two mails in a day...again. you can blame robin stout. he said the following, and the appalling ignorance behind what he said was something that had to be addressed:

All the way home there was a trail of dead umbrellas, abandoned in doorways, thrown into hedges, sprawled in the middle of the road

they weren't dead, my dear. they were resting. this is a subject human beings, as a whole, have given very little thought to. c.s.lewis gave away some of the less-subtle secrets of wardrobes; douglas adams has written whole chapters on the secret life of biros; but the (apparently) simple umbrella is ALWAYS overlooked. i shall enlighten you. this is how it works: you never get to see the sunshine. you are shut away from the warm days. they keep you in a Dark Place and, sooner or later, you get used to the dark. its not so bad, nestling away somewhere quiet, left alone, to one's thoughts. you come to enjoy solitude, reflection, perhaps even quiet meditation. one day, you're pulled screaming into the light. they don't give any thought to how YOU might feel about your sudden change of circumstance. one minute you're blinking, trying to let the light in in stutters, wondering what on earth could have caused this sinister development, the next you're thrust up into the air and underneath a cold shower. its a thankless task, protecting and sheltering human beings. you'd do better looking after your own desires, trying to find a way back to that closet, or a spot in the nearest sun-kissed branch of beatties. but, due to your altruistic nature, you do the best you can. you're that sort. you can spend all your life doing this. if you're lucky, when you're old, you'll be retired to the back of a wardrobe and forgotten about, replaced by a younger, brighter and more aesthetically pleasing model. some of the elderly even get a New Life in a charity shop window. for a limited period, obviously. many are not so lucky. they are abandoned. twisted, unhappy wrecks left to rot for the rest of their earthly incarnations of course, there are alternatives for those who are lucky enough to hear about them: the world we see is not the only one. there are many places where it brushes up against the others, places where the veils are thinnest and a cross-over is possible. there are even places where the veil disappears altogether. these we call portals. the portals to Umbrella Heaven are invisible to humans. however, our faithful friends can sense when they are near one, even if they aren't entirely sure what it is they are sensing. has your umbrella ever twitched suddenly, when you weren't expecting it? it wasn't a sudden gust of wind after all, you know. most of the portals are in places where human beings congregate. have you ever left your umbrella in a pub? actually, no, you haven't. it has left you. you didn't care for it. you didn't even care where it was when you weren't trying to get something out of it. and it left you. quite frankly, you deserved it. buses are another favourite. luminaries of human thought, such as stefano santabarbara, may think that riding on city buses for a hobby is sad. umbrella philsophers (quietly spoken and frequently ignored, but none the less real) hold that every bus holds the key to a new universe. sometimes human beings find these new universes on buses. usually, we don't. our more evolved cousins, however, understand that, through a lifetime of patient service and uncomplaining endeavour, combined with conscientious bus travel and a fair amount of luck, one can cross to the Other Side. on the other side... well, it isn't a simple process. firstly, there are the feelings of lack of self worth to deal with. those that have made the journey on their first incarnation are likely to feel this most acutely. those that have endured many lifetimes are usually aware of their own value, though of course they are not conceited about it. after these feelings are purged, the crossing to Paradise can be completed. so..what does Umbrella Heaven look like? i expect you're imagining beaches full of long, thin sun-loungers; parisian-style cafes packed with parapluieieie smiling and waving and looking so grand; self-actualised ex-shelters rejoicing in harmony; eight-pronged wonders skipping naked through fields of waving corn... well, its nothing like that. an umbrella once told me what heaven was like, but it isn't translatable into human-speak. you'd never understand it, unless you already possess the ability to converse with inanimate objects. i know some of you do. i have observed dimitra daisy deep in conversation with a cupboard door. i have watched as jim taylor chatted amiably to a pair of socks....those of you will already know all of the above, and any further explanation is unneccessary. those of you who DON'T know have much to learn. but there's a good place to start. the next time you shove your little friend up into the air (no, hewitt, i'm not talking about THAT little friend) just smile, nod your head and mutter a one-syllable word 'thanks'.... it won't go unnoticed. on the path to enlightenment, nothing does. like the buddha once said, 'there's many a muck makes a mickle'.. peace, my friends. xx ian +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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