Sinister: return to odd

[ian]

hello again my furry friends,

its been a while... and i wanted to return with some stunningly witty mail
about stuart david leaving the planet, and living permanently on mars... i
had it all planned...a comment about not being able to find a looper record
in an "indie" record shop, a clever joke about stuey d leaving the planet,
looking for a nicer place, and then perhaps a mail as stuey  (using that
clever old trick of changing my name in the "options" box of outlook
express.....i know it fools you all time after time)

or, failing that, i was planning perhaps a short resume of life after gay
eastenders for the dirty den of sinister,
how my rampant nights with grant had ultimately ended in disappointment.
raucous stories of pam st clements, barbara windsor and a jeff stryker
dildo.  amusing and pithy vignettes about the arthur fowler drag
experience... i know how you all would have chuckled to yourselves as you
fought with the desire to press that delete button.

sadly, i have just been out into the world, and now i don't feel like doing
either of these.

perhaps you will see why.  but first, a hypothesis:


b&s are twee.  this is, of course, as undeniable as the fact that the smiths
were depressing and that britney spears is actually a hairy chested builder
called dave.

 and here on the sinister list we ape our heroes ,of course, as mindless
saddos do.
we talk about hello kitty and nice little bunny rabbits and generally
exchange whimsy with one another.  and this is what we know, and this is
what we like.

hell, even The Great Hefner (oops, sorry, almost choked on my miffy easter
egg there) have passed comment upon our world....it isn't the "real"
world... it does not cohere with the grim, harsh struggle that is the
everyday experience of life for many people.  the b&s/sinister existence is
one where girls take other girls by the hand, and stroll away from lonely
parks into the sunset, while the boy sits and contemplates life.
 it doesn't cover the fact that outside the park there are queerbashers
waiting for the girls, and that as the boy ambles home with his hands in his
pockets, and his "looper" t-shirt proudly displayed to the whole wide world,
he comes directly into contact with his friendly neighbourhood muggers.  b&s
fans would rather ignore this fact.
  this accusation has been printed in select magazine, after all, so it must
be true.


so it must be refreshing to leave this world every once in a while, yes?  to
leave the house, throw my cardie down onto the pavement and stride
purposefully into realtime..
find out what i have been missing all these veggie-nibbling years...

first stop, outside the garage round the corner from me, where on sunday
night a man was covered in paraffin and set on fire - well, he deserved it,
he'd had the nerve not only to be offensively black in a public area of our
multicultural society, he'd also spoken back to the white man who, that
night, was hunting in packs, and carrying torches..

past this spot...it isn't very pleasant.  think nice thoughts about mice
living in windmills in old amsterdam.. think about marshmallows and teddy
bears and walk up to the university.
  now this is more like it.  birmingham university.  on a special day....the
air buzzes with excitement...tomorrow, the queen is coming to visit.  the
professional chewing-gum removers have been at work for two days on the
library steps, a huge bed of identical-height red tulips have mysteriously
appeared in the middle of the square, the black fencing around the grass has
been taken down, so she can go for a little wander, and rest the royal arse
if she wishes.  even the offensive labourers on the building site have been
given a couple of days off so her majesty is not disturbed on her rounds.
what a beautiful place the real world is.
i smile at the security men who eye me suspiciously as i pass and i avoid
the big issue seller on the gate because i've already bought one and
wouldn't want to waste my money.  my heart is lifted, i sing a little ditty
to myself as i amble past the gun factory and the wasteland where the dirty
man is sitting, sniffing glue and i skip all the way through selly oak,
blowing kisses to people as i pass....

never imagining that some of them could be having this conversation:

"did you hear about that bloke that got set on fire on bristol road"...
........"yeah"...............
"mind you, he probably deserved it"
"what?"
"yeah, you've seen the way some of them walk round, like they own the
place"...

no, i pay no attention to such remarks, and drift back to my house on a
cloud of pink fluffiness, land in my inflatable chair and plump up a couple
of flowery cushions as i turn on the television, hoping for re-runs of
"bump", or at least "bagpuss".

sadly, these are not in evidence.  it seems everyone is talking about some
election that went on today.  i vaguely remember that i had been planning to
vote, but i was too busy.  i was learning to play the maracas and shake my
arse at the same time, like sarah cracknell, and this seemed like a more
worthwhile use of my life.

still,everybody on television is talking about this election, like it was
something important.  they are also talking about asylum-seekers, and how
bad they are.
 briefly, i have time to wonder if these are the people we bombed out of
their homes, or whether i've got confused and these are just the people who
were running away from genocide...
if so, what have they got to worry about, really?  i mean, the new yo la
tengo album is great and sarah cox is on the breakfast show...doesn't this
bring joy to these people?  no, it seems not.  the fact that their country
was destroyed and william hague wants to put them in concentration...oops,
sorry, i meant "internment"... camps seems to preoccupy them for some
reason.

turn the telly off, grope for my looper album...  right now, i need to hear
"i'm quite happy...i'm quite happy....i'm quite happy, burning flies".
 not only does it cheer me up, but it seems to say something about the human
condition.

i look at my scooby doo poster.... my own little world isn't such a bad
place.

 what have i tried to change today?  very little, only my own mind, and that
has been hard enough.  still, i haven't beaten anybody up, i haven't upset
anyone and i haven't dropped chewing gum on the library steps.  this is a
good time to be like that boy in the park, at the end of TIJAMRS, and sit
and reflect upon life... the real world, as hefner know it...

do i want to change it?  yes
do i know how to change it?  no
do i really have the energy to try?  probably not

it occurs to me that everyone who has tried to change the world for the
better has ultimately caused as much harm as good.  karl marx had a dream of
equality.  tell that to the people who suffered ceaucescu's reign.
oppenheimer wanted to create the weapon to end all wars... unfortunately for
the people of hiroshima.  hell, even jesus fucked up.  there was a do-gooder
if ever there was one, but without him there would have been no spanish
inquisition.. i suppose even margaret thatcher must have thought what she
was doing was right.  before she went mad, at least.

yeah...the real world, where people who play with matches get burnt, and it
seems that day by day the flames get more intense.

 no thank you, that isn't for me.  for now, i'll reflect on the fact that
sarah cracknell thinks crew cuts and trainers are out again.  i'll listen
with joy, as i always do, to the opening bars of "sleep the clock around"
with the whirly swirly music that makes my insides smile, and i'll try and
ignore the fact that the song also contains the lyric:

"well could this be the day/that somebody will come/ and say "look at
yourself, you're not much use to anyone"....

that, after all, might be relevant to "real life" and not very twee.  that
might connect with the world where it is thought that one person deserves to
be burnt alive and another deserves to walk through shining corridors and
see blooming tulips everywhere she goes.  i don't like that world.  give me
the love beads.  hand me back my cardie.  i'll go and play with words and
pictures, i'll admit i'm feeling strange.

rome is burning, my friend, and birmingham too.
pass me a fiddle, and shake a maraca

ian

---------------------------------------------
Tomorrow will bring happiness
Or at least, another day

Phil Ochs

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