Sinister: could you sleep at a time like this?
When everyone on Sinister is asleep, late at night, like now, I like to creep in and leave notes in their spiral binders. This one is with blue ink. My favorite color. (translation: favourite colour) I should be asleep too. When i wake up, i will paint super-cool racing stripes on my Vespa. Forest green stripes. To blend in while riding thru the woods. Jo (my love) is nowhere to be found tonight so i gotta ride like the wind. Love is a battlefield. Did you know that? And tomorrow night will be bittersweet, it's the last time i'll play drums with my beloved band. Because i quit. To take up eukulele and be a singer, a front man. Lucky thing i have a good front. But the line "i hit the drums for the final time and i walked away" still rings in my ears, and will tomorrow nite i'm sure. But we've got some surprises up our collective sleeves, you know. Something so sad about the last cigarette too, you know what i mean? Like there's nowhere to go from there but to sleep. But if someone's waiting and you can't hear them.... waving and waving goodbye.... how do you bridge such a gap? With flowers? Mail-art? Shampoo? We all want to fly, but we can't, and only my pen runs. Nothing doing. Fiona asks: "are you a freak or a freek?" and i can't quite formulate an answer. Maybe her guess is better than mine. But she has these shoes that are two-tone red and black, so she knows duplicity. The things we do for a bottle of the red at half past midnight has no suspense. When rain beads off the windscreen and reflects the traffic lights in arcs, i miss the other one. Sitting on the vinyl seat, waiting for something to come save me from all this rain. It's so easy to drown, even when you don't want to drown. Keep the chins up, kids. Love, Brier +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead 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 +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "peculiarly deranged fanbase" "frighteningly named +-+ +-+ Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+
When rain beads off the windscreen and reflects the traffic lights in arcs, i miss the other one. Sitting on the vinyl seat, waiting for something to come save me from all this rain.
Rain. You must never try to run away from rain. You can never run away from rain. Cos rain is forever there. Drops. Falling decisively . Crashing hopelessly . Sighing silently. Whispering as they slowly yet so fast cut their way through the cold, razor-sharp air. Little. Round. Liquid. Drops. Of rain. Like the drops that soaked me to the bone tonight. Standing in the rain. With a pair of high heeled shoes in one hand.The other hopelessly hugging my waist.Trying to stop my shaking.Have you ever felt so small under the vastness of the skies? Being with so many people just before, but still feeling lonely.And not just that.Being in a room full of people, dressed like the little queen of all hipsters but still feeling Alone. Rushing outside to get some air, suddenly breathing in there had become harder. And out there you find that long lost love of yours.In whose arms you willingly fall and lose yourself. Whom you let touch and run fingers all over you.Opening up and crying , pouring out your sorrow. She's falling on you while you're falling for her. She's taking over you and gently pushes you on the ground.It's wet.And muddy.Little puddles of water reflect the shattered bits of sky, which is the only thing you can grasp of it , without feeling the grinds in your brain dangerously creaking . The night would have been so quiet otherwise, yet your love is whispering in your ear. And her whispers have something of the sorrow of the sad songs in them.Something of the fear of the veins under the frail skin of the wrist, something of the savage joy of the razor, flirting with the thin layers of skin wrapping the illusion we call life . She reminds you of the pang of pain right on the moment of utter happiness that cleaves your chest apart. She falls down on you.All over you. And the only thing you can do is cry. Cry in the thought of the sky over the other hemisphere. If it's cloudy, if it's blue. And cry at the thought of someone you've left behind, or just ahead, or maybe this is the torture you have to go through and come to the other end intact and in one piece, still sane though.Your role in the catastrophic plans of fate. Is for Pain. And your lover genlty strokes your cheek and kisses your eyes...tells you everything is gonna be ok, "Please let me wash away your fear, wash away your pain, your sadness, your inexplicable outbursts of insanity, your sin, your guilt, your sorrow. Let me wash away your tears". And you suddenly understand. The realisation strikes you. "No!" you cry. "No, you can't do that!". "No, you can't wash away my fears nor my tears. No, Rain....you'll wash -me- away then. I'll melt away and slowly be absorbed by the earth beneath me. No. No ,Rain. I love you . And you know that. But there's still someone I love more than you. More than my pain and my sorrow and for whom I would deny them. No , Rain. Not just yet." And the rain slowly dies out....licks your lips for the final time and withdaws. An you find yourself walking in the fields alone,soaked to the bone, with a pair of high heeled shoes in one hand, the other one hopelessly hugging your waist.Trying to stop your shaking.Having a faint memory of once being the little queen of all hipsters.But you can never be too sure about anything any more. You keep walking, and in your head you hear that christmas carol resounding...."Little drummer boy"....... You keep walking towards the end of the picture. You dissapear. The music is still playing. ....You must never try to run away from rain. You can never run away from rain...... Love to you all, sorry for the lack of content....for some of you at least..... Joanna +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead 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 +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "peculiarly deranged fanbase" "frighteningly named +-+ +-+ Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+
participants (2)
-
Brier Random -
Joan of Dark