Sinister: ticket is a small leaf of paper, derived from etiquette, and close to tickle

[Gordon]

Hullo
I have a bellyful of wine and passiflora, and I still can't sleep. 02:57
am, listening to William Orbit, which is lovely and spacey for these
sunless hours, like being on that little spaceship that crashes into the
moon's face. Although the moon is currently out of view, so I read a
great many posts about tickets instead. I used one to gain admittance to
a play called Woyzeck the other night, then read bits of Homer's *War
Music* to myself with some self-conscious intensity in a trendi bar
afterwards, a little drunk and lonely, but with lovely shiny metaphors.
One occasionally gets flashes of confidence and the smallest exchange
can be laden with tenderness and intimacy, even with a complete
stranger. A few of these moments recalled and the night seems more
inviting.
Sunset wrote about creation and Pamela about Minis and the Big Issue.
Making things is essential, I think, and the avoidance of Big Issue
sellers difficult, and a constant pain on the conscience which, I'll
admit, I assuage by showily giving large sums of money to non big issue
sellers late at night, I have a night time theme... If you live
somewhere far away, the big issue is a magazine sold by people who can't
afford a home to live in, and was devised in order to allow such people
the opportunity to earn some dignity, rather than being forced to beg.
It's a lovely idea, but damned irksome, all this conscience-pricking,
like those well-meaning students with clip-boards and anyone else who
accosts me as I march on my determined, shy and bloody-minded way to
nowhere in particular.
Flowers... the flowers in Princes' Street Gardens in Edinburgh are quite
beautiful and, unlike the ones one might buy from a supermarket, they
are scented. Check out a flower near you, I say. They are so terribly
bright and delicate, and one of nature's finest means of addressing the
sky.
Ah, a spacey version of Handel's *Xerxes* plays now, which always throws
me into a melancholy, because I can see my granny play it on the
Bechstein I inherited. For me, it is very much 'her tune', though I
shudder to think of how public I now make that private knowledge. Then
again, words, huh? Just letters. Eterlest
Next weekend I'm going to drive north. I want to stay at Arisaig House,
but at £150 a night, way, way out of my league. Arisaig house was used
as a training base for members of the Special Operations Executive in
WWII and, according to their online brochure, there is a large and
immaculately mown lawn that stretches from the billiards room towards
the seas of the hebrides. I think it might be haunted. All those cloak
and dagger types back for another dram and the click of coloured balls
on slate.
Perhaps a tent is the answer, although it's a tad scary, miles from
anywhere, with only an occasional passing aeroplane, tide-wash and
assorted spooky noises for company, and the rhythm of some elian
lighthouse across the water. Ah, Harkon, king of the Nordics was plying
his way through this wash a thousand years back. Been there before,
see.. I can remember it from last time. That's why I want to go back.
Some places are like that. Siren places.

More night. A daily reminder of this ball spinning in space, not hugging
the sun's light but it's gravity: how could our sensibilities get us so
wrong? Perhaps God's way of telling us to sleep regularly, but the spell
is broken and here it is; a dark, stateless, Godless zone. And the
window is open, admitting cold but fresh air. Ah, life is not so fine
for those bacteria who cling to meteorites. Fine: honed; marbly; more
stuff and, like Ewan McGregor says in the movie: *more life*. Isn't
stolen time sweet?

Back to business. Seeings as Belle and Sebastian are playing a concert
in Glasgow on a June Saturday evening, might some of us be inclined to
spend some of the afternoon by the People's Palace on the grass of
Glasgow Green? Someone mentioned that Curldup Carey was in charge here,
and I nominated Ally '96 for the job, so I don't want to pre-empt
anyone's plans... but to get the ball rolling folks. Rock'n rolling :)

My head is full of twiddly synthesizer bits courtesy of William Orbit,
so I won't comment on Belle and Sebastian sound because it would be too
sonically confusing but, thanx to Jordi we can see their new EP cuvvur.
Not that I've looked, mind, but three people on it so, obviously, not
dance music. Unless your conception of dancing is twee-bop or
wonky-tango... I'm rather looking forward to it.

The birds are up. A little dawn creeping. Another day in... on...
beside... besides... no tickets: just walk on through :)

+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
        +---+  Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list  +---+
     To send to the list mail sinister at missprint.org. To unsubscribe
     send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
     majordomo at missprint.org.  WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister
 +-+       "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper           +-+
 +-+  "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
 +-+    "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000     +-+
 +-+  "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000  +-+
 +-+               Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa                 +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+