Hello. It's been a while. It's been three months, in fact, since I last found myself sitting between the right angles of my two desks in the early hours of the morning, writing to strangers. I like strangers, probably more than I like the people I know. Which probably means I like myself. Or the promise of unknowns. I found out a few things during the three months I spent teaching English in China. First was that it was possible to speak for several uninterrupted hours on the rudiments of English grammar. Second was that comedians who die on stage to silent audiences persevere because of the ongoing hope for improvement. Third was that people are silly and sad the world over. I knew that one before. In fact, I'm making it all up as I go along, but that isn't an argument not to trust everything you read. It isn't an argument for anything. I still haven't learnt how to be entertaining, I'm afraid. Although I managed to polish up my karoake versions of Send in the Clowns and Puff the Magic Dragon. That, however, is most decidedly not entertainment. There is a touch of surrealism to finding myself in such a familiar scenario. It's the same surprise as when, earlier today, on one of the rare occasions I saw some television, I passively absorbed an advert for Have I Got News For You. They were all there: Angus Deyton, Ian Hislop and Paul Merton, smugly ribbing one another under the kind auspices of Auntie, to the delight of another TV centre audience. The fact that they were still alive was quite a shock. They had been dead to me for so long. But why shouldn't they be? And if they were going to be anywhere, wouldn't they be on television, doing what they always do? And why should my desk be anywhere other than where it has been ever since I bought it from a Bermondsey antiques dealer who sat behind his faux-Chippendale desk puffing Mayfair fags like the Sheik of Tower Bridge? For that matter, why should I be anywhere other than in front of my desk, where I've been so many times before. If I was a betting man, my current position would be odds-on favourite against the other possibilities. Since returning to England, I and some friends have started an arts magazine. That is the real reason I am writing. The preceeding paragraphs were just sweetening preamble. If anyone reading this has any poetry/stories/comments in whose quality they believe, we are welcoming contributions. We have no agenda except that the work must be sincere and serious. We are interested in acting positively against current-day trends of cynicism and media/self-obsession in art and literature. In spite of what I said earlier, that's entertainment, folks. As W.H. Auden put it, don't the darlings have cold hearts? We want to warm them. If anyone is interested, contact me. Tomorrow, art. Today, bed. In between, dreams. Goodnight. Ruvi. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+