Hullo I have a bellyful of wine and passiflora, and I still can't sleep. 02:57 am, listening to William Orbit, which is lovely and spacey for these sunless hours, like being on that little spaceship that crashes into the moon's face. Although the moon is currently out of view, so I read a great many posts about tickets instead. I used one to gain admittance to a play called Woyzeck the other night, then read bits of Homer's *War Music* to myself with some self-conscious intensity in a trendi bar afterwards, a little drunk and lonely, but with lovely shiny metaphors. One occasionally gets flashes of confidence and the smallest exchange can be laden with tenderness and intimacy, even with a complete stranger. A few of these moments recalled and the night seems more inviting. Sunset wrote about creation and Pamela about Minis and the Big Issue. Making things is essential, I think, and the avoidance of Big Issue sellers difficult, and a constant pain on the conscience which, I'll admit, I assuage by showily giving large sums of money to non big issue sellers late at night, I have a night time theme... If you live somewhere far away, the big issue is a magazine sold by people who can't afford a home to live in, and was devised in order to allow such people the opportunity to earn some dignity, rather than being forced to beg. It's a lovely idea, but damned irksome, all this conscience-pricking, like those well-meaning students with clip-boards and anyone else who accosts me as I march on my determined, shy and bloody-minded way to nowhere in particular. Flowers... the flowers in Princes' Street Gardens in Edinburgh are quite beautiful and, unlike the ones one might buy from a supermarket, they are scented. Check out a flower near you, I say. They are so terribly bright and delicate, and one of nature's finest means of addressing the sky. Ah, a spacey version of Handel's *Xerxes* plays now, which always throws me into a melancholy, because I can see my granny play it on the Bechstein I inherited. For me, it is very much 'her tune', though I shudder to think of how public I now make that private knowledge. Then again, words, huh? Just letters. Eterlest Next weekend I'm going to drive north. I want to stay at Arisaig House, but at £150 a night, way, way out of my league. Arisaig house was used as a training base for members of the Special Operations Executive in WWII and, according to their online brochure, there is a large and immaculately mown lawn that stretches from the billiards room towards the seas of the hebrides. I think it might be haunted. All those cloak and dagger types back for another dram and the click of coloured balls on slate. Perhaps a tent is the answer, although it's a tad scary, miles from anywhere, with only an occasional passing aeroplane, tide-wash and assorted spooky noises for company, and the rhythm of some elian lighthouse across the water. Ah, Harkon, king of the Nordics was plying his way through this wash a thousand years back. Been there before, see.. I can remember it from last time. That's why I want to go back. Some places are like that. Siren places. More night. A daily reminder of this ball spinning in space, not hugging the sun's light but it's gravity: how could our sensibilities get us so wrong? Perhaps God's way of telling us to sleep regularly, but the spell is broken and here it is; a dark, stateless, Godless zone. And the window is open, admitting cold but fresh air. Ah, life is not so fine for those bacteria who cling to meteorites. Fine: honed; marbly; more stuff and, like Ewan McGregor says in the movie: *more life*. Isn't stolen time sweet? Back to business. Seeings as Belle and Sebastian are playing a concert in Glasgow on a June Saturday evening, might some of us be inclined to spend some of the afternoon by the People's Palace on the grass of Glasgow Green? Someone mentioned that Curldup Carey was in charge here, and I nominated Ally '96 for the job, so I don't want to pre-empt anyone's plans... but to get the ball rolling folks. Rock'n rolling :) My head is full of twiddly synthesizer bits courtesy of William Orbit, so I won't comment on Belle and Sebastian sound because it would be too sonically confusing but, thanx to Jordi we can see their new EP cuvvur. Not that I've looked, mind, but three people on it so, obviously, not dance music. Unless your conception of dancing is twee-bop or wonky-tango... I'm rather looking forward to it. The birds are up. A little dawn creeping. Another day in... on... beside... besides... no tickets: just walk on through :) +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+