Sinister: All the quotations in the wrold and all you need is a wafer thin mint

[Tom Lennox]

Never, since the Reading festival of 1997 when I woke up with my face in the
dirt, money stolen and my dreams shattered, have I felt like such a piece of
shit.

It is one thing to raise hell at uni but at home and at christmas, well
that's just sacred isn't it?  I dunno, but here I am this morning and I feel
like I could be sick at any minute (but then that's probably cause I tried
to induce it last night when I was on my hands and knees) and even this
`soothing` cup `o` tea seems to be making my wooz like anything, which has
to be a drag cause I've fallen over twice already and it ain't even 9:00am
yet (well actually now I look it is and I probably won't send this mail till
much later anyroad continuity fans).

In short or many series of dad's shots in me (checking through this email
and even I don't understand this pun really) that is how I am the way I am
now, quivering beside myself, basicaly drunk still, but more shell shocked
and I've only really just found myself when I woke (thankfully on my own
bed) and Morrissey's I Am Hated For Loving Going round in an eternal loop in
my brain which just maybe had something to do with the stereo which has
clearly been looping it all night - oh damn do you think anybody heard?

So me and my man/friend/idle plaything got wrecked on a combination of every
conceivable substance and then seemed to make a meal (just a pasta
experiment which seemed peppery but in it's own cute way on fire) which was
clearly nice as I keep tasting it every 20 seconds even now - or perhaps
that's the crisps and coleslaw and potato salad which I managed to steal
from the 24 hour Tesco at 2am when we slyed in there to get away from my
parents coming home... actually most of that shit seemed to end up on a park
bench if I remember cause my mouth couldn't direct it.  Get me wrong here,
please do but I'm no thief, clearly an unarmed drunk but no kind of thief
cause I got busted in Tescos taking the first tub of coleslaw so we had to
sneak round again - oh the indignity just keeps coming back into my mind.

And, as I sit in this room I really hope I hid the evidence of dad's cigar
butts that we smoked to high heaven, otherwise he'll start thinking that we
should be going to his gentlemen's club together.  But no, cause men who
play footsie with their `idle plaything` friends don't belong in the Satsuma
lounges of this world.

Shit Mum's on the move which worries me as it might well worry you when ever
you see the word Mum it always starts with a capital `M` - well so long as
she keeps away from my room then I might just get away with it all my life.
You should see the state of me... no ammount of early morning lavender soap
can take off the tramp, collapsed look of a night dressed in old clothes
passed out.

Now perhaps would be the time to check out that original message I wrote
with THe MAn last night to see what I had to say to you all when I was still
optomistic - give them shit and they shall lap it up seemed the order of the
day but `you guys` are too damn cute for that so I'll see if there were any
key points in last nights email bashing session that you NEED to know:

Well here is how that mail that I just had to write opens - please keep
track of the quotation marks or you'll be confusing me with when I was an
alltogether different person:

"Xmas result

Clean your lungs

[sleep]

Don't be ashamed to have friends

Cough discreatly on my eye-da-down

I want to explore your face like a typical ADE

Drink

yes drink and be with me I left the dope behind coz the bastard kept saying
suck my cocaine like it lipped your windowsill and my cartel wasn't ready
for his shabby bitch attiude. Bitch.  Bitch came so closely..  Or is this a
nothing off-hand belong.   Of coure it is so just dismiss my desire.

If you make sense of any of my grudges then I challenge you to a sword fight
with our proud irregualarities.  Some men know the full extent of my
distress."

Ok that's the first part and really it doesn't say anything does it, but
what I do remember is at this point I shout to the man (Lee) that he really
needed to stick a bit of B&S content in the mail.  What's B&S he choked so I
played him Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying and I relayed this Lancastrian
Black Metal fans reactions to our beloved group of minstels into that mail:

"My friend lee comments on Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying:
like any other song it's weak with nothing to say.  Don't even quote me
it's cheap

FUCKER"

You know that was just poor wasn't it but I sorta get his bad attitude cause
I don't see the need we all seem to have to divide up our emails and say B&S
content NOW - here, look 2 lines on your favourite band... I mean we're cut
from the same chords so at least we should ooze (like a straw ozzes, straws
ooze) Belle & Sebastian out of every orafice, shouldn't we?  You can tell
from the sound of my voice that I love Belle & friend  as I tell you how we
hid in the closet last night (how ineptly inapt our hiding place was for
those so comfortable with their own sexuality that they can hide in closets
with male friends and never question - it took years to get to this YOU
KNOW) just to avoid dad looking for his cigars and Mum wondering who emptied
the vodka down their throats.  You know a believer when your spaken to,
spak.  Lovely cruddled spaks the lot of yous.

When you clean up a mess it seems to just go but when you destroy a mess
it's urban warfare - like a spot that needs wasting (on the face) the mess
just seems to get bigger as you `deal` with the finer points of it.  So my
only saving grace last night was that me and the man managed to bag up the
evidence eventually and at least get it to the bin outside - lest anyone
should ever look in there - and that was like bagging a body piece by dirty
piece I can say - so you just do it and to see the man's face as he realised
the cloth I'd given him to scrape the raw meat of the kitchen floor was
actually Mum's knickers was a joy that no ammount of headaches and hangover
(oh you knew how gone I was and I never get gone do you hear) will erase.
That was probaly the same time I ripped my hand apart, but like I said it
was blitzkreig last night in that kitchen... please note all the while
during our grand clean dad's Hits Of the Movies cd on the go with old
classics like Huey Lewis and the News - Power of Love from Back To The
Future and The Heat is On from Beverly Hills Cop --- oh yeh and Tublar Bells
and then I think I stuck on Hunky Dory and the world just lit up as my
bleeding hand dripped alover the man.  Oh bliss which was good as we ran
away from my house at that point before we could trash it, only coming back
hours later to rip away his harddrive, still hanging off my emaciated
machince like a horrible featus and also to stop The Sting from recording
all night - oh I get to watch Paul Newman today!

Now please think of all the Tesco's employees who I explained the finer
points of decent animalistic fisting to last night - I'll think of them now
as I realise that probably half of my old school works at that late night
conveniance and the other half can't cause they have babies to fob off on
relatives or drown.

Why did the man want to go to his old house - it was sweet wasn't it.  I
always thought of him as a Chelsea hard bun, a rude dog to us dweebs but
he's soft isn't he.... he, himself was responsible for this section of that
email I was gonna send you last night - I probably shoulda... anyway:

"I love.  Indulge me.  In layers of acrylic.  Ok I am an 8 year old and this
is the sentance of a 9 year old.

Never exhume.

Ignore everything"

Now I think if Suede has a vacancy the man who scribed that should aply his
talent that way.

Well this seems to near the obvious conclusion and you just know your inbox
will never be the same again so I'll conclude while the goings hot.  Now I
leave you with my original sign off from last nights mail:

"love Tom

Please don't worry
Please don't grope a cheerleader in bushes"

The love stands but don't grope - a stroke will do - take your victim to a
park hut at least.

love Tom




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