Sinister: O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!

[Genevieve Wesley]

I had a dream where I was naked in the most beautiful meadows, sunny and 
green, peacefully enjoying myself, when a man in the distance appeared with 
binoculars. Full of rage, I ran after him. Perhaps this is due to the cold, 
overwhelming sense of smut and bodily fluids.
Why does Belle and Sebastian's next record have to be bad? Let's not wish 
for disappointment but wish wish wish for loveliness - maybe you'll hear it 
and your bosom will heave, your knees will tremble and you'll dissolve into 
a warm light! With Pink Glitter (for Honeys)!

David Moore wrote:
>I checked out Looper's site now its been hijacked by "Peacock" Johnson. 
>Firstly at work (left hurriedly - 4 letter word count too high) later at 
>home. Book sounds interesting, pictures astonishing. Wee Yoko looks quite 
>fanciable in her red wig, but I don't know who will go for John Winston 
>David as Begbie (that's Francis, not the formerly fragrant Rodddd) in a 
>Hawaiiian shirt. What do you reckon, Genevieve?

Well, he's gone a bit mad, but I am intrigued. Many boys around here wear 
the Hawaiian with the gelled hair and gold chains. Is this book out now? I 
don't understand his obsession with sex on the internet though. And webcams. 
I had a webcam, but it got quite boring after the initial hundred pictures 
of pets. Sometimes I think my beloved is trying to make a connection with 
me. That's not HIM in the picture, is it? The handlebar moustacho so very 
different from little cherub gazing upon his accordion that I adored so many 
summers ago!
The tough Scottish boys and their 'like fuck' give me little giggle fits. I 
have visions of Keith Watson in a rocking chair by the fire, growling 'funny 
as fuck' 'flash as fuck' over and over. I don't have any sites to recommend 
to the Peacock, well, maybe Sinister Body Parts Page, as there is some 
naughty pictures and shoulder-girls with questionable lips.

I'm very happy that the Poetry Parrot has returned! I can still remember 
poems that Trousers posted long ago, they were so good, they became a little 
mantra for me when I went to the bookstore to pick out my friend's Christmas 
present...Duffy...Durcan...Dobyns. The poetry parrot didn't sit on me, but 
can I do one anyways? Need some Neruda sensuality to fight off the cold.
****
   I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep
****

Oh yes, I am eager to say something about Dusty Springfield, but all I can 
add is that Guy Ritchie is making a movie about her, and he isn't using 
Madonna anymore, so who shall the actress be?

That 'Fall In A River' Badly Drawn Boy song, although only like a minute 
long, takes me to a happy place.

Exams finished today, I will certainly celebrate Burns night at Dunvegan 
pub.

Jason Andreas: Rubbing noses isn't so much a thrill, but rather a nice, 
comforting feeling, like the delicate innocence of a butterfly kiss.

love,
Genevieve
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