Hello my pretties. It's been ages. Come to think of it, I haven't posted since I got this new email account so this is in a way a second debut. Please excuse my voice, it's scratchy from the long winter. Yesterday all the trees started blooming and today I sang Joni Mitchell as loud as I could in the car. "A Case Of You", no less. How two years ago. I have this terrible habit of trying to relate songs to my life. Who was it that said that all the world's a stage and I'm the bloody star on it? Probably me. Anyway, this habit is all sweet and harmless until I start thinking about how cool it would be to break up and have all these great songs at my disposal to commiserate with. See, the boy and I, we're planning gardens for ten years from now, and Jay Fergueson's heartbreaking "Are You Giving Me Back My Love" on Sloan's latest album really doesn't belong. Christ, that man can sing a love-gone-wrong song to make you weep. But then I remember that time when we almost did break up, and it was all my fault. The icy-hand-around-the-heart thing doesn't fade much with time, does it? Luckily I've got "You Are My Joy" to pull me back from the brink. Even though I think the video with the kissing dolls is a touch on the creepy side, don't you? Listening to Arab Strap is also dangerous. All the smarmy bitterness of "My Favourite Muse" is darkly attractive, probably because of its blatant personal impossibility. I've got an ex, but we're unlikely to meet again due to geographical inconvenience and even more unlikely to shag due to it being kind of an icky idea to me at this point. All the same, I still (stupidly) kind of lust after the illicit thrill of having someone familiar but forbidden you could share a disappointing sexual experience with. But who needs an ex when you've got someone to sing "Here Comes The Sun" to you as you step off the plane? Not me. It's been a long cold lonely winter indeed here in Canadiashire. Still, the Beatles face stiff competition with the Lucksmiths. Hello, Australian Massive. I know I've never met any of you, but your countrymen have convinced me that you are all enormously clever and I can guarantee that the minute you open your mouths I'll have ridiculous adolescent-sized crushes on all of you. Girls too, prolly. As I said, ridiculous. But when I skip to "A Century of Elvis" I am reminded of my own lad's cute brogue. Later I'll get him to say "very", "fine, whatever", "maybe" and "berries" over the phone line for my amusement. I don't ask for much, just to have my bidding done, that's all. And also to have random words recited so I may giggle at the accentric pronunciations. So what is the point of all this? Self-indulgence? Mais bien sur. Isn't that what this list is all about? Okay, I've got content, too. And I'm not talking about the throwaway B&S reference above. Awhile ago (actually, kind of a long time ago, by now), Stacey (dahling) asked us what we thought about Sinister, about the friendships and relationships on and around the list. I didn't say anything because I didn't feel I had much to say. I've been here...oh, I don't know, about seven months, and I still feel like Mummy gave me my voice last week. The whole thing feels a bit...big, I guess. Bigger than my world, bigger than I have time to manage. And now that I have the absolute slowest dial-up imaginable for the next two months (while I'm here at home before I get out to Glasgow for a YEAR!) I have even less of an opportunity to figure it all out. My two attempts at #sinister were rather pathetic, especially as they represented my first and second times ever in a chat room. Sorry, guys. But I'm not trying to accuse anyone of coterieism or anything. I'm actually trying to pay the list a compliment. See, all the stuff I said up above, I don't really have anyone to say that to. Even the boy kind of gets it, but just kind of. I have not met any of you (although I hope to remedy that starting the second week of July or so) but I think that someone out there, in the 1500 or whatever number we're at now, will understand what I mean. Yes, it's silly, but it's *me*. We're all very different people from very different cultural and musical backgrounds, but I still feel like when I spam the list with this nonsense, someone will get it. I know I talked about the list, but really I was talking about you, Gentle Reader. Hope everyone has fun at the Winchester Birthday / Glasgow picnic / B&S gig and I'm insanely jealous I'll be missing it by barely two months. Meh. Honestly, didn't they get the memo about how the world revolves around me?? By the way, I recommend two braids for all the frizzy-haired concert-going sisters out there. Cute, and keeps the curls under control. Anyway. Night, kids. (thank fuck for that) marisa p.s. What happened to the Poetry Parrot, by the way? Hope he didn't get caught in the Bermuda Triangle. Terrible things happen, I suppose. Poor wee guy. ms ______________________________________________________________________ Post your free ad now! http://personals.yahoo.ca +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
I started to write something about how I've been feeling today, about a friend of mine that I haven't seen for a while who's in hospital, about what a bizarre day I've had, about people who sap the lifeforce out of you, about good intentions and misunderstandings, about what it's like once you step past that first threshold and realise you'll never be able to find your way back, no matter what...but then it dawned on me that wasn't going to do anyone any good, let alone me. So instead, here's an ink polaroid. My friend is lying on his hospital bed. He's in his regular clothes, denim mostly, no need for a hospital gown for this guy. He's looking pretty good. The eye patch suits him. He says if this is as bad as it gets then he'll be happy. it's not like he has a job that relies on his eyesight, I joke. We all laugh (his friend, an actor I think, has come to visit at the same time). Ah, he only needs one eye for what he does, my friend says. There are two more operations to go. The first one was a big success, so he's feeling optimistic. But he can't help think about what they say - there's five per cent chance. Still, there's a bigger risk when you have a caesarian. You don't want to get one of those, his mates says. We all laugh again. Loads of people have been round. The people he sees all the time. His day to day friends. That's cool. I don't feel that bad about finding out a week too late. Friendship is like that - you don't have to keep in constant contact to be a good friend. It's about being there when it counts. I turned off my computer as soon as I got the email and left the house. Went straight to the cafe. A man's got to eat. Then had a haircut. Then went to the HMS Belfast. Told you I had a strange day. Then to St Catherine's Dock, talking to my ex on my mobile. Then to the hospital. In the same square as The Italian Hospital. Nice front. Then into the ward. It's been a bit embarrassing really. The other day he had so many visitors they went down to the coffee lounge on the ground floor. Then to the park out front. Ended up in the pub. Like you always do with this lot. My friend had a coca cola, everyone else had a proper drink, lager, wine, whatever, It was like a big night out. They went for pizza afterwards. Must have been a place not too far away. It was fun - crazy really when you think about it. Eventually my friend had to go back to his hospital bed. Visiting hours were over. Everyone else just carried on drinking. And it occurs to me that this is a fine way to behave. I don't know why I feel the need to write this other than to say what you already know. Friendships are important. Friends doubly so. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
participants (2)
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Ian Watson -
marisa stroud