Sinister: bachelors and spinsters

[mike windisch]

hey lot,

band content up top, courtesy of an aussie slang dictionary. Some 
quasi-poetic spiel below, courtesy of my simmering conscience and aversion 
to this damn day job.

>>>>
B & S Ball:
Ball held for Bachelors and Spinsters, singles crowd, often held in the bush 
or a remote location and often involving copious amounts of alcohol and 
sometimes mud!
<<<<<

sounds like a hoot. perhaps in winter we can substitute snow angels for mud 
pies, mulled cider for alcohol, and steady sweethearts for bachelors and 
spinsters.

On second thought, lets keep the copious amounts of booze.



<<< poesy woosey infusion <<<

I know the poetry parrot has flown the coop and it's friday, but a mid 
morning morose spell has spawned some purple prose... proceed at own risk 
because even the beats could do this better.

sometimes even the silence isn't quiet,

what with the stomach rumblings of affection extended outward with the 
unconscious expectation for expedited requited-ness,

the streaking rage of the stress bind to a business world that rewards 
dilligent fakeness and proceedural conformity but affords 
verbally-oriented-individualist-types a compensation scheme amounting to 
economic impotence.

Ack, upstream against that charges the blasted wrack which forces drive, 
drive, drive onward outward in an ecstatic strive towards euphoric alive.

ahhh. so nice that alliterative euphoric alive. like a sweatheart's smile, a 
soft sweater against yr bare skin, or the stylish satisfactions of moving 
well within your body.

But sadly, like a hangover that gets up before you to ruin the recollections 
of a perfect evening, the moments of bliss evaporate into such conditions as 
empty pockets, sore lips and swollen hips.

I guess the problem with bathing in a fountain of youth only emerges when 
you dry off.  The awareness of a discontinuity between you and peers that 
are still on track and have stoicly sidled up to the adolt responsibilites 
that cause rambuncious teens worldwide to pity their parents.

(You know, the type of people who only ride the bus to get to work, get up 
early for chores on saturday morning and give you wide-eyed disapproving 
looks when you try to explain what you do for fun. Or the central role that 
fun still plays in your by-all-rights adult life)

Kind of like trying to explain the appeal of b&s to those who only hear the 
strings, falsetto warblings and homoerotic intimations yet fail to feel the 
earnest emotion and honesty that has hooked us all

not feeling the suchness all too much

mike

<<paying for the sin in sinister>>

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