now i know how joan of arc felt. now i know how joan of arc felt. kind of hot around the arse and a little bit sweaty. damn those nylon knickers! hello, my dears. its been a funny old funny old, hasn't it? we have chickfactored, some of you have tigermilked, and some more of us have picnicked (a big HRAY and thanks to those of you who turned up to saint james's park on a sunny september day. i won't report back. the joy was just in being there, it won't carry over into print). so far, i have yet to read a report of the chickfactor ball. i might attempt one at the end of the mail. (note added later on: for those of you who are going to read this for a review, don't bother, i didn't write one. sorry, n all that. perhaps you could read it anyway, if you feel that way inclined. you might learn something. then again you might not but HEY the world is full of fucking risks, okay, you don't take risks, you don't LIVE...) ------ err...where was i? oh yes: these dark nights encourage introspection. the window pane throws up an artificially illuminated me. suddenly, i stand between myself and the outside world, seeing myself translucent, and spectral, surrounded by the softness of night. there's a strange sort of magic there. in the window pane, and behind it, in the darkness. is it that i believe i could lose myself in the night? wander out into it, sink into it, feel the comforting absence and obliterate everything but the air flowing in and out, in and out..? maybe. but, as the buddha might have said: 'cut the sentimental claptrap, anscombe, its fucking boring' this is what i'm doing tonight - i'm staring out of the window at a flickering silhouette. a nun, raising a hammer and letting it fall- an image thrown by candlelight onto a frosted glass window, a woman at work. a work in construction. i wish i knew what she was doing.. that fucking nun is up to something.... i came across her a few weeks ago, and i told her she could live in my shed. from what i could tell, she's hiding from someone, possibly the police, possibly some mutant nuns. she did try to tell me, but i was watching 'brum boys bounce best' at the time and i wasn't really listening. i remember it involving lemonfresh toilet duck and some dodgy bodily positions but that's not my sort of thing. leave that to the likes of archel playforth. occasionally, the light of the flame catches the nun's silhouette and throws it into colour. if i squint, i can discern the navy of her habit; the glow of a cigarette; the glittering of a disco ball. yeah, she's got a disco ball. or so i suspect. i haven't seen it. she won't let me into the shed. i've tried to point out that it belongs to me, but this doesn't seem to make any difference. says my essence will 'pollute the aura of tranquility and the spirit of diligence that fills this once unholy cesspit' i think she found that severed head under the floor. i DID try and explain that.. anyway. i've asked sister janice (that's her name. a stupid name, if you ask me, but the only time i pointed this out she threatened me with a chainsaw) what she's up to. i was DEAD subtle and everything... me: 'hi. i'm just bringing you a cup of tea, and looking at my garden. i'm not trying to look through the windows, or spy on you, and i'm CERTAINLY not going to run at you when you aren't expecting it, and try and knock you out of the way. are you having a nice day?' sister janice slejj: 'yes. thank you. i'm not very busy. not doing much. not building anything. definitely not building a space-rocket, or anything like that. i'm just being a nun. a quiet little nun. with no plans to raid your house for components when you aren't there, because that would be dishonest. and i'm not. dishonest, that is. i'm not dishonest.' she's a fucking sly one, that one. i have no idea what she's up to. i tried to run at her when she wasn't expecting it, and knock her out of the way, but she seemed to have guessed my Clever Trick (i wonder if she has been reading my 'Ian Book Of Clever Tricks'? dammit, that was the BEST ONE!). and when i recovered from the blow to the head, she was back inside, doing whatever she is doing. ------------- usually, i'd find other things to interest me, but my jeff stryker dildo appears to have gone missing. a lot of things have lately. sister janice says she suspects i have Very Big Mice, and that i should leave a block of the finest jarlsberg outside my house every morning, to tempt them away. weird. every morning the jarlsberg is gone, but still the mice steal things. i haven't seen one yet, but i'm pretty sure they're there. watching me. perhaps i should tell you about other things. okay, here's a brief synopsis: 1. i have drafted a letter to the polyphonic spree. i have told them i am excellent at playing the maracas, and would welcome the chance to travel continents in a white robe, singing to all and sundry. i am sure they will write back soon and invite me to join 2. i have been completing the rough copy of my book: 'evil space-aliens are watching us, and they plan to suck our brains out with their nasty sucky sucky ooh nasty brain sucky tentacles'. one should keep titles short, and to the point. see how i do it? some of you could learn.. 3. i have come to the conclusion that belle and sebastian may not actually exist, and that they're a Clever Trick (a Clever Trick NOT in the 'Ian Book Of Clever Tricks', which makes it a Very Clever Trick Indeed), an illusion manufactured by certain members of this list who work for the brain sucky nasty ooh sucky sucky aliens to get together certain intelligent, articulate members of the species and use their powers for evil purposes. more of this in later messages. it may be dangerous to let them know i suspect them at this point.. and one should be very certain before throwing accusations, or resorting to violence 4. i have sent archel playforth a letter bomb, as she is clearly an Agent Of Destruction working for... well.... best not to say, just yet. oh, and i went to the chickfactor ball. but perhaps the review should wait. it doesn't want to be here, not tonight. its happy to stay in the back of my head for a while longer. take care. the truth is out there. but probably not where you're looking. xx ian +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+