Sinister: Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive

Nick Horne sayyestointernationalsocialism at xxx.com
Tue Mar 13 16:55:51 GMT 2001


My Sinisterines,

...The problem with hopping off The Fence is that one
will inevitably have to start trampling things
underfoot...

Jenny began a sentence with the voice of tragedy:
“Well, yes, in a Utopia where…”.  That way lies ruin;
that way lies surrender. 

 “Well, if we lived in a Utopia then maybe my company
wouldn’t feel the need to employ malnourished
sweatshop workers, but in the existing Marketplace, it
remains an economic necessity”.

“In a Utopia, of course, I could put down my glass and
raise my head from silent despair.  I could TOUCH
people again”.  The distance between the bottle and
the street is the distance between everyday life and
Utopia.

Society happens in SPITE of everyday life; it exists
because we WANT it.  My relationships exist because I
CHOOSE that they should.  One relinquishes one’s own
Power as soon as one relinquishes one’s own fantasies.
 Of course, one musn’t allow oneself to lapse into
lazy idealism, but it is vital to undertake a certain
Leap of Faith in order that one’s desires and dreams
don’t falter when faced with Fact.

Napster is denying ‘artists’ their rights?  Home
taping is killing music?  Piff paff poof!  I find the
idea of free exchange rather exciting, actually.  The
Library is a tremendously powerful and radical idea,
you know.  Copyright be damned, I want to experience
everything I possibly can NOW, and then – and only
then – may you try and judge me.

I mean, it was a poor gig, was it?  Then we’re hardly
going to stay away from the shops en-masse, when next
Belle and Bombastien release anything, on the grounds
that “we already have the definitive versions of the
tracks – you know, the moment when someone spills warm
lager over the drum monitor and you can hear it
fizzling and spluttering – that breaks my heart
whene’er I play it”.  Only fans are likely to want to
hear a poorly recorded gig.  Fans, being fans, will
also buy all the new releases.  A pretty secure
position to be in, I’d suggest.

I didn’t download the songs, myself.  I couldn’t be
bothered.

The poetry parrot fluttered in through my window, but
found my shoulders a little too slender to be able to
perch comfortably.  It’s probably for the best, I
think.  The only poem with which I concern myself
today is Ted Hughes’s ‘Ouija’.  And I couldn’t bear to
type it out.  I just couldn’t..  I always think
electronic communication too fleeting, too brash, for
poetry.  Too many flickering digits to distract us. 
One click and it’s gone.  One click.  Poetry: an
analogue medium unsuited to digital transfer.  One
click.  Zero.

I do struggle with the Duff Paddy trial.  It’s like
Snoop all over again – eschewing all concern for
justice and human rights, I just want to see the sap
go down because I find his music so objectionable. 
It’s only Celebrity, yeah?  It’s only Soap Opera, no? 
If only his testimony could incriminate J-Lo as well..
 Sure, it’s not right.  But it’s quite ok.  And is it
just me who considers ‘Celebrity Big Brother’ one of
the most groundbreaking television programmes of
recent years?  An intensive insight into the nature of
fame, into the frailties of showbiz-status, into our
willingness to throw ever-more cadavers to the lions. 
Affects me, in all honesty, as much as something like
Mike Leigh’s ‘Naked’.

The  Quote du Jour is two-fold.

**
Interviewer: “What do you remember most vividly?”
Reporter, just returned from Beijing: “The students
singing as they were being shot.  And a student, a
girl, who said to me – ‘What can they do to us?  We
have our whole future ahead of us, AND WE’VE SEEN
IT’”.

**
“But a boy carries his walkman on the long bus ride to
Omaha/
  I know a girl who cries when she practises violin/
  ‘Cos the note sounds so pure/
  That it cuts into her/
  And the melody comes pouring out her eyes/
  Now compared to that, everything just seems like a
lie.”
 **

Nicholas Passant x





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