Sinister: if like me....

[padraic doorey]

      *---*      HAPPY BIRTHDAY SINISTER BABIES    *---*

aaaaah -

if like me you were there last night you are probably still reeling
and living off the buzz.

floating beanie boy elliot smith rocked my world.  why wasn't everyone
a bit quieter?  

B&S wrapped me in an aural comforter and rocked me in a delightful
dreamland.  sigh.  no *fabu* "sleep the clock around" but my daddy
said to me once "you could fly to the moon and you still wouldn't be
happy".  happy whispering sinister sounds filled the room and the air
carried the words and the chords to the corner where i was standing
and most people fell silent.  top moment?  le finale (en
francais)....isobel sang that gainsbourg ditty with the panache of one
playing a reindeer game.  *bravo!*  the boy with the arab strap,
especially the ending...i attempted to keep up with mark's
hand-clapping but i had to stop because my hands were getting sore. 
  
i was too sleepy for the club.  a sort of "don't park your chicken
beside a fox" rationale.  i hear reports of cheery goings-on and the
like.  but i couldn't have felt any better.

i went home on the bus with jamie cola and ate mature cheese and
childish baguette and continued to "la la la" to ourselves and thought
"my, i really am falling for those sexy scottish
accents"....mysterious poster clutching girl with black hair crossed
my path again and again and again.  mocha? 

when i slept i dreamt of a huge icy landscape of white and blue cracks
underneath, all coming apart from one another. one huge iceberg pulls
away from another, falling apart and crashing.  bleak and cold and
wet, as a day in brixton can be, i awoke. my bag, shapeless and empty
in front of me, torn from abuse received on vacations paid for on
credit. it was ready and so was filled and dragged downstairs to the
waiting, honking car. cosmetic smelling hair from my head, dripping
and freezing, freezing as the droplets fell on my face. 
going up. and away. and looking down at the ice. no obectives, nothing
to do. just to go. i am different from you. seeing it makes me want to
kick the powder miles below, to get an ice-cream headache when i fall
face first into the snow, to cry from raw pain when a
gritty snowball hits my face. "it's my eye" i'd cry. 

- sometimes it's awesome just to look at things in dreams, non? 

analysis, please if you can be arsed.  i have this dream quite a lot.

i love you all, *hugs*



lady penelope (on a floating cloud...the pink roller is in the shop)

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