working at the library today as it was closing; all the lights were off and the building was dark throughout. it's a big building, and in the middle everything was completely black. in the distance, i could see the light of the windows filtered past thousands of shelves and millions of books. the cosy place was suddenly creepy. too much information. too dark for anything it made me think. buildings should never be dark. they should *always* have some dim light coming somewhere. to design a building without light is unnatural. apart from darkrooms, which are the cosiest, most relaxing places. Content: ooh! new singles! touring makes me nervous, though. i don't like going to gigs, really. too many crowds. in dark rooms, as well. but ... on the other hand, how could i miss it? To all those of you who are debating which RPG game was the best, i have just three words to say: The Bard's Tale. this correspondance is now closed. Next week on Sinister-Geek: 10 reasons why C++ is the spawn of the devil. Will your band [F]ight or [R]un? i liked the post about the depressed-looking girl sitting by herself by the roadside, because i notice those sort of people and want to say something, but never do. i never dare to. there is one of these events, i particularly remember. when i had first moved to scotland and was still in Tourist Mode, i decided to go and visit the old cemetaries of the city. i was in the Old Calton Hill graveyard, which is walled, tiny, quiet and crowded. nobody else was there, apart from a girl sat cross-legged on a grave. she looked as peaceful as those underneath her; i was embarrassed that i'd disturbed her privacy. i looked round the mausoleums in the darker corners of the ground, and when i emerged she had gone. maybe she wasn't even there. hopefully, i'll never forget her. ghost stories are always the saddest, i feel. well, *real* ghost stories often aren't actually that interesting, but good ghost stories are as sad as the girl on her own by the roadside. stories of dead servant-boys, or the ghosts of disfigured aristocrat girls trapped in vast country houses. you know the sort of thing i mean. i wish i could talk to ghosts. do something for them. i cried at the end of The Sixth Sense, you know. look, i should go. i've said too much already. /me turns out the light. x anonymous from grimsby -- "We've /all/ got dismembered Cub Scouts under our front porches, Honey" -- Douglas Coupland "N is for Neville, who died of ennui" -- Edward Gorey ICQ 66321009 +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+