hullo lovelies! After several long years away, I have broken down and rejoined the list. And it seems so lovely! We appear to have loads of talented, creative writers. I must admit to being a wee bit intimidated. I spend my life writing about criminals, victims, degenerates and everyone in between, and at the end of the day i don't have much of anything creative to say. But I enjoy cuddling in bed with my laptop and reading lots of pretty sinister posts. I don't have much important to say really, but I was so excited to be exempt from nursery status that I felt compelled to post something! First things first. Everyone seems so ill! I hope John John dear is not the only sinisterene toting around flasks of soup. I get worried, you know. And there are far too many sinisterenes chatting their nights away and not sleeping *ahem stoo and ken*. Mummyness aside... As means of introduction... I am Stacey. I am 23 (24 on Feb. 26, if you'd like to send prezzies :). I first joined the list in 97/98. I think I was number 80 or something (is that possible???) and left when I went to Greece to study archaeology. I never came back - to the list that is, I'm back from Greece. I currently live in Massachusetts and work as a crime reporter (if you hadn't figured that out already, add that to my list of sinisterene concerns). I'd like to be able to reflect on the good ole days of sinister, but honestly I don't remember much. :) I remember miss erin lewis, the angel from California who made me my first copy of Tigermilk, back when it was still the most hard to get and coveted item ever. Is erin still around? I owe her a prezzie. I remember the first crush list - it was managed by some poor unsuspecting listee, and St. Lucy or whoever got all the votes because of her foxy photo. I remember my very first tape exchange, and Nick Dastoor and some other boy constantly taunting each other. Great fun. Katrina and David would feed our insatiable hunger for band gossip and patiently supply answers to our neverending barrage of trivial questions. Awww... Anyway, I'm sure the list is much better now :) At the very least, it seems more thoughtful and substantial. Yet still very cozy, which is what I love so much about belle and sebastian fans. I have never met a listee, but I'm sure that'll change soon enough. Enough about me already. I heard the chirp of a poetry parrot earlier and thought it sounded lovely. Mind if I feed it? Seniors, by Mr. Alberto Rios (not me! unfortunately :) William cut a hole in his Levi's pocket so he could flop himself out in class behind the girls so the other guys could see and shit what guts we all said. All Konga wanted to do over and over was the rubber band trick, but he showed everyone how, so nobody wanted to see anymore and one day he cried, just cried until his parents took him away forever. Maya had a Hotpoint refridgerator standing in his living room, just for his family to show anybody who came in that they could afford it. Me, I got a french kiss, finally, in the catholic darkness, my tongue's farthest half vacationing loudly in another mouth like a man in Bermudas, and my body jumped against a flagstone wall, I could feel it through her thin, almost nonexistent body: I had, at that moment, a hot girl on a summer night, the best of all the things we tried to do. Well, she let me kiss her anyway, all over. Or it was just a flagstone wall with a flow in the stone, an understanding cavity for burning young men with smooth dreams - the true circumstance is gone, the true circumstances about us all then are gone. But when I kissed her, all water, she would close her eyes, and they into somewhere would disappear, whether she was there or not, I remember her, clearly, and she moves around the room, sometimes, until I sleep. I have lain on the desert in watch low in the back of a pick-up truck for nothing in particular, for stars, for the things behind stars, and nothing comes more than the moment: always now, here in a truck the moment again to dream of making love and sweat, this time to a woman, or even to all of them in some allowable way, to those boys, then who couldn't cry, to the girls before they were women, to friends, me on my back, the sky over me pressing its simple weight into her body on me, into the bodies of them all, on me. Oh my, that was quite long! and a bit dirty, I'm afraid. Ah well. That's what they made scroll keys for. Night all. Be good. ~dahling ____________________________________________________________________ Get free email and a permanent address at http://www.netaddress.com/?N=1 +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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