-talking Television ripoffs and Stephen Malkmus' cd as Diet Lou Reed. If even I can come around do you think it's possible these unfortunate souls will? Adam (AOLIM=BlurryBoy13) +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: 'Chu always rain on my parade
by Christina McDermott 10 Mar '02

10 Mar '02

One should never wear a skirt if you intend to walk through Central London. Maybe it's just a me thing here, but every time I decide to wear a skirt in this city, I get funny looks from passers-by. I'll be sat on the Tube reading my "Big Book of Early Modern Women" (Yes, I have one of these, and a right scintillating read it is too) and the person across from me is looking at me, or more to the point, they're looking at my legs in a really interesting manner, like I've just stepped off some rare and exotic planet where we all wear skirts with wiggly patterns and listen to the Lo-Fidelity Allstars (Their first album I hasten to add, I rediscovered this little lyrical gem whilst rooting around in my record collection, desperate for soothing sounds to help me get through work and remembered what a damn fine groove it had to it, and such astounding lyrics too, like "The disco bison likes the disco music," much like that new pop-warbling songstress Shakira whose lyrics in one of her songs goes apparently along the lines of "good thing my breasts are small and humble so you don't confuse them with mountains. Sheer genius!) Or, I could just be walking down the road near Uni, in my own blissful daydreams about me and the cute guy who sits next to me in my History of Political Thought class and what I could do to him using the newly learned Russian phrase of "strip to the waist" (it goes along the lines of "padova ya padovnayen in case you're interested or if you're ever in a compromising position with a Russian) when I catch someone walking past me, looking at my skirt and then looking at me in an interesting way. It never happens when my friend Mazda wears a skirt which she does practically everyday, so why me I ask? It used to be if you didn't wear a skirt in polite society you got funny looks. Maybe I just have amazing legs, maybe I AM an alien from a distant exotic planet and I haven't realised it yet. Or maybe I just look amazingly rough in a skirt. Who knows? Not that I've really had much of an excuse to go out looking good in a skirt recently. This Cola-Cube has the end of term blues, stemming from the fact that she's poor (yes, I knowit's my own bloody fault because I decided to buy a Glastonbury ticket now to make sure that it didn't all sell out on me instead of waiting until I had worked over Easter and therefore could afford the damn thing. Oh well, I'm going now. Is anyone else out of interest? Maybe we could all have a little Sinister Glastonbury meet-up and have a picnic on the hills overlooking Sommerset and I could eat noodles again like I do every time I go to a festival.), has too much work (one 5,000 word essay on Religion in Latin America and another 2,500 one of Political philosophy both due in in two weeks time. Ick). I think it's just this time of year that's getting everybody down, we're all tired and fed up of bad things swooping down on us like black clouds when we're not expecting it, like ex boyfriends and phone bills. Part of me wants to get into bed and sleep off the fatigue that I can't seem to get rid of, no matter how long I sleep for. It just seems that the alarm clock is always there on the periphery waiting to physically shake me quite hard so I can't drift off into dreamy land for too long because just as things start getting good, I'll hear that beep-beepy noise telling me I have to get my foppish little Indie-girl ass out of bed and actually do things that are worthy instead of sitting around and reading the trashy romance novels that I found in my friend's kitchen the other night and drinking tea which is what I really want to do. My little Sixteen year old baby brother is coming to visit me next weekend because he, like me at that point, has gotten fed up of Manchester and GCSE's and the muggy grey weather which sticks to your clothes and you can smell in your hair (and ooohmy tape player appears to want to be remixing Jeff Buckley. It sounds rather good, but I'm sure it shouldn't be doing this). At least he's not avidly mixing Atari Teenage Riot with his Belle and Sebastian which if I remember rightly was what I was doing at his age, along with a great number of things that I shouldn't really mention here It's not too bad I suppose, I got my Belle and Sebastian ticket for Manchester through the other day and I found out that my band have got more recording time over Easter before our guitarist goes off travelling around America (we were reviewed in both the Oxford and London student newspapers if anyone's interested. The Oxford review compared us to Gorky's, before labelling us "aural torture" (I was quite proud about that) but the London one was lovely and said nice things, so maybe we're not all that terrible reallywe can but hope. And it's Track and Field next Friday too, a club night where you can usually see me and my friends bouncing around the dance floor like maniacs, running up and down the staircase to see which floor is currently playing the best music (which afterwards makes you realise that it's called Track and Field for a bloody good reason), and produces pictures of you and your friend brandishing a shoe and neither of you can remember why Still, I send my love and commiserations to all of you whose parade is being rained on at the moment. Especially Gordonooh, that's mighty rough having your wallet stolen with your Belle and Sebastian ticket inside. I saw the strangest thing today myself regarding interesting homeless people. I was walking to Uni so that I could use the library (I know, I know...a first year actively going into University on a Sunday so she can use the library! Shocking, isn't it?) and I was walking up Tottenham Court Road when I saw this old lady hanging off a lampost just pointing and screaming abuse in her own made-up language at the passers-by. People just kept looking at her strangely as they walked past and she screamed and ranted about what I really couldn't say. I couldn't help wondering why she was stood there on the Tottenham Court Road on a Sunday doing this instead of being at home and what had led her to stand there, babbling and screaming like a child. Did some immense tragedy shake her life and this was her escape mechanism? Was she drunk, consumed by grief, or just in her own little world where she felt like a trapped animal and lashing out at the world was her only way to deal with the situation she found herself in? I know how she felt and I sympathised because there are times when I just want to stand and point at the world and scream at it too for making things go wrong and hurting people I love and generally at times making me hurt and ache with sadness all over. I wanted to go to the Accident and Emergency department at UCH which wasn't too far away and get someone to help her, but by the time I came out of the shop I was in, she had gone. Strange how things like that make us stop and think for a while. After all, there are multitudes of strange people in this city, but for some reason I can't help wondering why she was screaming, and if she had children and if they were thinking about their mum today. Who can say? Maybe it's not my place to ask. If I can make the summer last longer if I stay up all night, that means that for half of my Summer I'll be hyperactive through sleep deprivation and the other half comatose as a result. What a heartening thought. Love and amusing Russian phrases, Cay Cola-Cube XXx P.S. Waves and hugs to lovely Michael my friend in the nursery who calls me McDermott (which I find rather sweet in an endearingly old-fashioned kind of way), and who will no doubt amaze you all with his linguistic prowess once he's allowed out of there to wreak a path of havoc across the Sinister world "If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your Revolution..." -Emma Goldman +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: Skies
by Fernando Brito 10 Mar '02

10 Mar '02

Queridos sinistros, It was a pleasant week here in Sampa*, with sunny days, light-blue skies, that reminded me that Fall is just beyond the corner. The equinox used to be so important to me. A symbolical importance, cause I'm no astronomer or anything! When I was a kid and had plenty of time to do every kind of useless things, I used to count the difference in minutes between the length of each day, from the solstice to the equinox. And I loved to spend the clear autumn nights on the roof, looking for constellations, seeing how the night sky changed from day to day, or even just stargazing. Did you know that many of the bright stars that we see are in fact a superposition of tens of little stars? I used to search for these "fake stars". And it was beautiful to see the dance of Jupiter's moons! And I always wanted to see the rings of Saturn, but my binoculars were not that powerful, and my mother couldn't afford to buy me a telescope... Now I live in an apartment building, I don't have a roof. And the city where I live today is not the best to be wandering at night looking at the sky... in the next morning you might be found lying on the ground with your mouth full of ants**! And after all, I'm tired of using my binoculars to watch the nearby windows looking for naked girls! So autumn is my favorite season. The sky is so blue and clear, every day it gets a bit colder... and a recurrent feeling of melancholy, that is not bad at all, makes me feel so lonely, abandoned, like I am the last living person on Earth and the crowd around me is nothing but souls of bygone persons. It's like the first part of that movie with Charlton Heston, I can't remember the name now, also like that scene of Vanilla Sky in which NY is completely empty of people... Speaking of Vannila Sky, I went to see it on wednesday. It started around 21:20 and ended at 23:30. The cinema was in a shopping centre, which closes at 22:00. After the movie was over I left the projection room and... it was so weird... the whole mall was empty, there was no one else there! It was kind of like the movie! And what's more strange, I felt so well that way, walking through the deserted hallways, very slowly, watching the vitrines and the shops. I don't know what that feeling was, I think I felt powerful, like everything in that mall was mine, or at least, at that moment, I was able to do whatever I wanted with all those things around me. I don't know, I just felt wonderful all by myself in that very large place that usually is full of people. It was like being in a church... but I'm not quite sure cause it's been a few years since I last entered a church. Actually this whole event took place in only a few seconds, perhaps one or two minutes, but what was really impressing was that feeling, when you leave a dark room, where you know that everything is fake, and you're expecting to come back to the real world - in your head you're gonna push that door and there will be people walking around you, talking, shouting, doing something, anything - but then, there you are, in another fake world, there's no one else there, only you, all the people from the cinema were left behind, they took the elevators. And there I was... all alone. Feeling powerful... Until the security guy came and asked me if I was lost! Well, at that moment, with all that bewilderment in my head, all I could do was smile and say "Yes". So he showed me the elevators and that's where I left my daydream behind! But on to happier topics... I finished my sinister marathon last weekend! There were about 80 posts to be read, but it was worth the effort! Mark wrote that he has read in John Peel's website that staying up all night can double your summer vacation... Someone should ask Mr. Peel if "getting laid" all night also can double my summer vacation, cos that would be much more fun! Now, guys, does it make any sense or my english really sucks?! And I'm so happy, 'cause I read an article by a famous brazilian indie columnist saying that Charlatans are coming to Brazil next month! Wooo-hooo!!! And Stephen Malkmus is also confirmed! Now I wonder if he's gonna sing Pavement's songs! And I wonder if he speaks like an ordinary guy! Oh no, that's Geddy Lee! Does anybody here like Rush? Is it a sin to like Rush in this list?! If so I have no doubt about what I am to do, I will throw away all my Rush albums and stick with you guys! Because I LOOOOVE Belle and Sebastian, and... what's Rush?! So... I think that's all! What was my point? I've just told you! See you later! Fernando Brito * - Sao Paulo, the city. ** - Dead. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: the edge of the world
by sophia katrina 09 Mar '02

09 Mar '02

oh sinister, all this talk of concerts and picnics and spring rain on the other side of the globe has made me melancholy. seeing b&s at the royal albert hall was so wonderful, and i wish i could repeat the experience... somewhere exciting... i think i must be suffering the famous geographical envy that you keep talking about. maybe all the australian listees should stage a rival meet-up? we could all drive to whichever point is equidistant to perth, brisbane, sydney and melbourne. we could sit in the desert, drinking beers out of an esky (aus., n., plastic box with blocks of ice for chilling food), roasting sausages and tofu burgers over the campfire, drinking beers and looking at the sky or at the thousands of kilometres of peaceful nothingness around us. then we could all go our separate ways again.(alternately, i could do as someone suggested and take advantage of my anonymity and go into too much intimate detail about my life. but you poor people have suffered enough on that front already). you see, sometimes i forget that i live on the edge of the world*. but on days like this i remember. i think if i could just look over the horizon i would see walls of sparkling water falling into space. as it is, i can only see a line of tankers, suspended across the bay like a string of lights. they could very well be stars. i've been thinking a lot about australia, and the thing is - i don't trust it. i have never been patriotic about any nation, though i have heard the word used well - by patti smith, or by ani difranco when she sings "i am patriot, i have been fighting the good fight..." when you have triple citizenship, it's too much of an effort. (on the plus side, i get a lot of marriage proposals, and quite lucrative ones at that, but i'm holding out. my sources tell me a US passport will go for ten grand on the black market...) i wrote my third year thesis on belonging and displacement, actually, and anyone interested in reading it can e-mail me. it is - marginally - more edited than my posts. life here seems somehow precarious. it feels like that diane arbus photograph, the one of a movie set on top of a hill. on first glance it could be a house, but on closer inspection you understand that it is a set, just a facade, and through the windows you can see dark clouds blowing across the sky. that's how i feel about this country. living here requires a daily, no, constant act of forgetting. my suburb is so fashionable that they film a tv show about the romantic misadventures of attractive twenty-somethings (it's called 'the secret life of us', and they show it on channel 4 in the uk). but to believe that st. kilda really is the 'lifestyle precinct' that tv says it is, to believe in the streets full of shiny bars and shinier people, you have to forget about the police beating up the aboriginal people in catani gardens. you have to walk past them, past the homeless people who hang around outside the 7-11 and play guitar in the middle of the night, past the women who stand on street corners on carlise street at nine o'clock on cold saturday morning, waiting for men in cars to pull up and roll down their windows... and you have to foget them. unless slumming is the whole point. maybe the shiny people want a kitchen full of stainless steel scandinavian applicances and a view of junkies from their living room window. once a man overdosed in our front garden. he had been eating the roses in the garden. when we came home, he was lying there, flat on his back, with petals falling from his mouth. in australia there is forgetting on a grander scale. forgetting that refugees are locked up in tin sheds in the desert, seeing tear gas for the first time in this supposedly civilised nation. forgetting that the government lied to us during the election and told us that the refugees had thrown their children overboard. (http://www.theage.com.au/specials/immigration/index.html) forgetting that the governor-general let sexual abuse of children go unpunished when he was an archbishop. forgetting that aboriginal people have only had the vote for forty years, and that a generation of their children were stolen from them in a policy of forced assimilation. forgetting about the white australia policy and one nation and the salt that rises in the water tables every year because the trees are going and the land is rebelling. the trees began to go because the first settlers wanted to recreate english pastures and rolling hills. they wrote their homesickness across the land, the desert, the forests, deep into the crust of the earth... and the scars of their longing are still with us. we have convicts on the australian side of the family (i know, because of the obvious impossibilities and falsifications in the family tree). the folk songs that convicts wrote have the most heartbreaking words. "bound for botany bay" ends with "if i had the wings of a turtledove, i'd soar on my pinions so high, straight into the arms of my polly love, and in her sweet presence i'd die." the whole history of this country is so brutal and so, so sad. what do you do when you stop forgetting? sophia X *the western, english-speaking, colonial world of course. _________________________________________________________________ Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: http://mobile.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: aislers set show in la is cancelled
by Jennifer Juniper 09 Mar '02

09 Mar '02

hi there! sorry that i posted about this show since it isn't happening afterall. i guess the good thing about posting it on sinister was that someone e-mailed me to say they were cancelling dates because of illness. so i called the venue and it is true, they are NOT playing on sunday in los angeles! :o( boo hoo! cheers, jennifer juniper __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Try FREE Yahoo! Mail - the world's greatest free email! http://mail.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: From my window I will shut my eyes and let go
by Laura Llew 08 Mar '02

08 Mar '02

By accident, you put your money in my machine (#4) By accident, I put my money in another machine (#6) On purpose, I put your clothes in the empty machine full of water and no clothes. It was lonely. -- Richard Brautigan I couldn't come up with a witty, charming, or endearing introduction to this post which will also be neither witty, charming nor endearing so I figured if I began with Brautigan y'all would all be so relieved that it all wasn't Richard's renderings* you wouldn't be so disappointed in my own meager ramblings. Tehehe. Though I haven't read any of the clues or tried in any way to keep up to date on the Treasure Hunt sponsored by the band, I think it's a great idea. I love Scavenger Hunts!! (As you will find out if you have the misfortune of being at my house during your birthday where I make you run around in order to get your presents and you get to bask in my ability to try and rhyme "boxes" with "obnoxious.") I always thought it would be great to make a guy go on one before he goes out with me on date. He would come to pick me up but instead of finding me -- he'd just get a clue on where to look for me. Of course, I would be at the end with a large box of chocolates just in case halfway through he realizes that I'm really not worth it and I have to eat them all by myself. I never liked him anyway, the bastard. I finally met a Belle & Sebastian fan that wasn't from Sinister. He had bad hair. Actually, he had four people's bad hair all on one head. It was quite tragic, as you can imagine. The meeting happened when I infiltrated the hippie stronghold last month (Actually, Katy says the hippie's stronghold is coffee but that makes them sound normal so we'll just omit that line of thinking.) He and Miss "Dorothy Parker Makes Me Want To Drink Bathtub Gin, Have A Bad Love Affair, And Attempt Suicide In That Order" Katy pasteurize together. (I was quite to despondent to learn that "pasteurize" wasn't a euphemism for anything.) She was giving us a lovely tour of dairy section of the barn where there were huge metal machines with lots of thermometer gadgets attached. (Yes, thermometer gadgets. Am I dazzling you with my technical terms here?) when I realized that Dog On Wheels was playing in the background. I remember once someone tried to start a thread of unusual places to hear Belle & Sebastian so I'm officially entering my "Dairy Barn in Western Massahoweveryouspellit" ballot. And I can promise you that one day in spring I won't be taking Mr. Tragic him down to the road, unless it's to get a drastic hair cut. your saucy slattern, Laura "meeting all of your laura llew needs since 1977" * Yes, Paul, that was aimed at you. _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: Not actual, not lasting
by Dimitra 08 Mar '02

08 Mar '02

You probably won’t believe it, but I actually wrote that down in hand, using a pen and notebook, last night. I think that once you’ve seen a 7” spin around in a dark silent room, or better still its reflection on the record player’s lid projected on the wall, and the next thing you know is the room isn’t silent anymore; once you ’ve seen the sound being born, or, well, reproduced, whatever it is that’s happening to it, cds will never be okay again, and you’ll stop saying you were born too late for vinyl. Mid-February (not now silly, I know it’s March) and I was thinking of the first day of spring, because it smelled vaguely like it. Where has winter gone, I wanted to ask. I swear we used to get winter when I was little. Not to mention there was at least one metre of snow everywhere -even everywhere in the city- and below zero temperatures for more than a week when I was away. I came back to tales of sliding on pavements and freezing no matter where you were. And all I could say was ‘Glasgow was cold too’. Who cares though, Glasgow is supposed to be cold. Three weeks later, and most evenings it still smells this way, though spring is not here yet. The first day of spring: the first evening when the air is sweet, like nothing else but a Clientele song, maybe, 6am morningside, and I know the song is about Edinburgh, and probably dawn in Edinburgh doesn’t feel like nightfall in Thessaloniki, but who cares really? So it feels like nothing else but a Clientele song, only a bit more passionate. It makes your eyes water and your body ache all over and you wish with all your heart you had someone to dream of, someone to cover with kisses; in a room with a window overlooking the city, with the scent of flowers that have actually grown in a garden that used to be yours fills the room, dangling. Or it makes you wish for a boat in the sea while it’s softly raining. -When will we have a party for spring coming? And then comes Easter: more flowers, sunshine and rain -it’s supposed to rain, they say the sky is crying; usually it does, sometimes it doesn’t. Churches and churchyards and old ladies with their grandchildren -while their parents are still at work- running around in their best clothes. The gorgeous little girl I spotted last year with her red hair in bunches. People who only go to church once a year, like me. And somewhere behind the noise, the commercialism and the discourtesy, or among them (them being all around), the joy and pain Easter’s supposed to be about. -Will we have it on the 1st of March? Or the 21st? -Spring doesn’t come before the 21st really. But I’ll be on a plane to London on the 21st. We can always have it on the 20th. Or the 6th of April? Being away, I think I’ll miss that first day of spring. Not the 21st, of course, just that first sweet night. But then the first day of spring for me will be the first day I’ll be back. Travelling is just great, it makes my world so much bigger. Easter. Crying and happiness, though you’d think everyone has forgotten what it is about. Or that they don’t care. Indifference and consumer goods. But then that’s our world, I can’t remember a time without them and I refuse to mourn its passing. If you spend your life looking behind you/ you don’t see what’s up front etc. And then Easter’s gone and all that’s left between you and the summer is just time, plain boring working weeks marked by nothing in particular, which you’ll count and then forget about. And then, oh, then it’s summer, and the city and the air get even sweeter if that’s ever possible – and you want to sing along with Hefner, ‘and god creates the air that floats underneath your dress’ cause that’s how it feels. Before it gets very hot, for that while, the air is just warm and it makes you feel free in a way you both have never felt before and you’ve known forever, as I wrote to Ian. Every year the same. And you want to run around and celebrate it in cafes with friends you probably don’t have. … but I will hope that some day the world around you improves to the point where it fits together a little better with the world inside of you. Every day could be like a feast. That was the opening line of a letter I never wrote and a dream of mine. Cleaning the house while the boy was sleeping and then lying on the sofa waiting for the floor to dry and listening to music you’d never choose to listen to, but the flatmate had chosen to cook to, and looking out of the window (buildings, tv aerials, the sky) was almost as good as life can get and a celebration of it: an expression, in acts, of your joy. Yes, I really believe these things. The letter was not written, but had it been, it would have been in Greek. October 2000 was a time I only wrote in Greek. I didn’t know feast was the right word for what I wanted to say, I looked it up in the dictionary yesterday and it somehow was that little bit that started making things better. The phrase had never left my head since I first wrote it down, during a lesson I should have been talking notes about, I think. But for some reason I had never spoken it to anyone to this day. Not even the boy who was sitting next to me in one of those cafes that morning, and inspired me to it. Especially not to the boy, we had enough trouble as it was, without my seemingly irrelevant dreams. He has enough trouble, that is. I was quite alright –my days could be as I wanted them to be, if only someone wanted to live in them and share them. What can I say, my trouble was he didn’t want to. And yes, it’s the same boy who has been asking about spring parties. No, we’ re not together now. Yes, we’re friends. No, no, it’s so much more than being civilised… I guess I can explain it, but all you’ll get from me is an ‘either you understand it or don’t bother’ look. The same boy, that, would it rain on that first day of spring, he’d long to stand underneath it and be a boy in a Go-Betweens song. Though I doubt he knows the Go-Betweens really. Or that he likes them. He knows the Smiths, though. And he totally adores them. And sometimes he just so much looks like it. This probably means something else in the part of the world you are, but where you from here, you’d know exactly what I mean. I don’t know if he would, though. Stand underneath that rain, that is. (Sometimes he is that true to himself, sometimes he’s not.) Is there a Smiths song about standing underneath a soft sweet rain? Or rain isn’t really all that sweet and soft in Manchester? I think I once had a book about a little girl who wanted to stand underneath the first spring rain to get taller. I was quite young, and she must have been a bit younger. Is that all? No, but after all this all feels sweet, so I’ll stop. Love and rainfall, zoziepop xx +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: The Belle And Sebastian Ticket Was Also In The Wallet
by figure2＠fsmail.net 08 Mar '02

08 Mar '02

STAGE ONE Put on some really loud music. Beware that it'll set the mood of the moment, but there's been too much silence in the last 24 hours. "Whatever happens if you never come down?" Is a rough memory of what the tall guy from Pulp once sung. But I came down. Way down. "Oops I did it again" sung Britney, but I'm not going to play that either even if the words are true. So what's it going to be. Hmm. Perhaps this isn't wise, but my eyes just settled onto "Rum, Sodomy and the Lash" by the Pogues. First of all though I'd better skip out to the lavatory "The Rear" If you went to Eton or "The Bogs" if you went to my school (a comprehensive exercise in disinformation, but hey, I turned out real well adjusted erm... right) this is going to be something of a session. The headphone socket on the computer box is dodgy and needs some suspenders made of masking tape in order to achieve full stereo. I'd draw you a diagram but this is a plain text message. STAGECOACHES The stagecoaches were working on Monday, Tuesday and, for all I know all the way through 'till today which if my sources are correct is a Friday. The trains were not working on Wednesday so I was staying through in town but I wasn't working. I should have been but I went AWOL instead. Got driven back to the hotel by an engraver (a taciturn fellow) and the more expansive chap behind the actual wheel, who seemed to know alot about art. It was a wee red Peugot car and it was going from Barnton to Royal Terrace. It isn't a very posh hotel but it is a rather fancy Terrace. WAY OUT WEST: DEAD MAN Seen that movie Dead Man? That's a great movie. I knew there were going to be dangers in the Rum and Sodomy soundtrack: it's settling me into pub-bore mode. "I'm a man you don't meet every day" does have a melancholy charm, though. Hey, it even worked for me on... Tuesday evening. "Oh don't stare at me with your puppy-dog eyes!" But she was saying it with laughing eyes and a smacker on the lips shut her up for a moment. "I've lived *six* times before" "Well I lived only *three* times before but I had a better class of incarnations!". Her and her friends and some others all wander over to drink some shooter sort of cocktails with a rude name to discuss existentialism. Not that there's much to discuss. It's more just the fun to be had on a sinking ship. Take a risk and pay the price and get more life. (Interlude: I received some E-mails from people on this list and I shall get back to you as soon as I can. I find getting the right words in private more difficult than the public ones). OUT THERE ON THE BLUE HORIZON BACK TO THE SOAP OPERA The following night I got my wallet nicked. It was about 9pm and I was walking home to the hotel; plastered, and one gets expansive in these moods. So I sat down next to this homeless girl. Yeah: she was pretty etc. but I swear to you my intentions were honourable. Maybe it was a bit of a grey area like in that TV programme The Vice, where you secretly fancy her but where the hugging is mutual support and not a sex thing: not that she wasn't attractive in that way but someone in that station in life as been abused enough. She suffered from depression and we were just sitting having a chat. I gave her some cash so she could get a room for the night. Some of her mates turned up, and this made me rather relieved because she seemed awful vulnerable sitting there in the 3 degrees and falling. I think her friends (including her 'boyfriend') hastily thought I might be more part of the problem than part of the solution. He accepted my beer, though, and her two friends offered 'business'. Then one of them nicked my wallet: I knew she had but figured what the hell anyway and the the girl I'd been talking with wandered off in one direction whilst the other two and her 'boyfriend' walked off in the other. I considered chasing after the guy, but these folks know the street and I don't. So that was that. I don't have any regrets: the world isn't a fair place. However, I think it's true that one can become corrupted. Some people have a better balance between the desire for knowledge and the the sense to look after oneself. Perhaps people will get rather angry by me couching an act of drunken foolishness in such grandiose terms. But I don't care. AFTER, LATER OR MAYBE NOW A BLUE HORIZON Way down towards the bottom of Leith Walk, Where she wandered, Is a wide current of water, That reaches the sea. In the morning light, You could see it sparkling and beyond, North of the rising sun, Villages and bridges and aeroplanes: Even a dockyard that is slowly stopping making war-boats And becoming a home for ferries to abroad: If home isn't here, It's somewhere out there. Keep going 'till you find it and, All the while, I salute thee. Gordon _______________________________________________________________________ Never pay another Internet phone bill! Freeserve AnyTime, for all the Internet access you want, day and night, only £12.99 per month. Sign-up at http://www.freeserve.com/time/anytime +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: moaning just for practice.
by Hannah Brown 08 Mar '02

08 Mar '02

This message may be a lot longer than my usual ones, sorry, Everything has all of a sudden gone weird. I went out to a bar last night and decided not to drink because the last time i did i ended up being everything i would not want to be. It was great to feel sober but at the same time quite frightening. It made me think that what i usually see as fun infact wasn't at all fun. People were pissed and taking pills, the cute guy was there with his cuter girlfriend, the music was rubbish, barely anyone talked to me and there was lots of embarrassing flirting and groping going on. There was a scary old man sat in the corner eyeing up the women and he made me feel really vunerable. I had to get a taxi home with a friend because he scared me, i was glad i wasn't drunk. I got home and wondered "what is the point of it", going out, drinking, thinking you feel great when actually you are surrounded by fuck ups. I wanted to run away that night and go somewhere quiet and innocent. After afew minutes of general confusion and a strange sense of loneliness i thought of sinister, and yes, this sounds very cheesy, but it made me smile because i always feel fab when we all meet up. I feel as though i could spend a whole day with all of you and never feel awkward or wrong whereas there are some people at my college that i have known for years but i can never relax around them or feel that i know and trust them. I am going home today for the weekend to relax and eat good food and no doubt i will feel good again tommorrow but evenings like that do my head in. Mum says i think too much and she is right. I'm going to try not to get drunk for a long long time, maybe it will help me, maybe it won't. er, i'm not usually like this but it had to be done and it probably doesn't make proper sense anyway. love hannahxxxxxxx +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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: bananas and damon albarn
by Ian Rivamonte 08 Mar '02

08 Mar '02

so, i just got back from seeing gorillaz over at the warfield in san francisco. excellent show. i'm still trying to figure out why they played clint eastwood twice. you should check them out if you have the $ for it. rather expensive ticket. there's really no b&s content other than the warfield will always remind me of the 2 b&s shows that i saw them there. ahhhhh.... it was so much easier to meet stuart rather than damon albarn. speaking of damon, i saw him at popscene. for people not in the know, popscene is the local "brit, 80s, soul, rock, glam" club in san francisco. he was there chilling with his buddies. he had a "special section" segragated via a very thin rope and a really bored looking guard. i touched his jacket! my friend was trying to fulfill her dream of making out with a rock star while i was just trying to find a way not to embarass myself and get his autograph on my poster. alas, nothing came of it. anyways, that was my 2:34 am rambling for tonight. ta! cheers, ian +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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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