det var en gang that is once upon a time, there was a world. and the world was pretty large. of course, people looked out into space, and dreamt of bigger planets, and pondered what life could be like if they could only escape their earth-bound existence, little suspecting that the secret to escaping your fetters does not lie in physical movement. but i digress. there was a world. and the world was pretty large. and those that didn't dream of leaving dreamed of making it better. and those that didn't dream of either had forgotten how to dream, and that made them bitter, and cruel. bear with me, there is a point to all this. hello my fluffy friends, it has been a while. i have missed you. but you've been busy, and you've moved on, as people do, and you've moved away, and now you're saying strange things, things that i understand, but that make me shudder. let me explain, in a round-about way,... it comes down to one thing.... det var en gang once upon a time, there was a boy who lived all alone, in a tall building in a big city. he didn't mind it, safe, in the tall building. he enjoyed life there, all alone, staring out of the window at the clouds, watching the seagulls swooping and diving past the glass, dreaming of joining them, floating high above the streets. he enjoyed that, those quiet days, in a safe place, when he didn't have to leave home. some days, he had to leave the building. those were the days that scared him. a nice story... but it isn't the right way to convince you. try a different approach. change tack. bear with me, there is a point to all this. new tack....: da kidz have ditched nu metal. this is official, although you already knew it. gone are the pointless bits of chain and the trousers showing just too much arse (although that isn't always a bad thing). da kidz have moved on, so i hear. these days, they're sporting hair spiked perfectly asymmetrically, they spend many hours in front of their mirrors pulling their locks into that just-got-out-of-bed style. they wear ripped clothing, though they aren't poor. they wear sweatbands, though they don't like to exercise and they smoke, if they feel that it looks good. sometimes they wear sunglasses when its dark, although they've never heard of the blues brothers. da kidz look good these days. skinny musculature, tanned from a summer of exposure, snake hips, poured into tight trousers, swagger and sway - in that sid vicious way, and lips that curl up in the middle. da kidz have irony for breakfast, in fact they have it before breakfast, moving onto satire for a mid-morning (2 p.m.) snack and parody, cigarettes and imported russian vodka for evening meal. oh, they look good. and they sound good. their bodies are hard, their minds are hard. perhaps they make me a little hard.... but, mostly, they leave me cold. deep inside, perhaps, they're happy. i'll never know. i was never anything like that. i could never be anything like that. and now, i'm happy to say that i will never be anything like that. bear with me, there is a point to all this. so, i'm sitting here, in my bell-bottoms and smiths top (if it was a hefner top it would work better in this context, but it isn't, so i won't lie to you) and behind me on the chair is the cardigan i like to fall into from time to time. purple, orange and blue, and bought on a york day when the sun refused to shine. purple, orange and blue, too large around the sleeve-ends, where i've pulled them over my hands too often, because i like to hide my hands. near me, on the shelf, sits a picture of my little pussy cat and behind me, on the bed, sits one of several teddy bears. i like teddy bears. i talk to them, i wonder if they actually do have feelings, sometimes i sleep with one, although i'm now twenty-nine and a proper grown-up. don't press delete yet. there's an important point here. sometimes, the world scares me. i like smiley-face stickers, that make me feel happier, i like brightly coloured things, i like people who hug me and tell me everything is going to be allright. i like people who really, really hug me, and make me feel safe. i like the feeling that, sometimes, there's somewhere to hide. because we all need that. no matter how big we are. and, guess what? none of this is an affectation. bear with me, there is a point to this. det var en gang once upon a time there was a boy. i won't keep you in suspense. this is an autobiographical number, and the boy will bear more than a passing resemblance to me. he might wank less and be more tanned, in this story, but then again he might not. that boy hadn't enjoyed growing up. and he had a secret. he wasn't really enjoying being a grown-up either. but nobody was supposed to know this, not even himself. so that nobody ever found out his secret, he smiled in the wrong places, at the wrong things. he cultivated an air of sarcasm and irony, he learnt the right put downs, at just the right times, to bring the braggard to the ground. he made sure he had the clothes that made him look the thinnest, and he swaggered around with an eye for a verbal fight, knowing he looked better than some, knowing that put him in a stronger position, knowing that maybe, just maybe, people hadn't got him rumbled. it didn't work. chiefly because he wanted people to like him. those that did like him...well...you'll have to ask them their reasons. perhaps they saw something underneath. perhaps they knew none of it was real, because they recognised that he was doing what they were doing themselves. bear with me, there is a point to all this. at a stage in this boy's life, he discovered affectation. he followed the Mighty Cocker into the charity-shops of the cities, and decked himself out in ironic print shirts. he purchased flared trousers, and wore them with a knowing smile. he cut his hair short, dyed it pink, and got angry when people stared at it. he swaggered a little more, in a cool way. in a different way to the others. he wasn't like them. he didn't have to be witty. he could be an individual, like all the other individuals. one day, he realised he wasn't being ironic any more. he loved his print shirt, and his flares. he still wears them to this day and probably will for some time. and he learned something very important about affectation. eventually, you forget where the person you were to begin with ends and where the pretence begins. the two merge into one being. perhaps a more complete person, if the affectation was a positive one, but more often an imbalance is created. and the boy looked at those people who had been his friends before, with their clever lines, and their cigarettes, and he knew, too, that they had grown into this identity that once they sought to hide behind - that the put-downs and the bitching had become the person, that the coping strategy was now the personality. and he realised how shallow his new persona was, although he liked it. and he realised that they weren't really all that different, those people and him. they just coped with words where he coped with clothes, and a burt bacharach shuffle. and then, just at the right time, along came belle and sebastian. and more followed.. a bowlie weekender, some kind people, a mailing list... a magical place. really. a place where people talked about meaning in music, where people spoke unashamedly of the whirly bits in songs that made their hearts flutter, a place where people crept out of the shadows and said 'i'm shy, be kind to me'... and, by and large, people were kind. the layers fell away, bit by bit. there were events in every day life too, but the mailing list was an important part. this was somewhere he didn't have to pretend, although he lied a lot and joked a bit just because he liked doing it. the layers fell away, although the print shirts remained, and in came other things... snatches of song: time has told me, you're a rare rare find a trouble cure for a troubled mind this is the time of life that i am living and i'll face each day with a smile 'cos we've got feelings and we're DAMN PROUD OF IT i feel the planets surround me, they gather round me in came the sincere smile. the lack of shame. the ability to face life without the shell. somewhere, along came the ability to say 'this is me. i'm soft. and i'm proud of it. don't hurt me, and i'll try not to hurt you'. and, over the years, it grew. partly because of a band. partly because of their softness. partly because of their vulnerability. partly because of - bear with me, because here comes the point their tweeness. oh, you can tell me it isn't there and you can say you don't believe in it but that won't stop me seeing it, and cherishing it, and holding it close to my heart as something important, as a lesson that has to be learned. i think you see it differently to me. i think you see it as something empty, shallow, overly sentimental. i see none of that. i see the tweeness as an intrinsic part of who some of us are. i see it as a refusal to conform to a world of mcdonalds and george bush and three-minute stardom. not a precious refusal or a staged act of rebellion. not some strokes-y night in a bar or a radiohead frown (although i do like the radiohead frown), but a gentle, understanding 'no. thank you.'. understanding, perhaps because we've been there, trying to be what so many others are trying to be. or, for those luckier ones, because we were never taken in by it in the first place. i don't want to throw their world back in their faces. i want to invite them into mine. i want to cuddle them, and make them feel warm, and safe and loved. i want to make them realise how important they are. each and every one of them. especially the cruel ones, and the angry ones, because they're the saddest of all. and if you'd care to come and stay in my little corner of the world we could hide away in my little corner of the world we always knew we'd find someone like you actually, no, we didn't know we'd find you. but we're very glad we did find you, in the end. and, just this once, we're going to get precious. we're going to tell you that you're wrong, we're not going to let you deny this important, this beautiful tweeness, this softness. because it isn't an affectation for so many of us. in it lies an oddly beautiful strength. a strength that comes from knowing that kindness is okay. in my head, an aisler's set song. i've been listening to them every morning for the past couple of weeks. and they're twee. and its the biggest compliment i could give them: the building yawns as the stop light changes 'just a kid with a filthy mind' they've never seen your sentimental side they've never seen you in your best light. oh they're beautifuly, gorgeously, upliftingly, simultaneously-happy-and-sadly-heartbreakingly twee and in them now i see what i first loved in belle and sebastian. i see the boy who always crys at endings, the one who thought there was love in everything and everyone. the boy who was naive, perhaps, but stronger than you think. celebrate your tweeness. be proud. and... if it really is an affectation...(although mine never was).... there are far worse ones to nurture. oh, and i forgot something important. i forgot the point to this. live happily ever after. snipp snapp snute, så var eventyret ute xx ian paulo, if you're doing that tape, i'd love a copy. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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