oh, sinister. you. it's nice that people like to take photos, ink or otherwise. they are good things. i worry that i don't take enough. so i took two rolls last wkend during my birfday party. haven't gotten the prints back, but here's one of the ink ones: I'm in my kitchen and the house is full of people, most of whom are wearing track suits, it being a track-suit party. I've got a black and turquoise Reebok warm-up suit on and am drunkly (yet eloquently, yes, eloquently) pontificating about whether to become a jock or not because, damn, this track suit is so comfortable and makes the best swish-swish noises. The ink photo right after this one shows me picking up my friend Neil, who plays rugby and is dressed as Rocky (Rocky 1, of course) and looks the part. I've got him balanced sideways on my lower back. His neck towel has fallen off. It's my only impressive party trick, this picking up of people. But anyone can do it. Another ink photo, to partially explain my sinister quietness: That's me in mid-December, sitting on my bed, cross-legged, leaning in a little towards my laptop to better read its screen in what's become the dim light of my bedroom. Is it something like 3 a.m.? There's that 3 a.m. hum of streetlights outside and the 3 a.m. hum of laptop inside; the loudest hums in the world. Yes, it's something like that time. I'm typing and deleting, cutting and pasting a paper together. I haven't bothered to change my pants in a few days (though I've managed to change my underwear, which I count as "keeping it together, yo"), logic being that pants don't get dirty enough through the act of reading and writing alone. Spinner.com plays jazz through my tinny laptop speakers. I got tired of the indie rock stations an hour ago. I believe I'm writing about cinema and the cyborg eye, quoting the sticky-noted bits from the 20 or so books and articles surrounding me on the bed and then attempting cleverness with my own words. I have no idea how well I'm going about it, but I'm typing fast. I'm so very "back in school"; when someone says articulate, I say how high. woodwork, coming out of. sinister, singing praises of. sighing, long and contemplative. x, robyn. ===== I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything. ~Steven Wright ~~~ Robyn Fadden rfadden@yahoo.com Montreal, QC __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+