somebody once told me that words like sartorial exist, never to be used in conversation, but only to be used to impress others. i told this person i used the word 'sartorial' all the time. but i was just trying to impress her. she asked me a question: 'pixie sticks, and sparkling jello' she said: 'preview of heaven, or tools of lucifer?' i asked her if jello was the same thing as jam. she tutted, and looked away. the following has no relevance to your life, but it is an answer, of sorts: ---------- we crowd close to the stage, unsure if we're really seeing what we're seeing.. la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la ma vie en roooSe do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do do quelque choSe is it really him? oh sure, it looks the same. sweet little ginger mop, appealing blue eyes, dimples.. but...this is something of a sartorial shift... he's painted GOLD from head to foot. and he's NAKED. suits him, actually... a new style, and not just sartorially speaking. this is what will happen, within three months of the new product (tentatively titled 'how i discovered GRANNY SHAG MAGS' - the capitals are important, don't forget them) hitting the shelves. trevor horn is fully in control. and he plans to model our indie heroes on some of the most successful artists he has worked with. here's stevie jackson. he has spent every moment since the recording seesions in the gym, and is now buffed and toned to perfection. he is wearing a loin cloth* pull up to the bumper bay-bee in your long black limousine pull up to the bumper bay-bee drive it in bet-ween sex sells. oh yes. trevor has decided the band's shift towards the mainstream must be complemented by a complete image overhaul. but perhaps there can only ever be one grace jones. twist the box..another world.. sarah and isobel (who has rejoined the band for the purposes of this post because she is more convincing in this role than mick cooke could ever be.) are holding hands. the audience smile. its 1995, the girls are just friends. and then, isobel proceeds to remove her school blouse. this takes some doing, because the blouse is very very small and stretched tightly across her breasts. sarah presses herself closer... isobel takes something from her pocket and puts it to her mouth... it is a PIXIE STICK. she won't eat it. she'll just lift it to her mouth and... lets it stay there. sarah takes it from her and nibbles the end. (pixie sticks are sweets that americans eat. in america, DRUG DEALERS wait for halloween and then fill them full of CRACK COCAINE and give them to kids... its true, it says so here: http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/1999/10/29/halloween_scares/print.html ) this pixie stick, however, does not contain cocaine, just fizzy white stuff. a small trickle of this oozes from the opening, and runs from isobel's mouth.. sarah moves her microphone towards isobel... and whispers 'all the way back home, i'm telling you, i caught the sun..' isobel traces her fingernail along sarah's cheek and allows the words 'creeping up around my window' to catch in her throat before slipping from her lips.. somewhere, underneath, a eurobeat kicks in as the girls grab each other and fall into a HUGE MOUND of sparkling jelly (that's jello, if you're american. apparently. which is not the same as jam. not always.) trevor is experimenting, sartorially speaking. the girls are dressed half as schoolgirls and half as sex-leprechauns. its something he tried with boyzone but it never really worked. after trying to fit the words 'bejesus begorrah bejamus' (which are SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN to be what leprechauns say) into 'love me for a reason', trev gave up. it was that, and the fact that ronan wouldn't stop fiddling with his buckle. in another dimension, just a second, or a wish away, all the above is true. none of it is relevant to your life. another twist of the box. i watched mulholland drive last night. i've seen it twice now. i hated it the first time, and then left the cinema, worked out an explanation, and decided to love it instead. i love films that trick you, in the way that film does. i love things that remind you that reality is completely subjective, and utterly fragile. i'm sure a few of us have let reality slip...just a little, and seen a glimpse of what lay behind it at that precise second. sometimes its pretty, sometimes it aint... quite often your reaction to what lies behind the facade that we call 'real life' depends on whether or not you wanted to peep behind the curtain in the first place. mixed metaphors. i'll have an elephant and coke, please.. in the film, a key opens the box to another reality. it doesn't have to be so literal. the decision of a second shifts a reality to somewhere new.. a tiny change has so many unforseen effects. we never question them, because we never see what the alternative would have been. mick cooke (who sings on THIS occasion, because i'm running out of band members) strides onto the stage. he is wearing a tuxedo, and a bow tie. no shirt. he is heavily tattooed. he strikes a pose, lifts his head up to the spotlight, and flourishes: he is very elegant. sartorially speaking. the days..... of pearly spencer the race is almost run.. behind him, a disco-ball twirls and cleo roccos runs around in a wedding gown. we hold our breaths, half-waiting for 'say hello, wave goodbye'. maybe it'll happen. maybe it won't. in another world, the ocarina solo in the closing bars of 'legal man' causes spontaneous orgasms amongst indie fans on every listen. the rest of the song still stinks, though. some things are constant. i once had an ocarina. i could play 'good king wenceslas'. not very well. it satisfied my seven-year-old ears but then, at the time, so did tracy ullman. i was going to learn to be a musician. with my ocarina. a little bit more practice, that's all it would have taken. in another world, i am truthful, honest, and afraid of you. in this one, i only scare myself. in this world , i am too busy, going door to door, asking drug dealers if they have any pixie sticks to spare.. heaven looks however you think it will look. perhaps it can be found in a mound of jello. isobel campbell writhes naked in the stuff on a daily basis. put the box down. there's enough in this dimension alone. none of the above is relevant. sartorially speaking xx ian *image for the benefit of rachel queen. you LOVE it. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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