Last night I was awoken by a terrible din outside my kitchen window. I at first assumed it was the small noisy baby who seems to be in some way related to my downstairs neighbour, out for a moonlight crawl in the garden. But unless it had grown wings and was vigorously beating them against the wall (and I wouldn't put it past it) this was something else. My next thought was 'bloody Ian', naturally. And it was, in a way. I opened the window and immediately a small nun flew in and collapsed on top of the toaster. At least, I thought it was a small nun, but on closer inspection it turned out to be a parrot in a nun's costume. Before I could say anything about this frankly peculiar get-up, let alone the late hour, the bird unleashed a stream of invective: "I've been out in this sodding garden for a week and a half now you dense muppet! I came here deliberately to see you, despite all the incredibly nasty things Ian said about you! And you've been pottering around in a bloody world of your own, washing up and making toast and stuff while I'm dancing on your windowsill in a freaking nun's habit, trying to get your attention! Why do I fucking bother, eh? Now make me some caviar and crackers and hurry up about it, halfwit." So I did. And then, still at the top of its rather ugly voice, the parrot declaimed: The High Achievers Educated in the Humanities, they headed for the City, their beliefs implicit in the eyes and arteries of each, and their sincerity displayed in notes, in smiles, in sheaves of decimal etcetera. Made, they counted themselves free. Those were the hours of self-belief, and the slow accolade of pieces clattering into a well. And then the shrug of powers, and the millions glutted where they fell toadstooling into culture. Who knows when they made their killings during that hot spell: flies or policemen? An infinity of animals began to thrive especially, as when the dull sea, sick with its fish, was turning them to men. Glyn Maxwell After that, the parrot and I had a cup of cocoa and went to bed, feeling a lot more comradely. In the morning I went out for more caviar and made scrambled eggs, then I put on some Go Betweens CDs**. But I didn't want him to get TOO cosy, so I gave him a rather rough bath (meanwhile burning the moldering nun's habit) and some cold tea with flies in it, by which time he was quite ready to be despatched across the atlantic to... ... MandeeMay our favourite quiet American, who may render even the Poetry Parrot speechless with her own talents. love Archel xxx ** 28th April, London Astoria! Don't forget! Maybe even mail me off list if you want to form a Sinister convoy. ****************** Visit www.buzzwords.ndo.co.uk for the best new writing on the web. Email submissions@buzzwords.ndo.co.uk +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+