a patch of scorched earth. in films, a patch of scorched earth always means something. if i was fox mulder, and this was the x-files, i'd touch the ash, sniff it, and pronounce it evidence of some government conspiracy. fuck that. i've got all the evidence i need already. the local newspapers have reported mass-sightings of a unidentified flying object over selly oak some time on thursday night. as i headed down to london to see saint etienne (of which more in a later post, i'm sure..), something looking suspiciously like a garden shed lifted vertically into the sky above the fair city of birmingham. and then, it vanished. along, it seems, with sister janice slejj. sister janice turned up a while ago, and i kindly allowed her to reside in my airing cupboard, and then in my shed. now, she appears to have gone, leaving only a hole; a pile of batteries and what looks suspiciously like a bag full of jarlsberg rind behind her. accept it, ian, go with the cosmic flow. it has been that sort of week:- over the past couple of weeks, i've been enjoying what i thought was a lively and interesting correspondence with a texan 243 piece band called the polyphonic spree. today, i received this letter from their management: 'Dear Mr. Anscombe Consider this your final warning, before legal proceedings are instigated against you. Do not attempt to contact my clients again...blah blah blah...inappropriate...blah blah blah...threats..blah..genitals...yawn...witter...witter...do not, and never have, indulge in the type of behaviour to which you refer...blah blah....artists have a right to privacy and entering their homes in the middle of the night, dressed as a frenchman and asking them to feel your baton is a serious contravention of this...blah blah...not as if you can even play an instrument - the maracas really aren't that hard to master...blah blah... nipple clamps; erection; meringue; stimulation of the pancreas.....' on and ON it goes. goodness, some people have NO sense of humour. and, anyway, its not even as if its true..i wasn't dressed as a frenchman, i was dressed as marlene dietrich. some people see a beret and jump to all sorts of conclusions.. under neath ze lamp post by ze da da da.. darling i rem-em-ber the way la la la la.. some artists don't seem to understand that, underlying their worldwide success, has to be some modicum of RESPECT for their fans. its just like the time i stuck my hand down jarvis cocker's trousers in a crowded lift. when you become FAMOUS and a CELEBRITY, you must accept that people are entitled to DO that to you.. and THEN there was the time that... no, enough of past horrors..memories have a way of crashing into each other, don't they? you start off climbing into a seemingly innocuous one, thinking you know where its going, and before long you're involved in a 28-reverie pile-up, buried underneath a multi-layered mash of mental metal. and this is the worst time of year for memories. the darkness, even in the day time, drives us within ourselves. we go inside ourselves instinctively, knowing the darkest days are yet to come and the strength to face it full on has to be sought deep within. this year, though, i'm going to try and smile at the dark, rather than wish it away. it has its own beauty, so much more subtle and fascinating than that of the sun. perhaps that means staying away from memories, focussing on the now. some people would tell you the now is all you've got. but i don't feel like talking about them today. a cold philosophy, that, the idea that the past must die every second. if we don't have the past, we have nothing to build the present on. and everything needs foundations, no matter how insubstantial. if my garden shed had had better foundations, it might not be whizzing around the galaxy right now, with an excommunicated kleptomaniac nun in it. (then again, it probably would. at some point in their life, MOST people will find a member of the clergy stealing attempting to steal a wooden outhouse from them. i'm sure it has already happened to most of you. you've been around.) they know this already, ian, there's no need to tell them. smile at the dark, toss the rejection letter into the bin, plant bulbs in the scorched earth. allow something to grow from the mistakes of the past. i shall start my own cult. we shall wear WHITER ROBES and play BETTER MUSIC than the polyphonic spree. i shall practice looking at my memories, but not allowing them to overwhelm me. i shall look inside myself for strength, not for weakness, and admire the beauty that even bleakness has to offer. and i shall make sure i don't let any more nuns in my house. i hope this will make me happier. have loveliness, my dears xx ian ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tomorrow will bring happiness Or at least, another day Phil Ochs ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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