I found myself pulled into an awkwardly shining post, not recognising the e-mail address of the sender. I should have recognised Gordon a lot sooner. Feeling quite tranquil, to say that B&S are playing tonight and tonight and tonight I shall be at home, enjoying the company that my melancholy reasoning has to offer. I don't think I can bear to listen to them this evening, at least I hope I'm not the kind of person who sits in a glorious technicolour quilt listening to a band whilst turning the lights on and off, pretending I'm there until the bulb goes. I'll probably listen to "The Kings of Convenience", a mellow situation where Nick Drake and Simon and Garfunkel meet in a spherical room with lemongrass scented candles but only have one guitar between three of them, and are encouraged to make percussive sounds from the pile of husky palm leaves in the corner. In fact, the object making the most noise in the room is the pistachio ice cream fountain, which casts slightly textured opal-green light on the sides of the porcelain sphere. I can't believe our favourite Histrianic thinks us to have forgotten, why, in my day we would receive a sturdy post every four days from the very same, and think ourselves the luckier. If only I could remember how long ago my day was. There is a girl, in a cafe, who used to go to the educational establishment I still occupy. She is probably the most beautiful girl that exists in the places near me, so I go there to drink hot chocolate. Luckily, if she *happened* to be on the list, she still wouldn't know as I haven't worn corduroy in there, I don't think. *Damn*, let it out. Oh, well, looks like I'll have to order something different next time. *Damn*. There's always the possiblity of wearing a hat, glasses and fake comedy nose. *Damn*... There is no greater sin than self-indulgence, but I feel strangely relaxed as I know you won't be reading this now, you'll be reading this when you get back from the B&S gig, you lucky, lucky swine. (Plural). I feel an eerie sense of long term deja vu (or however it's spelled/spelt...)... No, wait, I've been here before! What happens is.. we get a trickling of posts as people wish us bon soir before going to the gig. Some non-gig hopefuls suddenly perk up, thinking that sinister might not be as dull as the gig-happenings would suggest, but are only to be disappointed, as they repeatedly hit the send and receive button just waiting for something to receive, but in vain. They like to think they can leave it, but something tells them to keep checking. Finally, at two in the morning, they have to connect again and it takes five incredibly frustrating minutes as the modem buzzes and clicks into life, but they do find a single post coming through. if it was paper, they'd rip it with fumbling hands, but instead the silent cursor wavers over the inbox icon. A short intake of breath, and their sagging eyes read the from line: "Postmaster: re: failed mail." To those other lonely hearts, I'm going to try and have a go on #sinister tonight. (For some reason I couldn't get on last time.) I've never been on before, wish me luck and be gentle. Toxic Girl Corduroy Boy XOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO X PS: Laura: Blackadder again. PPS: To everyone: yup, boring again. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@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 +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+