A while back, someone had been stabbed outside this place. She'd worked the case. Just another act of violence, another life wasted. 'Got plans?' He looked expectant, nervous, childlike in his ignorance and egotism. What could she tell him? Belle and Sebastian on the hi-fi; another gin and tonic; the last third of an Isla Dewar novel. Tough competition for any man. - Set in Darkness, by Ian Rankin: p.133 To be honest it wasn't easy waking up. Through in Edinburgh at around 08:45, I wandered along Princes' St. Gardens; towards the fountain, and sat drinking a can of red bull whilst perusing Sunday's Observer and Monday's Metro, the chill, bright air meeting my simmering blood as I read of Mr. President's thoroughly mis-placed and ill-advised reaction to human grief. I arrived, a bit late, down at the Dean Valley office to Mark's question: "Gordon, do you have a key?" Naw... Alex who does the reprographics was through the glass so we knocked and he let us in through a fire exit. Public holiday, you see... So, I said to the three people in the studio well, I may as well bugger off then: it's a nice day. I went in search of Thomas de Quincey's grave. It's supposed to be in the grounds of St. Cuthbert's along with, as Will tells me, the inventor of logarithms. On the latter part, I have sought the assistance of my father, who explains that logarithms are a way to transform multiplications into additions, via a series of tables. For those of you born pre-1970 (and I shouldn't imagine there are many) such calculations as we now do with pocket calculators were, in those days, done with slide rules, thanks to this man Napier. I could find neither his grave nor that of Thomas's, though I searched for over an hour through grandiose and modest slabs, panels, grottoes, carved obelisks, celtic crosses, draped stone urns, cut-columns... peering at names of brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, things that occupied the lives of those interned, or died of, at any time between about 1742 and 1896... the wind whipped in the sun's vortex through trees, dappling in dynamic chiaroscuro the carved skulls and stone leaves: ...here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered: happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket: portable ecstasies might be corked up in a pint bottle....in the character of l'Allegro: even then, he speaks and thinks as becomes Il Penseroso -de Quincey So I sat in the park; just where the picnic had been, reading. Not a cloud in the sky and sunshine! Warm, sweet, Indian summer sunshine [Rob :)]. I toyed with 'doing things', like galleries; going to see the Royal Yacht Britannia down in Leith but figured: this is 'time out'. Spend it 'out'. Relax... And so I did. Later... YO! Below has manga cartoons projected big as Tintorettos on the whitewashed plasterboard; each rapid frame some studied stereotypical detail, strangely touching: even in silence the eyes give away the baddies until a tree-top view blurs the moral compass. I sip an 'open sesame'. Topped with cinnamon, it contains: amaretto; baileys; brandy; triple sec; rice spirit; cream. The table-top ash-tray is inset and lit from underneath by a low voltage halogen, and there is a dispenser which proffers beer at the touch of a red button. Fashionistas enter. Train home. The table is rapidly filled by staff of a bank: which is strange, for a bank holiday but, whatever... A young, new employee sucks major ass. He sits opposite a beautiful colleague, and it's only after she disembarks, at Stirling, that him and the older, senior, executive go all locker-room over her. It disgusts me totally. The duplicity; the politics: they make me feel sick and angry. I write this so to stave off cynicism. people who 'fit' people who 'don't fit' common denominator? people. I am more guilty than some, and less guilty than some others, but as some placard reported from Central Park said: 'An eye for an eye is a whole world blind' Gordon +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+